Anchor's Aweigh, 5776

So the Jewish year draws to a close, and we're headed out of town. We leave tomorrow for NYC, where we will spend some quality time with D2 and Jonathan. This is guaranteed -- we have reservations for Quality Meats for dinner.  I look forward to toasting the coming 5777 with them.

D1 is jetting to Bogota with her fiance Joey and his family. They plan a big, fat, or grande, gordo, Colombian Rosh Hashonah in South America.  Joey's family has already made D1 their own -- she's going to have a great long weekend before returning here to take over dog/house sitting duties from her friend British Sarah, so called because her name is Sarah and she is from London...Sarah will be right at home with the two spoiled King Charles Cavalier Spaniels -- they're an English breed, and the strange rescue dog is anyone's guess...

On Sunday, we'll meet our fellow sailors -- Edna, Marc, Deb, and Norman. Edna and Wifey are celebrating a big birthday this year -- Edna's next week, and Wifey's Xmas Day. I've been asked to stop mentioning it's their 60th, but the cat is out of the bag...Wifey emailed our travel agent Earl, who is Norman's brother in law, asking about restaurants on the ship. Wifey mentioned it was Edna's birthday, and now there's a series of ship related emails all acknowledging that we're celebrating Edna's 60th. So everybody knows...

We lost my father in law this past year -- very sad. And D1 got engaged to marry a great guy -- very joyful. So the year played out like all of them -- some mountains, and, luckily, fewer valleys.

So the cruise is a Fall foliage theme, and it appears that the colors have begun. The farther north we go, the more Autumnal it ought to be.

We pull out Sunday night, and stop in Newport, RI. Wifey and I have been there -- we'll walk around, and maybe visit some of the historic houses other than the Breakers. Tuesday is Boston -- we have friends coming to meet us, and it'll be nice to walk around Beantown in the Fall. Maybe Norman and I will wear Dolphins jerseys, so the Pats fans can make fun of us.

Wednesday is Bar Harbor, another place we've already visited. I think we have an excursion involving a lobster bake, so that will be an appropriate treyf-ful way to celebrate the holiday.  And after that we head for the Canadian Maritimes -- a place I've always wanted to visit.  I mean, you can't spell Bay of Fundy without f-u-n, right?

Saturday, showing how much we love and honor our wives, Norman and I are missing the best Canes home game in years, against FSU, in order to be on the trip.  I look forward to consuming a healthy amount of the ship's premium liquor as we watch the game from somewhere off the New England coast.  And then we return to port Sunday.

D2 will be off in Gainesville that weekend, for a long planned reunion of many of her UF friends, so we won't see her.  I though maybe there'd be a drink at the Centurion Lounge, but she's returning to LGA while we leave out of JFK..but she's coming home for TDay, a month or so later...

By T Day, we'll have elected a new president.  Any of my friends with even half a brain can't believe Trump is truly a serious threat, but it shows how flawed Clinton is as a candidate.  I've started thinking in terms of the Louisiana governor's race of 1991, which pitted the sleazeball Edwards against the KKK man Duke. The bumper sticker was "Vote for the lizard, not the wizard." So here's to hoping Lizard Hillary wins...

If not, so what? We'll probably have to suffer lower taxes, and better conditions for the rich.  If a majority of poorer Americans want to vote against their interests, and in mine, who am I to complain?

Here's to great health and laughter to all, in 5777.  The Christians think 666 is the number of the devil. I'm thinking 777 is the number of a very, very lucky year. I pray I'm correct.

Quit Jamming Me

So it happened about an hour into last night's presidential debate: I realized I was over the whole thing.  Of course no thinking person can support Trump. Of course Clinton is a connected, sleazy career politician. Whatever.

We watched at my friend Kenny's house. Kenny is a retired US Navy Captain, who is very liberal. He donates to charities that assist gays in the military. His wife was out of town -- she's extremely liberal, too. She and I argue about Israel -- she's one of these anti Zionist Jews I can't stomach -- the poor terrorists, etc... I'm glad she wasn't there.

Kenny had a work colleague over, with his husband. The two were great guys -- both born and raised orthodox Jews in Brooklyn, who met in med school, and then the love that dare not speak its name bloomed.  One is a radiologist, and the other an ophthamologist.  The eye doc was VERY nervous about the debate -- he truly can't imagine living in a nation with Trump as president.  His calmer partner kept trying to calm him down.

An hour into it, I started surfing the web on my phone.  I'll vote for Hillary, of course. The only real mark a president makes is the Supreme Court justices he or she appoints, assuming they get confirmed.  Other than that, if Trump slips in, I'll take my medicine of paying lower taxes and being told its ok to ignore the poor, with some spoons full of vodka.

I'm also totally over Zika. I know it can do some scary stuff, but I just can't stand hearing about it anymore -- the nuts opposed to spraying, those who think they can wipe out all mosquitoes.  Our local Village, Pinecrest, is getting into the act.  We got notified that "specially trained inspectors" will be coming onto properties, to look for mosquito breeding grounds. My first thought was that some idiot will try to spray my pond, and kill my koi and cichlids! My fish EAT all insect larvae, and my pond is not a bug source, but I can just imagine some moron totally not getting that.

Wifey and I are leaving Saturday, and told D1 and her friend British Sarah, who are sharing house and dog sitting duties, to just tell any would be fish killers that they are NOT allowed on the property until the owners return. I fear a Waco-like standoff when I return...me waving a dead koi menacingly...

The third best thing to come out of Gainesville, after my Ds, is Tom Petty, and he predicted my feelings many years ago, in his song "You're Jamming Me." He sang about a litany of over heated news subjects, like Vanessa Redgrave, and Joe Piscopo, and told them to all go take a hike -- he had heard about them enough.

For me, Hillary and Donald, and Zika are now on that list. Wake me in November, when the election is over and hopefully cooler temperatures in Miami have done away with killer bugs.

The New Family

So D1's future brother in law Bob and his wife Vera invited Wifey and I to their apartment for Shabbat dinner. We had met them a few times before, but hadn't seen them since D1 and Joey became engaged.

So we drove to Midtown, and searched, in vain, for a parking spot. I finally relented and valeted the car -- $22 for three hours. Miami is SO becoming like Manhattan...

We visited D1 and Joey's place, and heard tales of their monumental Pottery Barn couch fail. and then walked down to the 10th floor for the dinner. Bob and Vera have an amazing place -- 3 bedrooms, with floor to ceiling glass, and views of the Design District to the north, Miami Beach and Biscayne Bay to the East, and Brickell/Downtown to the South. Wifey's eyes grew large with wonder -- she wants to move to a more citified place than our leafy suburb.  Not yet, for me.

Bob is an executive with Zumba, and Vera is a research scientist at the U. She is a Peruana, and her Mom Susie came -- a delightful lady who is a baker -- owned a gourmet shop in Lima. Her second husband Rick is a gringo Jew like us -- originally from Richmond, Va, and a tax lawyer now in town -- 69, with grown kids, one of whom was D1's camp counseler at the JCC.

Bob and Joey's youngest brother Alan was there, too. He works for a US media company's LAtin American HQ in Coral Gables -- he's the one non Cane -- he went to USC in LA.  The proud Mom of the three boys was there, too, beaming.

In short, it was one of the warmest, sweetest nights Wifey and I have ever shared. Joey's family made us their own, immediately. Bob took me aside and said after he met D1, he prayed she would become "his sister." D1's future mother in law toasted, and said she has three wonderful sons, and now TWO wonderful daughters, too.

The talk turned to excitedly planning the wedding -- next September. D1 came to a sad realization: our rabbi likely would NOT permit her beloved spoiled Spaniel to attend the ceremony. But Madeleine will understand, I think, even though it's blatant dogism...

Will their be squabbles and issues in the future -- broigis as the Yiddish language calls it? Of course. But my heart tells me Joey's family and our tiny one will merge beautifully.

D2's boyfriend is in Miami visiting his parents. He'll be over at D1 and Joey's tomorrow, for a party.  He'll know several of the Latin Jews there. He and Joey are already buddies...

The only sad note was talking to D2 on the way home . She was by herself in her temporary city -- NY -- and missed us all. But a FaceTime (tm) session with her little man Spaniel Bo cheered her up. And we'll be with her in NYC next Saturday.  She can hold out until then.

But for now, Wifey and I have a peaceful, easy feeling about our future in laws. A night of grand celebration, with salsa music, mixed with a little traditional Jewish, and maybe even some American pop, awaits.

To borrow a line from "Annie," a revue in which D1 starred when she was a little girl, we think we're gonna like it here.

The First Day of Fall

So it's the first day of Autumn in Miami, and I just went out to fetch the morning paper, as well as the dropped off dinner we've started getting. D1 has a friend who started a cantina company, and they make very fresh and healthy meals, and leave them in a small cooler at our front gate. Wifey and I have actually been eating dinner together -- after a quick microwave, and the food has been wonderful. Anyway, I enjoyed the crisp morning air, and the faint scent of wood burning fireplaces. Ha. As if. It's still hot and humid as hell -- I was sweating after this brief excursion outside. Maybe the cooler weather is a few months away... The only season I miss from living up North is the Fall -- the colors, the holidays (Jewish High ones, T Day, even the fun kids have with Halloween), and the cool temperatures. Some of my best memories as a child are picking apples at my Aunt Lorraine's house in Spring Valley -- north of the City -- and hanging with my friends at the Planting Fields in Upper Brookville. I also loved Jones Beach in the Fall -- the swimmers and crowds had left, and my Dad and I walked the boardwalk together, talking of things great and small. So, being a practical and logical guy, most of the time, I do the next best thing -- make sure I travel up to places that actually have Autumn. We leave in 2 weeks for NYC -- D2 just booked our dinner reservations for Saturday night, and Sunday we leave on a "Fall Foliage" cruise. I'm thinking there might not be too much color yet, but as we cruise North to Nova Scotia, things will change for our eyes.

Then, in late October, we're flying to Chicago.  We're meeting up with about 50 fellow Canes, and going for dinner Friday night. Then, assuming the record number of shooters in the city don't get us (I guess unlikely in the part of town we're staying), we shuttle to South Bend, Indiana to watch the Notre Dame game.  I'm pretty sure we'll have some cooler weather by then.

I finally see the wisdom of a group of people long the butt of comedians' jokes -the snow birds. Why not enjoy the summer and fall in, say, North Carolina, and the best of Miami -- Winter and Spring?

Well, not in the cards for us -- I refuse to own any more properties.  In fact, I may well rent our next place. Part of me is becoming Buddhist -- I realize possessions own you more than you own them.  We'll figure it out.

But for now, soon I get to fetch a sweater or two off the shelf to take for some trips -- to indeed cooler weather, and the splendor of the changes...

Fear of Success

There are so many business failures out there, and the successes seem rare. As I age, having run a law business for nearly 22 years, I've become somewhat of a lay observer of the qualities on each side of the line. When my partner and I were very active, for say the first 12-15 years of our practice, we were relentless in our handling of our clients' cases. Of course, Justice Holmes said that justice delayed is justice denied, but there's also the practical side of things in running a contingency fee firm: you only get paid when the case is over. When we had a tentative six or seven figure settlement, we got the money in, and fast. Paul and I shared that hunger -- we figured the money was much better served in our clients' bank accounts and our own, as opposed to an insurance carrier or corporation holding the bucks. I used all of my powers to rapidly work out medical liens -- telling providers there was an offer they couldn't refuse -- either take something back, or go beg the court for more. I never had to attend a hearing. I have learned that few other firms handle things with the same alacrity. And I just don't get it. If you do a job, you ought to be paid, at that time. Letting days, weeks, or months go by -- why is that? I've concluded that sometimes there are deep and bizarre psychological issues at play. I think some people actually fear success. We all like to complain. I always related to the great Joe Walsh line: I can't complain but sometimes I still do. But I'd much rather exult in success. I'm not afraid of it. I love it and appreciate it. It seems to lead to other success. Failure forms a whirlpool that sucks so much down into it. Fortunately, my Ds have inherited this. When an opportunity comes their way -- they're ON it. A few weeks ago I ran into an old banker fan, who was having lunch with his firm's marketing director. We chatted, and I told her about D1's new business. She had interest. I told D1. The two met two days later. So here's to opportunity, and embracing the wins.

When Life Looks Like Easy Street There is Danger At Your Door

So things are going swimmingly lately, thankfully. A symbol of great annoyance, the condo my in laws forced me to buy in 2000, is now sold and the proceeds in our account. More significantly, the old lady, who I don't like but have a sworn duty to support, is stable in a condo close to us, and Wifey has found a terrific aide who babysits her 6 days per week. More importantly, my law firm may produce a few more beans this year. I've adopted that term from D2 -- when she sees me at the computer, checking on investment accounts, she notes "There's Dad -- counting his beans." Most importantly, the Ds are doing great. D1's new business is succeeding much faster than I had predicted, but that's a minor thing. She's now engaged to an awesome fellow -- wedding next Fall. And D2 is working too hard in NYC, but also with a wonderful fellow -- her college sweetheart, who I hope will also become a son in law. D2 and her man are taking a great trip to the Bay Area. Two nights touring SF and Napa with D2's sorority sister, and really actual sister Ashley, and today she and Jonathan are headed to Half Moon Bay. I bid on a charity item for the Crohns and Colitis Association -- 2 nights at the HFB Ritz Carlton, and I won. The ticket will be cashed tonight. Wifey and I have been lucky to stay at some of the best hotels there are, and the Ritz at HMB may be the best. It's perched on a cliff above the roaring Pacific, and you sit around fire pits and drink great California wine. We stayed there last Winter, and they had record rain, so we missed out on the firepit stuff, but the weather for D2 and Jonathan appears perfect. They'll get to spend time with D2's cousins Henry and Val -- who D2 says are among the most "chill" people of all. I know the two couples will bond beautifully. So with all this good, and positive, comes last night a thundering reminder how the world can still be a dangerous and miserable place -- an explosion in Chelsea, in NYC, not far from where D2 lives. Thankfully there were only injuries, and hopefully an isolated incident, but it's still a shock. Whenever we visit D2 and Jonathan, which is frequently, we seem to end up in Chelsea. It's close to Murray Hill, where D2 lives, and packed with delightful bars and shops and restaurants. It's really the best of NYC. None of this is new to being a human. Our early ancestors lost relatives to sabre tooth tigers, or natural disasters. Now the dangers seem more psychotically man made. Life and death are random. It just reminds me, at least, to savor each moment -- to "enjoy every sandwich," as Warren Zevon advised after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Yesterday the Canes won big -- I watched the game with my law school buds Mike and Pete. Peter married late -- he has 2 boys now, 8 and 14. He was asking me about how I deal with the adult fears -- driving, college, etc... I told him it's best to drink more alcohol. He nodded in agreement. In two weeks, if all goes as planned, Wifey and I, along with Edna, Marc, and Deb and Norman, will be at sea -- sailing up the East Coast towards the Canadian Maritimes. Deb is Canadian, so she can translate for us. We'll be on a top flight ship -- Crystal Cruises -- known for pouring Johnny Walker Blue and Dom Perignon. I plan to toast with our great friends -- hopefully to only happy times -- and no explosions where our kids live.

Straight Outa Broward

Via guilt and manipulation that rose to the level of a true art form, my in laws convinced Wifey and me to buy them a new condo back in 2000. They had purchased one in an older section of Century Village, but realized that their peers, also Holocaust Survivors, had moved into a nicer area -- "on the vater." They didn't have enough money to upgrade, so they got Wifey and me to do it for them -- we paid $120K for a breezy unit with a lovely view of the man made lake. They lived there together for 13 years, and then my father in law was moved to a nursing home on account of Alzheimers Disease. I don't think my mother in law even once looked at the "vater wiew" -- they needed the place to, as I have coined the term, keep up with the Rabinowitzes... We moved my mother in law to Palmetto Bay in April, and her existence here has been as pleasant as multiple root canals punctuated by shots to the gut. But that's another story...Wifey and I put the unit up for sale, and the aging realtor got us a buyer -- a Colombian fellow. It's interesting -- when my in laws moved to CV it was nearly totally Jewish retirees. Now it's about 60% Hispanic and Carribbean. The old Jews go to Boynton Beach these days. Anyway, after the typical back and forth, and last minute scrambles for documents, today was the closing. Wifey and I drove up to Weston, to the Seller's lawyer's office, and met our aging realtor. The buyer was there, and his lawyer and closing agent. The agent was also a lawyer -- 2 years behind me at the U, and a Coral Gables native. He was professional and smooth. As soon as Wifey and I signed, he sent instructions to his bank to wire us our proceeds. I asked him when I would get them -- he told me to check my cell texts. Sure enough, the funds were in our bank account. I hadn't even finished my coffee. We said our goodbyes, and then made one final stop at CV. Wifey had to visit the office, to halt the auto payments from her mother's bank for the maintainence fees. We drove away -- happy that our trips there, since 1992, were now at a conclusion. I noticed the two synagogues on campus -- one a Reform, and the other Orthodox. I imagine they'll close soon or be converted to churches. Such are the demographic changes in that corner of Southwest Broward. After fees and commissions, we netted about $141K. So for a 16 year investment, it was pretty crappy. My know it all suegra told me, after she got her way "David -- you'll THANK me someday. You vill make a big killing ven you sell." Yeah, right. I'm just happy we didn't take a major loss on the deal. On the other hand, if I invested $120K in Apple stock 16 years ago... So we are no longer Broward County property owners. I never wanted to be, but having in laws who survived the Holocaust has a very high price. I got a call from my banker friend Carole, to confirm the money was in my account. Great news, she said. Her bank was having a promotion -- super high interest was being paid on new CDs above $100K. They were paying 1.2%!!!! Wow -- how times have changed. I remember my Dad getting 18% on his savings when he retired in 1979. The high rates kept my Mom in high cotton for 30 years after Dad died. No more. Now getting just above a point is a "special promotion." Still -- I'm just glad it's over. As I age, I want to own less and less of things that require work -- like condos. And now we're down to one house and one condo in Palmetto Bay -- which we'll keep until the old woman leaves it -- either to be permanently with her husband, in the cemetery West of Dadeland, or to a nursing home. So it's adios to Century Village. May it be a place of happiness for the new, more ethnic version of happy retirees, looking for early bird specials. Instead of corned beef sandwiches, it'll be rice and beans...Time marches on.

The Skin I'm In

Although I'm overweight and out of shape, one are of health that always seemed to me a no brainer about prevention is the skin. I've known a few people who've died of skin cancer, including one young woman from collage, and prevention is so easy. Beginning in the early years of my legal career, I saw a fellow named Joe, who shared space with my brother in law Dennis in South Palm Beach County. Joe is a great guy, and he'd check me, and once actually did surgery to remove a pre cancerous lesion from my lower belly. Joe isn't exactly, well, surgeon to Beverly Hills, and he left a scar that looked like I was attacked in a knife fight. In fact, Dr. Dave, my internist at the time, saw it and really didn't believe it was a small mole removal. I didn't care, though -- I didn't plan on trying out for the Chippendales. But after awhile, the schlep for exams grew too ponderous, and I found a dermatologist, Judy, close to home. The problem was Judy became a hot shot in the Botox world, and getting in to see her was tough. So I switched to another woman, this one a gorgeous Orthodox Jew Wifey had seen, but I never saw her. I was a patient for 2 years, and only got as far as her PA. So I gave up on her, too. A friend at Baptist Hospital suggested an old school guy I'll call Mike, since that's his name. He was from Philly -- same high school as my partner Paul, and he was a decidedly unglamorous dude -- skin checks, the rare biopsy, and mole removals for like $100 per. I had the Ds see him, but there was a problem. D2, a stickler for health, noticed his skin cancer exams were very cursory. She and D1 and Wifey had found a young doc I nicknamed Dr. McDreamy -- the son of a prominent neurosurgeon in town. All three of my women had huge crushes on this boyish, charming fellow. But importantly, D2 urged me to switch to him, as his exams were far more detailed and thorough, and plus, as D2 warned, Dr. Mike was "old as fuh" (nearing 70) and just not that careful any more. I scoffed, and dutifully went for my 6 month visits. Dr. Mike and I compared notes on kids, and long term marriages, and trips. I asked him about a growth on my nose, which never seemed to heal. He said not to worry. But it really never healed, and finally I decided to see Dr. McDreamy. Well, I saw right away why my women would leave me and their fiance and boyfriend for him. I may be seen as a usually nice guy -- this fellow was charming beyond belief. And, despite going to Princeton and Northwestern Med, he was a HUGE Canes fan -- we chatted for 15 minutes about the upcoming season. His best friend from Ransom High and he traveled to an away game each year -- just like my friends and I do. I was hooked. He agreed that the nose thing was nothing, but saw a few spots on the left side of my forehead, and took biopsies. Sure enough, he called a week later, using his first name (I momentarily thought he was a sales guy before realizing who he was) to tell me two of the spots were early basal cell cancers. Not too much to worry he said, these almost never spread and become fatal -- but they do grow, and having to remove them leaves some nasty disfigurement. He prescribed Mohs surgery, which removes the thinnest possible amount of skin, while getting the bad stuff out. He didn't do it, but referred me to a woman named Alysa who does. I had met her socially through my friend Pat a few years ago -- most impressive young surgeon. Her office called right away, and in a few hours I go under her very small scalpel. So the Ds were exactly right! You really do have to fine the right dermatologist -- and as D1 noted, a young, aggressive one. Dr. Mike is nearing retirement. After literally tens of thousands of exams -- can you really be as thorough as a guy in his late 30s? In the case of my derms, no. I asked Dr. McDreamy if my lesions were probably detectable 4 months before, when I had my last exam. He laughed and said "David -- we're both huge football fans. What's the point of Monday morning quarterbacking?" As I said, a charming and very sharp young fellow. So I plan to really pay more attention to the younger and smarter. We geezers can teach, and probably ought to get the hell out of the way. But Dr. Mike DID always urge sunscreen, a suggestion I ignored. Maybe after this am's slicing, I'll start following that advice.

The Dilettante Innkeeper

There are so many jobs I'd rather have than lawyer, but I'm too lazy to actually embrace them wholeheartedly. At the top of the list is innkeeper. I really enjoy hosting people, making sure they're comfortable and happy, and sharing their company for awhile, and then sending them off with nice memories. But I really DON'T wish to do it full time. This past weekend, Villa Wifey had two separate parties. My long ago English professor Ross was in town from Dallas/St. Louis, and we invited him to stay. Ross grew up in Miami, and then was off to Princeton and Virginia. After a stint at Yale, he and his wife Pam, also a Miamian, returned home. I met him and took two classes where he instilled in me an appreciation and love of Hardy, Lawrence, and Blake (but not the Bronte sisters). Ross became a Dean at the U, and then was recruited to Dallas to become Provost at SMU. Provost is Dean of all Deans, and he and Pam and their two, by then college aged kids, enjoyed a great life. Alas, Pam died young, or a rare cancer, and Ross ended up marrying again, to Heather, who was half of a couple friend Ross and Pam shared. They now have a little girl, who is close in age to Ross's three grandkids. Anyway, Pam's mother died, at 98, and Ross was here for the memorial service. I invited him to stay, so we could catch up and share tales of life. He noted that when we met, he was a grown up of 31, while I was a kid of 19. Somehow now we're both geezers. Wifey's BFF Edna also checked in -- here to see her parents at the nursing home for the final time before we all leave on a birthday cruise in October. Friday night, Edna, Ross, Wifey and I went out to the Gables, Ross's old 'hood. We had a great meal together, and then walked over to Books and Books, for some wine and music and book browsing. Ross has written 30 books, mostly about Modern British Lit, and Literary Criticism. Edna, Wifey, and I have written a combined ZERO books, so we felt it pretty cool to be in a bookstore with a prolific author. Saturday Ross went to be with his kids and grandkids as they honored the departed grandma, and I headed off to a fine tailgate for the Canes. I typically drink a lot, but this time my date and designated driver was someone named Patrick. At the risk of being politically incorrect, generally guys named Patrick aren't the best designated drivers, and so I went moderate on the Absolut. Still, we had a fine time, and the Canes are now 2-0. Edna checked out of our inn and headed home to Atlanta. Sunday am, Ross and I met Norman and 2/3 of his son army. Norman and Ross are both Gables High alum, and compared notes of their experiences graduating in the 60s and 70s. They had several people in common. And Norman's S2, Michael, was off to return to his graduate studies in Israel, and so he and Ross bandied about some terms like "theory" while Norman and I wondered what the hell they were talking about. Benji, Norman's S3, seemed to get it -- he has one Bachelor's degree and is working on a second. I sent Ross off with the Sunday Herald, and directions to FLL. It was lovely stay. Wifey has no fantasy about being an innkeeper. Whenever we would travel, and visit lovely properties, I'd gaze at them, and say maybe someday we'd buy a B and B. Wifey would reply: "I don't even want to cook or clean for my own family -- you think I'd do it for strangers?" A woman's gotta know her limitations, Clint Eastwood would say... So the past few months, I got to flirt with being an innkeeper, and that's enough. I have no doubt that if I did it full time, I would rapidly become Basil Fawlty. But in small dosages, as one of Wifey's friend malaprops, it's a nice gig.

A Banner Weekend

When you can surround yourself most of the time we people you truly enjoy, well, I don't know what's better than that. This weekend has been a banner example. Saturday, Wifey agreed to come to her rare Canes game. I explained the seats now have a canopy over them, and so we fired up the little girlie-sized Caddy, and headed to the stadium. We visited our neighbors Hilit and Alex, who tailgate in style, with a custom portable U bar. And then we headed inside the stadium, to the Club level, where Eric and Dana had a table, and we toasted with shots of vodka. Our old friend Pete came by, at first refusing alcohol, until I guilted him into it by saying we were toasting our kids. I always was the kid who got others in fun trouble, and nothing's changed. Another college friend Liz joined us, too, and we saw Paul, and my friend Steve the cop, working there. He had it best -- he was getting paid over $50 per hour to watch our Canes. The team played terrifically. The opponent was weak, but still, our boys were as well coached and fired up as I've seen in a long while. Our fellow alum Mark Richt is now in charge, and we're excited about great things. Wifey drove home, given the lingering effects of the vodka, and I texted D2 -- in Atlanta with her own college friends -- and said we were headed to Denny's. During the years D2 came with me to Canes games, we had a ritual of stopping at Denny's late -- eating a post game breakfast, often near midnight. She texted back, but then I admitted her mom and I were headed for frozen yogurt, instead of Denny's, Sunday I followed Dylan's observation that ya gotta serve somebody. Dylan said it may be the Devil or it may be the Lord. In my case -- it was something else -- my mother in law. After a wonderful breakfast with my man Norman, and 2/3 of his spectacular army of sons, I fetched the old suegra. But before, I learned the news that Michael isn't headed back to Israel for another week -- so we'd tailgate together next Saturday. I told him and Benji that there WOULD be vodka shots. They agreed -- wise young men. Anyway, the old woman peppered me with questions as I drove, forgetting that she was deaf, and if I answered her using hand signals, we'd end up in a Palmetto Bay canal. Whatever. As I said, it was service. Wifey put her to work wrapping the gifts she bought for Paul's 1 year old granddaughter, and after a few hours, I returned the suega to her lovely condo, a place she calls her "cage." Then Wifey and I headed to MIA to fetch D1 and her man Joey, back from a great trip to Spain and London. They were tired but happy, and we left them in Midtown with the spoiled spaniel -- still keeping D2's spoiled spaniel and the strange rescue dog at home with us. From there, it was a quick trip across the causeway to the ancestral land of my people -- Miami Beach. Paul's daughter in law Danielle's parents threw a hell of a one year old birthday party. We celebrated with their wonderful close circle -- we're privileged to be included. The house is on the Bay, and spectacular. Danielle's Dad Bob bought it years ago, and has been modifying and adding to it for years. Being there is like being in a party scene from Miami Vice, except with dentists and lawyers instead of drug kingpins... Today I think Wifey and I will hang around the house and catch up on the second season of Narcos -- a show we both like. Although actual South Americans like the Ds boyfriends find it unwatchable, because the characters' accents are all wrong, Wifey and I don't speak Spanish, so we can't tell. Apparently, for example, Pablo Escobar is played by a Brazilian actor, and has a funny accent -- sort of like if Tony Soprano was played by Andy Griffith. Still, we like the show. D2 is due back to NYC tonight, weather permitting. I look forward to resuming a new ritual we have that's replaced the post game Denny's -- we talk most days during her morning walking commute to work. I feel like I get to live in Manhattan without the actual noise or smell. It's the only way to do it. So football is back, and I'm surrounded by those I love to be around. Pretty fine Labor Day, I'd say...

Legal Eagle

One of the reasons Paul and I were so successful in our careers is due to the incompetence and ineptitude of many of our opponents. Sometimes the lawyers on the other side were afraid of us. Often they were just clueless about the proper way to handle a case. My skills were put to use last week, for no monetary gain or glory, other than having a great tale to share around the upcoming Canes games tailgate parties... It involves Dr. Barry. He was subpoenaed to appear at a hearing last Thursday, on a matter he had zero to do with, and of which he knew nothing. As best I can tell, he was brought into this brouhaha (one of Wifey's favorite words) because a colleague in the adult hospital refused to testify in "Mental Health Court" about a patient who was pregnant and wanted to terminate, and also get her tubes ties. I must confess I didn't even know there WAS such a court. I learned its a division of the Probate Court, and has hearings in some meeting room near Jackson Memorial. The Magistrate Judge has had his position since 1979. More about him in a moment... I told Barry he had a staff of attorneys at his beck and call, who would represent him and get him quickly and effortlessly extricated from this mess. Ha. As if. The in house staff, which has, I think, about 8 lawyers and the same number of paralegals, assigned a paralegal to the job, and she told Barry he needed to be in Court Thursday am. Barry explained he was leaving for a conference in Orlando -- could it be rescheduled. The paralegal emailed that "she told the court he wasn't coming." Now my antennae went up. You can't just blow off a subpoena -- Barry knows this. He'd no more ignore one than I would ignore blood pouring out of an open cut. So I had Barry email that he assumed she had gotten him released. Hearing nothing, he left on his trip. And then the fun started. Apparently, the hearing went on, resulting in a very angry judge, and even more pissed off assistant public defender -- who represented the poor insane pregnant woman. I think an order to show cause was issued. No big deal -- it's just the last step before Barry could have been held in contempt and possibly arrested. I emailed and called the General Counsel's office no less than 5 times. They ignored me like I was telling them UM needed to shut down because of Zika mosquitoes. In my 30 years as a lawyer, the only time I've been totally ingnored by other counsel was when they were sleazebags operating out of store fronts. Now I have a basis of comparison for my alma mater's in house law firm. So I took matters into my own hands. I called the Magistrate Judge. He was a great guy -- sort of confused why Barry was being hauled into his court -- and wondering why his employer's legal team didn't handle this. I told him as a UM alum, I was embarrassed. He said that as a fellow UM alum, he was, too. He gave me the name of the PD who asked for the subpoena. I then called my friend Joel, who used to work at the PD office, and gave the name. He knew him. I called -- after the required making fun of our mutual friend Joel, I asked him about the case. It wasn't his, but he promised to track it down for me. 20 minutes later, the mini mystery of why the Judge gave me his name was solved -- the case belonged to his WIFE, who has the same last name. I spoke to her. She was a firebrand --passionate, Liberal, really believes in doing good for the most needy. After I let her vent about what assholes the U's lawyers were, she listened to me and believed I was telling the truth -- Barry was the wrong guy. She agreed to release him from his subpoena. There was relief in Orlando. Barry could enjoy his trip, including dropping his little boy Scott, who is 6' 4", at MIA for a return trip to College Park, MD, for his sophomore year. I finally DID receive a call, from one of the U's lawyers, who I have affectionately nicknamed. He thanked me for springing his client, which was nice, and praised my ability. But I was still annoyed that he and his staff ignored me for 2 days, so I had to vent some venom. I asked about his legal education -- it was far more prestigious than mine, and he was law review at his prestigious school. I asked why I, Mr. Bottom Half of the Class at the U, was able to get this done, and all the U's horses (like the paralegal) and all the king's men, could not. He chuckled. The reason, of course, is that I've always practiced in the real world, where I don't get paid if I don't deliver. Corporate counsel, particularly those at politically correct-ruled places, get away with being totally worthless. To get fired, they have to call someone a name, or something, or maybe, as Louisiana Governer Edwards once said about what he'd need to do to lose an election, sleep with a live boy or a dead girl... I don't think even that applies anymore... Anyway, I shouldn't really complain. As I mentioned, the other sides' idiocy has been a boon to my firm's finances. And it's a great feeling to keep my brother out of jail.

A Refresher Lesson on Friendship

My friend Rob, divorced and now living with his failing mother up in Martin County, continually posts weird, inspirational quotes on FaceBook. Our mutual friend Mike noted this, and asked if I thought Rob had lost his mind. Being kind and sensitive guys, we both laughed heartily at that. Rob just posted something about friendship -- how a true friend is someone there for you when you're down. This is so wrong, and hits my eye like an off tune song hits my ear. I've learned about three valuable lessons from my Torah scholar rabbi friend Yossi. I figure that's not bad for a 22 year friendship. The most enduring thing he taught is the Torah's view of friendship. Most people define a friend like Rob's cliched posts -- be there when someone is down. But I've learned that's not a friend -- that's simply any decent person. The Rabbi explained that when you visit someone in the hospital, there's an element of "glad it's not me sitting there." We feel empathy and sympathy, if we're at all decent people, but it's pretty easy to "be there for someone" when you're doing great yourself. No -- the true measure of friendship is the ability to truly celebrate a friend's success. That shows the true love -- sort of the way we all want our children to succeed in life more than we have. I score high on this scale, I must say. I love it when my friends soar. I'm still waiting for one of them to hit it huge financially -- so they can take Wifey and me on a trip somewhere, or agree to always pick up the tab. But my friends have succeeded in so many other ways, and I love it. I hear the opposite all of the time -- "why did THAT bitch get that guy?" "How come HE got the promotion?" In the parlance of the modern young, those critics are "haters." As I age, I avoid the "haters." I have a friend who has taught me that envy is the most toxic emotion there is. She doesn't mind being disliked or even hated by people, but when someone comes into her life who envies her -- she discards them like sour milk. She feels that envy puts out negative vibes -- and as she ages, she avoids negative vibes. So I told Rob I hope he wins the Lotto. I would be truly thrilled for him, and only ask that he pick up the bar tabs. During the hey days of our firm, Paul and I were ALWAYS the guys who picked up the tabs. We took our friends on trips -- all expenses paid. Las Vegas, Inns in Central Florida, SF, LA, NYC. We loved doing it. With decreased revenue, those days have since passed. Wifey is there to keep me in check. When I have a few drinks, I ALWAYS still grab the check. Wifey gently reminds me it's other peoples' turn now. She's right. So I will just continue to hope for more soaring among my friends. I truly enjoy their success. And God forbid they're down, of course I'll "be there for them."

The Scent of the Past

Neuroscientists tell us that the sense of smell is our most primitive, and therefore most deeply imbedded in our brains. It's true -- sometimes I get a whiff of something, and it takes me back to childhood more vividly than any photograph, or song on the radio. One of my favorite smells was of the person I loved most in the world, my Dad. He was a "white collar worker," a salesman, and always dressed well during weekdays when he left the house. And he always wore cologne -- his one for many years was Tabac. I can smell it as I type here, where the only actual smell is that accrued by three wet dogs, now in the house following their morning pees... I must have done a long ago search for Tabac, because an ad for it from an online company just appeared on my FaceBook (tm) page. I smiled to myself. And my brain went to that memory of scent area, and Dad was here. Just like that. It also jogged another funny tale. In, I guess, about 1971, Dad planned a major trip for us. We were going to Japan, for three weeks. I was thrilled, because, as a 10 year old, I was going to get to ride the bullet train, and see first hand the location of my favorite movies -- the Godzilla series. The vacation was all planned, and then Mom got very sick. She had been taking meds for her hip pain -- we inherited a slew of orthopedic issues from Mom's side, and one afternoon she collapsed in a Rickel -- sort of a proto Home Depot. She was rushed to a hospital near my sister's house in Suffolk County, and was diagnosed with a perforated stomach ulcer. She nearly died, but the surgeons saved her life. Still, she had a long recovery, and Dad decided to cancel the trip. Instead, he booked us on our first cruise -- from NYC to the Bahamas on the Oceanic, the ship my sister and brother in law had taken for their honeymoon. Dad went all out -- he got us a suite, on the Sun Deck. There were only 8 on the ship. And we went off to the Bahamas. In Nassau, which I thought was hilarious, since I already lived in Nassau County, we went to the straw market, and there was a cologne shop. They had Tabac -- at a fraction of the US cost. Dad bought a whole case -- he was thrilled. And then when we returned to Long Island, he opened the case, and tried a bottle. It was water. He laughed -- good for the Bahamians, he said -- got the better of him. I thought of that each time I visited the Bahamas -- probably nearly 20 times over the years, for both fun and business. Maybe I'll buy a bottle of Tabac, just for the hell of it. The only things I have that I truly care about are Dad's -- his US Army photos, some cufflinks, his dog tags. I recently found a ski cap with the logo of Toscany on it -- his old company -- long since out of business. The scent of the past is still very strong.