So my old friend Kenny invited Wifey and me to join him and his wife Joelle at Kendall's World of Beer, for Trivia Night. It's in Downtown Dadeland, a place close by we rarely visit, and truly ought to. Even on a Tuesday night, plenty of people were out and about.
World of Beer serves, you guessed it, only beer, but you can order from surrounding restaurants and they deliver to you. For us, it was Lime Mexican. My friends Mike and John ended up joining us, and Kenny's boy Adam was home from his small Minnesota college, whose name I never recall. I figured that with this group, NONE of the young uns had a chance against us at trivia. But then...
Turned out the themes were Disney and modern music. I figured that Adam, 20, could help us with the music thing, but the kid only likes 80s rock and roll. In fact, he was a hindrance -- one song I thought was by Usher was -- Adam picked Maclamore, and we lost the question. It hardly mattered, though -- we fared embarrassingly poorly anyway. But we DID drink beer, and ate Mexican, and so it was still a fun night.
But the event triggered a traumatic memory for me -- from back in 1985. The game Trivial Pursuit was all the rage, and UM had a university-wide contest. Each of the different colleges and schools had teams, and the winners met for the championship.
Mike, Jeff, our friend Cheryl, and I put together a law school team, and we breezed though the preliminaries -- quickly being crowned law school champs. We went on to the finals, where we also easily vanquished the competition. Cheryl knew movies, I knew literature, Mike knew history, and Jeff knew current events. We ALL knew sports well.
The prize was actually something we coveted -- all expense paid trip to Key West for all the winners. We focused. We were going to win.
I believe it came down to us and the Engineering School nerds. We filled all our slots, and had one final answer -- for the championship. The question was which country has the greatest per capita number of sheep.
I recalled a neighbor from Long Island -- she had visited a cousin in New Zealand, and returned home talking about sheep -- sheep EVERYWHERE. So I said it was New Zealand. Mike thought it might be Australia -- and it was a far bigger country. We went back and forth, and finally the group think decided to go with my first impulse -- New Zealand was out answer. NO! Australia was correct!
The engineers answered their question and won. They got to take their T squares and calculators to Key West. We had lost -- spectacularly.
For my next birthday, everyone bought me sheep related gifts. Stuffed sheep. Recipes for cooking mutton. There was even a satirical high school yearbook by Don Novello called "The Blade,"which featured various pictures of sheep in place of the high school seniors.
Last night's loss didn't sting as much. We just lost out on a $30 gift certificate for the beer.
We decided we're going back, on a night with REAL trivia. Like the tidbit I heard on the way over: the classic swing song Pennsylvania 6-5000 is about a phone number, and it's the longest in service number in the US. If you dial 212 -736-5000 you will get the Hotel Pennsylvania in NYC. Now THAT is cool trivia...
I bet the hipsters who knew Salt N Pepa, and Beyoncé didn't know that...
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Tuesday, November 29, 2016
Adios Castro El Monstro
So I woke up at 4 am Friday morning, and checked the news, and saw that the old bastard finally died. I smiled.
Unless you live in Miami, and have close Cuban friends, Castro is just a distant idea of a revolutionary -- I used to think of him as portrayed by Woody Allen in "Bananas." But in truth, he was an awful tyrant.
My friend Pete was my first close Cuban friend. We met as freshmen in 1979. I learned from him about his uncles who had been shot for merely questioning the bearded one. Later, my buddy Jorge, during what seemed endless nights discussing the world, shared with me his family's story, which was typical of Miami Cubans: successful lives, everything taken by the government, forced to start over in Miami.
The truth is, Cuba was developing, even under the thug Batista. And Castro came in and promised a bright future. But he set Cuba back decades -- the place now is a caricature -- poverty everywhere, many trained doctors but no money for supplies, selling to tourists to get by.
When I hear my ultra lib friends tout Castro, and his "literacy rates" and "racial equality," all I can think of is then why has 15% of the population fled?
In the 90s, we had "balseros," of those who fled in rafts. My secretary and friend Norma met one -- Raul. He had been a naval architect in Cuba, so the joke went that everyone wanted on HIS raft. He made it here, and within a short time, started his own business -- which thrives today. It employs many -- including my dear friend Mirta, who is the office manager. Norma has been able to live her dream -- retiring young, and being a loving and full time grandmother to her 2 beautiful grandsons.
I joke that I owe Castro thanks -- had he not taken over, I would have missed out on friendships that have greatly enriched my life. Miami would be a fraction of what it is -- more like Central Florida -- without the vibrancy, culture, and know how the Cubans brought.
But the main thing is the old bastard if gone, finally. I texted Jorge -- he's blessed that his parents, though elderly, lived to see the monster die. There have been many of celebrations in Miami already -- apparently a huge one is in the works tomorrow.
I had Wifey believing that Gloria Estefan celebrated by running topless over the bridge to Star Island, where she lives. "Well that's not classy," said Wifey, before I admitted I made that up.
I still have a hope of visiting Cuba -- and in honor of my friends, promised I wouldn't until Castro died. So maybe now, sooner than later, I'll take the 35 minute flight from MIA to Havana, buy myself a new guayabara and white Panama hat, and stroll into La Floridita and order a Cuba Libre. I want to see the Hemingway stuff -- apparently they preserved his house in great condition.
At least now, with the old witch dead, I can go...
Unless you live in Miami, and have close Cuban friends, Castro is just a distant idea of a revolutionary -- I used to think of him as portrayed by Woody Allen in "Bananas." But in truth, he was an awful tyrant.
My friend Pete was my first close Cuban friend. We met as freshmen in 1979. I learned from him about his uncles who had been shot for merely questioning the bearded one. Later, my buddy Jorge, during what seemed endless nights discussing the world, shared with me his family's story, which was typical of Miami Cubans: successful lives, everything taken by the government, forced to start over in Miami.
The truth is, Cuba was developing, even under the thug Batista. And Castro came in and promised a bright future. But he set Cuba back decades -- the place now is a caricature -- poverty everywhere, many trained doctors but no money for supplies, selling to tourists to get by.
When I hear my ultra lib friends tout Castro, and his "literacy rates" and "racial equality," all I can think of is then why has 15% of the population fled?
In the 90s, we had "balseros," of those who fled in rafts. My secretary and friend Norma met one -- Raul. He had been a naval architect in Cuba, so the joke went that everyone wanted on HIS raft. He made it here, and within a short time, started his own business -- which thrives today. It employs many -- including my dear friend Mirta, who is the office manager. Norma has been able to live her dream -- retiring young, and being a loving and full time grandmother to her 2 beautiful grandsons.
I joke that I owe Castro thanks -- had he not taken over, I would have missed out on friendships that have greatly enriched my life. Miami would be a fraction of what it is -- more like Central Florida -- without the vibrancy, culture, and know how the Cubans brought.
But the main thing is the old bastard if gone, finally. I texted Jorge -- he's blessed that his parents, though elderly, lived to see the monster die. There have been many of celebrations in Miami already -- apparently a huge one is in the works tomorrow.
I had Wifey believing that Gloria Estefan celebrated by running topless over the bridge to Star Island, where she lives. "Well that's not classy," said Wifey, before I admitted I made that up.
I still have a hope of visiting Cuba -- and in honor of my friends, promised I wouldn't until Castro died. So maybe now, sooner than later, I'll take the 35 minute flight from MIA to Havana, buy myself a new guayabara and white Panama hat, and stroll into La Floridita and order a Cuba Libre. I want to see the Hemingway stuff -- apparently they preserved his house in great condition.
At least now, with the old witch dead, I can go...
Sunday, November 27, 2016
D1 at 28
So our awesome T Day weekend draws nearly to a close -- but not just yet! Today is D1's 28th birthday, so we have one more bit of celebration to do.
Yesterday I skipped the final Canes game of the year, at D2's request. Actually, she didn't ask me to opt out, but chose not to go herself, and so I gave my sister of another mister Mirta the tickets. Instead, the Ds, Wifey, and I went to Missy's house, for her annual post T Day kids get together.
Missy is the mom of two close friends, of the Ds, Nicole and Scott, and each year she hosts a brunch with all of Nicole and Scott's closest friends. The friends used to come while on vacation from college, and now the young adults are in actual careers. This year, Missy invited Wifey and me as well, and so we caught up with old friends and their kids.
D1's college roomie Hillary's parents were there, though Hillary was with her new husband and in laws up north. Marty and I reminisced about it was just yesterday we were moving the girls into the sorority house, and now Hillary is married and living in Chicago, and D1 has started her own successful business, and will be married soon.
The kids are, fortunately, a collection of winners. There were young lawyers, and accountants, and one young fellow, a Stanford grad, is working for Tesla, for heaven's sake! He regaled us of tales of that company, and how they do things. They will take over the world, it is clear...
After the party, we went for Dad and Mom/daughter manis and pedis. For me, just the pedi -- I'm not yet metro enough for the mani. We sat in the massage chairs and laughed, and I got to watch some of the Ohio State/Michigan game, while the skillful Vietnamese lady made my "gross old man feet" look positively lovely...
From there, we headed back home, and had an impromptu neighbor gathering. Carrie had her family in from NY, and she came by with her enormous dog Cane, who spends his days yearning for play dates with our strange rescue. As the dogs ran around, we chatted with Carrie's parents, who are originally Bronx and now VERY Long Island...D2 loved their accents, of course.
D1 left, for a late night to be -- a Latin Jewish wedding between, I think, an Argentine and Costa Rican. D2 and Wifey and I watched TV -- the Canes won handily, making me, a happy Dad, even happier...
And today D1 is 28. We plan to meet for lunch on the way to drop her sister at MIA. These nearly three decades have raced past -- I clearly recall celebrating her first birthday, in our tiny house in Kendall, with a Little Mermaid cake, and much younger versions of most of our current friends...
As I told her today, the years after have been her friend -- giving her an amazing life, with only, Big Man willing, the best to come.
Wifey and I were talking on Friday, as we were on our way to fetch D2 from her sister's apartment following a shabbat dinner...why T Day is my favorite holiday. First, of course, it's because of the family feasting together, and thanking the Big Man for our manifold blessings. But then it occurred to me that I also love it, because it's a time when the Ds would visit, from college, and now, in D2's case, from her NYC job, and when I dropped them off at MIA, it was with the knowledge that the NEXT visit was less than a month away.
And so it is with D2 -- she already has her tickets to return home 12/24 -- Wifey's Birthday Eve. So it puts a happier shine on the usual sadness of saying goodbye...
And in the mean time, Happy 28, D1. May you continue to soar -- even higher.
Yesterday I skipped the final Canes game of the year, at D2's request. Actually, she didn't ask me to opt out, but chose not to go herself, and so I gave my sister of another mister Mirta the tickets. Instead, the Ds, Wifey, and I went to Missy's house, for her annual post T Day kids get together.
Missy is the mom of two close friends, of the Ds, Nicole and Scott, and each year she hosts a brunch with all of Nicole and Scott's closest friends. The friends used to come while on vacation from college, and now the young adults are in actual careers. This year, Missy invited Wifey and me as well, and so we caught up with old friends and their kids.
D1's college roomie Hillary's parents were there, though Hillary was with her new husband and in laws up north. Marty and I reminisced about it was just yesterday we were moving the girls into the sorority house, and now Hillary is married and living in Chicago, and D1 has started her own successful business, and will be married soon.
The kids are, fortunately, a collection of winners. There were young lawyers, and accountants, and one young fellow, a Stanford grad, is working for Tesla, for heaven's sake! He regaled us of tales of that company, and how they do things. They will take over the world, it is clear...
After the party, we went for Dad and Mom/daughter manis and pedis. For me, just the pedi -- I'm not yet metro enough for the mani. We sat in the massage chairs and laughed, and I got to watch some of the Ohio State/Michigan game, while the skillful Vietnamese lady made my "gross old man feet" look positively lovely...
From there, we headed back home, and had an impromptu neighbor gathering. Carrie had her family in from NY, and she came by with her enormous dog Cane, who spends his days yearning for play dates with our strange rescue. As the dogs ran around, we chatted with Carrie's parents, who are originally Bronx and now VERY Long Island...D2 loved their accents, of course.
D1 left, for a late night to be -- a Latin Jewish wedding between, I think, an Argentine and Costa Rican. D2 and Wifey and I watched TV -- the Canes won handily, making me, a happy Dad, even happier...
And today D1 is 28. We plan to meet for lunch on the way to drop her sister at MIA. These nearly three decades have raced past -- I clearly recall celebrating her first birthday, in our tiny house in Kendall, with a Little Mermaid cake, and much younger versions of most of our current friends...
As I told her today, the years after have been her friend -- giving her an amazing life, with only, Big Man willing, the best to come.
Wifey and I were talking on Friday, as we were on our way to fetch D2 from her sister's apartment following a shabbat dinner...why T Day is my favorite holiday. First, of course, it's because of the family feasting together, and thanking the Big Man for our manifold blessings. But then it occurred to me that I also love it, because it's a time when the Ds would visit, from college, and now, in D2's case, from her NYC job, and when I dropped them off at MIA, it was with the knowledge that the NEXT visit was less than a month away.
And so it is with D2 -- she already has her tickets to return home 12/24 -- Wifey's Birthday Eve. So it puts a happier shine on the usual sadness of saying goodbye...
And in the mean time, Happy 28, D1. May you continue to soar -- even higher.
Friday, November 25, 2016
Go On Downtown, Baby, And Find Somebody to Love
So yesterday we had a banner T Day, which actually began on Wednesday. Our friend Elizabeth didn't go over the river and through the woods, but she DID fight over 6 hours worth of traffic to drive to the 305 from Orlando -- here for her usual T Day visit. Wifey was out, so I greeted her with ice water and a lovely afternoon breeze -- we sat outside, and caught up nicely on our lives. She left early T Day for her sister's Grove Isle T Day. It was lovely to see her.
At midnight, I got the text from D2 -- American Airlines had done its job well, and she and long time friend Ben were on the tarmac at MIA. I leisurely planned my pick -- like the famous Seinfeld episode, I pride myself on efficient and perfect pickups at MIA -- and I was OFF. Although the nasty LGA gate agent snatched D2's carry on and checked it, the bag was waiting for D2 and Ben, and they were ready for pickup maybe 20 minutes after landing. I sped up Wifey's SUV and minimized their wait.
It was so great to get her, and Ben. They've been buddies since 6th grade, and Ben now teaches special ed in the Bronx. We talked on the way home about how different my family's original US home is now from 100 years ago, when my parents met before together attending James Monroe High. Ben told me it's not even a regular high school anymore...
D2 savored her dog reunion, and then went to sleep. The next am Wifey, D2, Elizabeth and I watched the Macy's Parade, and talked about D2's employment with, of course, Macy's. Had D2 stayed in the City, she could have been a balloon holder. She preferred to be with us. The time crept up, and we scrambled to get ready. I fetched ancient suegra, and was pleasantly surprised: she's now into week 3 of the mood stabilizer Selexa, and the drug works! The old woman was calm, and not at all difficult and obnoxious. Better aging through chemistry!
We drove to Christy's for our 12:30 reservation, and met D1, her fiance Joey, Joey's Mom Jacqui, and D2's man Jonathan and his parents and sister. We toasted, and feasted. The two Venezuelan men had steak -- the rest of us traditional turkey. I convinced Lizbeth, Jonathan's Mom, to have a glass of wine, and she giggled a lot. It was an awesome T Day meal.
Many friends go on and on about how T Day "must be at home." I call BS. The no fuss and muss leaves everyone at the restaurant calm and happy -- except the cooks and staff, and they get PAID for the tsuris...I tipped our waiter Lester very well, and we left thankful, full, and happy.
D1 drove home D2 -- she's staying with us to catch up on sister time.
The first order of business, post meal, was naps. The Ds retreated to D2's room, I put on jazz in the library and grabbed a quality hour on the couch there, and Wifey watched old movies with the old woman. My suegra does NOT nap. She's nearly 92 and goes all day with absurd energy.
Wifey drove her home, and then Wifey , the Ds and I reconvened. D1's birthday is Sunday, and she had a request: family movie together at the Falls. D1 is a huge Harry Potter fan, and there's a new JK Rowling film out -- something about Special creatures. D2 smirked, and refused, and then we bought tickets. The 4 of us went to a very empty mall, and watched a very entertaining movie -- amazing special effects, and watchable tale.
The D2 went to bed early, and Wifey retired to her outside, night time gardening. The Ds find this hilarious -- I'm used to it, along with Wifey's growing eccentricities...makes life interesting as we age.
Both my awesome girls were home, peacefully sleeping, like they did for so many years as little girls.
I am truly one very lucky and thankful Daddy in the USA.
At midnight, I got the text from D2 -- American Airlines had done its job well, and she and long time friend Ben were on the tarmac at MIA. I leisurely planned my pick -- like the famous Seinfeld episode, I pride myself on efficient and perfect pickups at MIA -- and I was OFF. Although the nasty LGA gate agent snatched D2's carry on and checked it, the bag was waiting for D2 and Ben, and they were ready for pickup maybe 20 minutes after landing. I sped up Wifey's SUV and minimized their wait.
It was so great to get her, and Ben. They've been buddies since 6th grade, and Ben now teaches special ed in the Bronx. We talked on the way home about how different my family's original US home is now from 100 years ago, when my parents met before together attending James Monroe High. Ben told me it's not even a regular high school anymore...
D2 savored her dog reunion, and then went to sleep. The next am Wifey, D2, Elizabeth and I watched the Macy's Parade, and talked about D2's employment with, of course, Macy's. Had D2 stayed in the City, she could have been a balloon holder. She preferred to be with us. The time crept up, and we scrambled to get ready. I fetched ancient suegra, and was pleasantly surprised: she's now into week 3 of the mood stabilizer Selexa, and the drug works! The old woman was calm, and not at all difficult and obnoxious. Better aging through chemistry!
We drove to Christy's for our 12:30 reservation, and met D1, her fiance Joey, Joey's Mom Jacqui, and D2's man Jonathan and his parents and sister. We toasted, and feasted. The two Venezuelan men had steak -- the rest of us traditional turkey. I convinced Lizbeth, Jonathan's Mom, to have a glass of wine, and she giggled a lot. It was an awesome T Day meal.
Many friends go on and on about how T Day "must be at home." I call BS. The no fuss and muss leaves everyone at the restaurant calm and happy -- except the cooks and staff, and they get PAID for the tsuris...I tipped our waiter Lester very well, and we left thankful, full, and happy.
D1 drove home D2 -- she's staying with us to catch up on sister time.
The first order of business, post meal, was naps. The Ds retreated to D2's room, I put on jazz in the library and grabbed a quality hour on the couch there, and Wifey watched old movies with the old woman. My suegra does NOT nap. She's nearly 92 and goes all day with absurd energy.
Wifey drove her home, and then Wifey , the Ds and I reconvened. D1's birthday is Sunday, and she had a request: family movie together at the Falls. D1 is a huge Harry Potter fan, and there's a new JK Rowling film out -- something about Special creatures. D2 smirked, and refused, and then we bought tickets. The 4 of us went to a very empty mall, and watched a very entertaining movie -- amazing special effects, and watchable tale.
The D2 went to bed early, and Wifey retired to her outside, night time gardening. The Ds find this hilarious -- I'm used to it, along with Wifey's growing eccentricities...makes life interesting as we age.
Both my awesome girls were home, peacefully sleeping, like they did for so many years as little girls.
I am truly one very lucky and thankful Daddy in the USA.
Monday, November 21, 2016
Things Own Us
So Thursday was busy. I went to an all afternoon meeting at the U, where I was nicely humbled by realizing I was by far the poorest member of the committee. I truly messed up -- the best way, by far, to be wealthy, is to be born to a very rich family. From there, I went home and jumped into Dr. Dave's car, where, along with his retired county attorney friend Ron and his wife, we went to an event at the Miami Book Fair.
We had a cocktail reception for Jefffrey Toobin at the Miami Dade College Culinary School restaurant -- a place I definitely plan to return to. After 4 glasses of a lovely malbec, we walked to the lecture, which is on Toobin's new book about Patty Hearst, and how that entire affair had a profound effect on the US political situation for years to come. After a spirited drive home, where Ron shared with me which plaintiffs' lawyers he found to be the biggest jerks, over his 40 year career (we share one in common -- a guy I'll call Hector, since that's his name), I fetched Wifey, and we made a late night visit to a funeral vigil.
My sister of another mister Mirta's brother Felix died, at 53. His family gathered around, to spend the final evening, before his burial. It was, of course, extremely sad.
I picked up a bad bug, and knew it would develop, and sure enough, four days later, I'm hopefully on the recovery side of a nasty cold. I spent Saturday and Sunday drinking copious amounts of tea and watching good, at least, football. I think I'll stay away from the office today, lest I give everyone there an unwanted gift of rhinovirus for Thanksgiving...
Anyway...I read on FaceBook that our neighbor, Mark, was freaking out. He and his wife built a custom cabin in the mountains of North Carolina, and apparently the place is under imminent threat of destruction, due to the wildfires there. He asked for prayers. Well, I only speak to the Big Man about matters involving human life and health, so he didn't get no prayers from me, but I wished him luck, and reminded him that Andrew taught us that all stuff, even custom built, Restoration Hardware-decorated vacation homes, are so much crap, and as long as people are fine, don't amount to a hill of beans... I hope I didn't offend him.
My mentor Ed Perse inadvertently effected my thoughts about this. He had a gorgeous vacation house in Northern Wisconsin, which his son Mike and I visited, the first and only time I went snowmobiling. Later, we took the kids -- first D1 when she was just a year old, and later, both Ds, and Mike's baby girl Amanda. But then the house was stuck by lightning, and burned to the ground. And I remember vividly the hassles of his rebuilding the thing, especially from half a country away. He ended up selling the place a few years before he died.
Later, my boss Ed taught me the lesson again -- with his big ticket yacht and airplanes. He LOVED owning them -- he was world class fisherman, and there was nothing as gratifying to Ed as telling some defense lawyer who asked when his flight was leaving "When I call my pilot to tell him." But there, too -- hours were spent on the phone with captains and pilots, and Detroit Diesel, and FBOs (fixed base operators -- where rich guys park and service their planes).
I used to shudder, internally, as I realized that as much money as I would ever acquire, I would RENT stuff rather than own...
Regarding houses: I've developed, through observation, a fear of contractors. My good friend in Broward bought a knock down -- and decided to build her dream downsized, empty nest home. She told me it would take a year. That was 2 and a half years ago. She finally moved in recently -- and now the host of problems stemming from being her own owner/builder and using some cut rate subcontractors is rearing its head.
I was thrilled when Wifey and I closed on the condo we owned in Pembroke Pines. And as soon as my ancient mother in law departs our local condo, either to go to a nursing home or directly to the sylvan field next to the Palmetto Expressway, I plan to immediately sell.
In fact, when Wifey finally wins our little ongoing battle about selling Villa Wifey, which she of course will, I might well opt to rent.
The idea of a coming hurricane where I'm a renter appeals to me immensely. Make sure the Ds are fine, pack the dogs in the SUV, and head out of town until the thing passes -- saying the the owner of the property, essentially, "man -- sucks to be you."
On the other hand, maybe we WILL stay, and undergo a lot of the work that our nearly 20 year old house needs. The house has "great bones," as an engineer who inspected it told me, but sure needs painting, and a lot of cosmetic touch ups...
So I wish Mark well, with his NC property. The house sits a little way down the mountain, and on the top of said mountain an Evangelical owner installed three enormous crosses, which are brightly lit at night. Maybe they'll offer protection to the whole area -- even those who don't believe in that new messiah...
As for me -- well, I want to own less and less (except, of course, for tax free munis and dividend paying stocks). Those will end up in the Ds possession, where they can make their own calls about what to own.
We had a cocktail reception for Jefffrey Toobin at the Miami Dade College Culinary School restaurant -- a place I definitely plan to return to. After 4 glasses of a lovely malbec, we walked to the lecture, which is on Toobin's new book about Patty Hearst, and how that entire affair had a profound effect on the US political situation for years to come. After a spirited drive home, where Ron shared with me which plaintiffs' lawyers he found to be the biggest jerks, over his 40 year career (we share one in common -- a guy I'll call Hector, since that's his name), I fetched Wifey, and we made a late night visit to a funeral vigil.
My sister of another mister Mirta's brother Felix died, at 53. His family gathered around, to spend the final evening, before his burial. It was, of course, extremely sad.
I picked up a bad bug, and knew it would develop, and sure enough, four days later, I'm hopefully on the recovery side of a nasty cold. I spent Saturday and Sunday drinking copious amounts of tea and watching good, at least, football. I think I'll stay away from the office today, lest I give everyone there an unwanted gift of rhinovirus for Thanksgiving...
Anyway...I read on FaceBook that our neighbor, Mark, was freaking out. He and his wife built a custom cabin in the mountains of North Carolina, and apparently the place is under imminent threat of destruction, due to the wildfires there. He asked for prayers. Well, I only speak to the Big Man about matters involving human life and health, so he didn't get no prayers from me, but I wished him luck, and reminded him that Andrew taught us that all stuff, even custom built, Restoration Hardware-decorated vacation homes, are so much crap, and as long as people are fine, don't amount to a hill of beans... I hope I didn't offend him.
My mentor Ed Perse inadvertently effected my thoughts about this. He had a gorgeous vacation house in Northern Wisconsin, which his son Mike and I visited, the first and only time I went snowmobiling. Later, we took the kids -- first D1 when she was just a year old, and later, both Ds, and Mike's baby girl Amanda. But then the house was stuck by lightning, and burned to the ground. And I remember vividly the hassles of his rebuilding the thing, especially from half a country away. He ended up selling the place a few years before he died.
Later, my boss Ed taught me the lesson again -- with his big ticket yacht and airplanes. He LOVED owning them -- he was world class fisherman, and there was nothing as gratifying to Ed as telling some defense lawyer who asked when his flight was leaving "When I call my pilot to tell him." But there, too -- hours were spent on the phone with captains and pilots, and Detroit Diesel, and FBOs (fixed base operators -- where rich guys park and service their planes).
I used to shudder, internally, as I realized that as much money as I would ever acquire, I would RENT stuff rather than own...
Regarding houses: I've developed, through observation, a fear of contractors. My good friend in Broward bought a knock down -- and decided to build her dream downsized, empty nest home. She told me it would take a year. That was 2 and a half years ago. She finally moved in recently -- and now the host of problems stemming from being her own owner/builder and using some cut rate subcontractors is rearing its head.
I was thrilled when Wifey and I closed on the condo we owned in Pembroke Pines. And as soon as my ancient mother in law departs our local condo, either to go to a nursing home or directly to the sylvan field next to the Palmetto Expressway, I plan to immediately sell.
In fact, when Wifey finally wins our little ongoing battle about selling Villa Wifey, which she of course will, I might well opt to rent.
The idea of a coming hurricane where I'm a renter appeals to me immensely. Make sure the Ds are fine, pack the dogs in the SUV, and head out of town until the thing passes -- saying the the owner of the property, essentially, "man -- sucks to be you."
On the other hand, maybe we WILL stay, and undergo a lot of the work that our nearly 20 year old house needs. The house has "great bones," as an engineer who inspected it told me, but sure needs painting, and a lot of cosmetic touch ups...
So I wish Mark well, with his NC property. The house sits a little way down the mountain, and on the top of said mountain an Evangelical owner installed three enormous crosses, which are brightly lit at night. Maybe they'll offer protection to the whole area -- even those who don't believe in that new messiah...
As for me -- well, I want to own less and less (except, of course, for tax free munis and dividend paying stocks). Those will end up in the Ds possession, where they can make their own calls about what to own.
Friday, November 18, 2016
The Committee
Yesterday I attended a meeting of the one committee I haven't dropped out of: the one that advises a Dean at a college at the U. The Committee was originally formed years ago, when my friend Ross was Dean, and I was an up and coming lawyer, and he thought members of the community should have a say in whether the College did a good job. I joined, happily, and over the years, and, I guess 4 or 5 Deans since, stayed on, even as the Committee changed, a lot.
It's now composed of a group of really, really rich folks, and me. I'm pretty sure I'm by far the poorest guy there -- other members are a wife of a local hedge fund guy who gave $20M to the U, the son of a major car dealer (I have long been a customer) and the kids of two well known Miami developers. A new member joined yesterday, who I'll call Debi, since that's her name. Her husband was a founding member of probably Miami's biggest and most famous law firm.
Although we're supposed to advise, we mostly listen to all the great things going on -- we got to meet the new president of the U yesterday. The fellow is WAY smart -- and he shared his "Road Map" for the next century -- UM turns 100 in 2025. Essentially, he wants to make us the premier university in the hemisphere, with so much money that anyone who can attend academically but not financially can -- for free. Sort of like Harvard is now.
We then heard for another smart guy -- a Geography prof who studies disease spread -- he's in the news a lot lately because of Zika. And finally, we heard from a senior undergraduate doing genetics studies in autism -- I used to work in a neurophysiology lab, and I think I processed about 1/3 of what she said. I think they're growing them smarter these days...
I'll remain on the committee. It gets us inside, VIP tickets to UM stuff, like parties to meet Richard Dawkins, and Anderson Cooper. There was no financial commitment, but yesterday we voted to require each member to yearly contribute $2500 to the College. All of the big machers just chuckled a little -- it was the equivalent of asking working class folks if they'd donate 25 cents to be in a group...
My friend in academics have to endure committee meeting DAILY. I don't see how -- I've gotten spoiled as a small business owner for the past 22 years -- my partner and I see a problem, talk about it, and solve it -- and then move on. We don't commission studies to see if anyone will be offended by what we do...
Speaking of which, I just realized another anniversary of my firm passed, without recognition. We opened on November 15, 1994, so we turned 22 last Tuesday. No flowers or candy from my partner.
I'm calling a committee meeting to address the failure to recognize that date...
It's now composed of a group of really, really rich folks, and me. I'm pretty sure I'm by far the poorest guy there -- other members are a wife of a local hedge fund guy who gave $20M to the U, the son of a major car dealer (I have long been a customer) and the kids of two well known Miami developers. A new member joined yesterday, who I'll call Debi, since that's her name. Her husband was a founding member of probably Miami's biggest and most famous law firm.
Although we're supposed to advise, we mostly listen to all the great things going on -- we got to meet the new president of the U yesterday. The fellow is WAY smart -- and he shared his "Road Map" for the next century -- UM turns 100 in 2025. Essentially, he wants to make us the premier university in the hemisphere, with so much money that anyone who can attend academically but not financially can -- for free. Sort of like Harvard is now.
We then heard for another smart guy -- a Geography prof who studies disease spread -- he's in the news a lot lately because of Zika. And finally, we heard from a senior undergraduate doing genetics studies in autism -- I used to work in a neurophysiology lab, and I think I processed about 1/3 of what she said. I think they're growing them smarter these days...
I'll remain on the committee. It gets us inside, VIP tickets to UM stuff, like parties to meet Richard Dawkins, and Anderson Cooper. There was no financial commitment, but yesterday we voted to require each member to yearly contribute $2500 to the College. All of the big machers just chuckled a little -- it was the equivalent of asking working class folks if they'd donate 25 cents to be in a group...
My friend in academics have to endure committee meeting DAILY. I don't see how -- I've gotten spoiled as a small business owner for the past 22 years -- my partner and I see a problem, talk about it, and solve it -- and then move on. We don't commission studies to see if anyone will be offended by what we do...
Speaking of which, I just realized another anniversary of my firm passed, without recognition. We opened on November 15, 1994, so we turned 22 last Tuesday. No flowers or candy from my partner.
I'm calling a committee meeting to address the failure to recognize that date...
Thursday, November 17, 2016
Commuting With D2
I don't have too many regrets in life, but one is that I never lived in NYC. I grew up on Long Island, and NYC was the place your Dad worked, and your visited to see a show or have a great dinner or see a museum. Since I've been a lawyer, I've visited countless times -- depos, client meetings, etc...But I never actually lived there.
Well, sometimes you really DO get to do things through your kids. My late Mom wasn't a big Disney fan, since she was sane, but did love to visit to see it "through the kids' eyes," with grandkids in tow. And over the past year and several months, I get to feel like I truly live in NYC...
D2 lives in Murray Hill, and walks back and forth to work each day to her job in Macy's headquarters. The walk takes about 15 minutes, and since I'm always up early, is the time she calls and we catch up. I LOVE to be her company, as she shares the tales of living in the world's greatest city. She narrates her walk well -- and I give her the moral courage she needs to fight through her biggest fear -- pigeons.
She never minded them before, and in fact, as a gorgeous toddler, loved the chase them. One of our loveliest memories is a trip we took to D.C. when the Ds were 3 and 6, and they chased squirrels and pigeons around the Mall, for hours... But living in NYC, and being a bit of a germaphobe, D2 has grown to dislike these flying rats, and every once in awhile, finds herself chased by a flock of them as they take flight...and I'm there to virtually hold her hand and get her by, intact.
Of course, I bring D2 up to date on the essential tales of our life here -- especially the exploits of Bo, her beloved special needs Spaniel. She misses the little guy, and always loves to FaceTime (tm) with him. He sits next to me most of the time during D2's commutes, so he feels he's a part of the NYC experience, too, though I can't imagine him being tough enough to actually live in that city. He's a tropical Spaniel...
In the evenings, I get to hear the sounds of the city -- the never ending sirens, and chatter. As D2 passes restaurants and pubs, there is the loud talk of happy hour young folks...and then I get to hear the clangs and clings of the bells in Trader Joes, as D2 stops in for her few times a week grocery purchases...
And then there is the evening greeting of the doorman, and finally the elevator bell. I always sigh and thank the Big Man that she made it home safely...
At this stage of my life, I have no desire to live in NYC. I love to visit, but find that after about three days, I'm ready for more quiet. Wifey feels otherwise, or says she does. She wants to live in a place where she can walk to get groceries, or coffee...live out a lifestyle more like D2 has. Not me -- I love coming home and seeing trees -- not necessarily people. In NYC there are ALWAYS people -- everywhere.
So for now, while D2 is there, I get to share in the place...the weather, the events. Just today I heard the Christmas music that surrounds Macy's, during this "most wonderful time." D2's already so over that part of the city...
She's due in early T Day am, and then back here the following month, to ring in her Mom's big birthday with her, and then greet 2017 with us, her family. And then we're coming up during balmy February, to celebrate D2's 25th birthday.
I'll get my fill of NYC, and enjoy feeling a part of it each morning and night...
Well, sometimes you really DO get to do things through your kids. My late Mom wasn't a big Disney fan, since she was sane, but did love to visit to see it "through the kids' eyes," with grandkids in tow. And over the past year and several months, I get to feel like I truly live in NYC...
D2 lives in Murray Hill, and walks back and forth to work each day to her job in Macy's headquarters. The walk takes about 15 minutes, and since I'm always up early, is the time she calls and we catch up. I LOVE to be her company, as she shares the tales of living in the world's greatest city. She narrates her walk well -- and I give her the moral courage she needs to fight through her biggest fear -- pigeons.
She never minded them before, and in fact, as a gorgeous toddler, loved the chase them. One of our loveliest memories is a trip we took to D.C. when the Ds were 3 and 6, and they chased squirrels and pigeons around the Mall, for hours... But living in NYC, and being a bit of a germaphobe, D2 has grown to dislike these flying rats, and every once in awhile, finds herself chased by a flock of them as they take flight...and I'm there to virtually hold her hand and get her by, intact.
Of course, I bring D2 up to date on the essential tales of our life here -- especially the exploits of Bo, her beloved special needs Spaniel. She misses the little guy, and always loves to FaceTime (tm) with him. He sits next to me most of the time during D2's commutes, so he feels he's a part of the NYC experience, too, though I can't imagine him being tough enough to actually live in that city. He's a tropical Spaniel...
In the evenings, I get to hear the sounds of the city -- the never ending sirens, and chatter. As D2 passes restaurants and pubs, there is the loud talk of happy hour young folks...and then I get to hear the clangs and clings of the bells in Trader Joes, as D2 stops in for her few times a week grocery purchases...
And then there is the evening greeting of the doorman, and finally the elevator bell. I always sigh and thank the Big Man that she made it home safely...
At this stage of my life, I have no desire to live in NYC. I love to visit, but find that after about three days, I'm ready for more quiet. Wifey feels otherwise, or says she does. She wants to live in a place where she can walk to get groceries, or coffee...live out a lifestyle more like D2 has. Not me -- I love coming home and seeing trees -- not necessarily people. In NYC there are ALWAYS people -- everywhere.
So for now, while D2 is there, I get to share in the place...the weather, the events. Just today I heard the Christmas music that surrounds Macy's, during this "most wonderful time." D2's already so over that part of the city...
She's due in early T Day am, and then back here the following month, to ring in her Mom's big birthday with her, and then greet 2017 with us, her family. And then we're coming up during balmy February, to celebrate D2's 25th birthday.
I'll get my fill of NYC, and enjoy feeling a part of it each morning and night...
Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Bad News Tuesday
So I was up bright and early yesterday (4 am) per usual for this aging man, and started emailing politically incorrect political jokes to my buddies around 5, so Dr. Barry figured I was up as he commuted to work at 7, and called. We happily caught up on politics, both national and the never ending professional type he deals with, and I was enjoying my talk, when Mirta clicked in. I answered, as she typically doesn't call that early: her brother had died that morning.
I never met Felix, but knew all about him. Two of his sons were grade school classmates of D2, and one of the boys has gone on to great success in the food industry. Apparently Felix had heart issues secondary to diabetes, and he collapsed at home and died. He was 53 -- same age as Dr. Barry, as Barry happily reminded me when I called him back.
Mirta wasn't everyday close to her brother, but still was shocked and saddened by his death. We talked awhile, and then followed up last night. The funeral is Thursday -- an all night wake, and I plan to stop by later in the evening. Felix had 6 kids -- 17 through 30, and I really feel for them. Losing your Dad isn't a happy occurrence...
And then I got a text from a friend visiting from out of state -- her son is facing major criminal charges. She wanted to meet Wifey and me for lunch, but Wifey bowed out, so I did my best over dim sum to listen and comfort. The details don't matter, but the feelings do, and our friend is devastated, of course. Her late 20s son, with no prior criminal history, might be facing prison into his middle age. As the Ds would say, I can't even...
The cliches are cliches because they're true: we have to savor and enjoy each moment, each day. In a NY minute, as the song says, everything can change. The phone call isn't about a routine appointment -- it may herald news of a too soon death.
To that end, I plan to fully dive into the coming joy of next week. D2 is due in around 1 am T Day morning --and Dadber (Uber, but provided by Dad) will be at MIA. I told D2 that her cost of using Dadber is a late night Cuban sandwich with me (actually very early morning) at Pinecrest Bakery, open 24 hours.
Then Thursday, we're hosting the Ds, D1's fiance and his Mom, and D2's boyfriend and his family, at Christy's. The martinis should flow, and we will toast our amazing kids.
Sunday, D1 turns 28. I'm still trying to figure out this warp of the time-space continuum, which allows me, a 30 year old man, to have a 28 year old daughter. Regardless, we will celebrate together, before D2 jets back to NYC...
So, Big Man willing, that will be our week. For now, though, there's a time to mourn, and empathize...
I never met Felix, but knew all about him. Two of his sons were grade school classmates of D2, and one of the boys has gone on to great success in the food industry. Apparently Felix had heart issues secondary to diabetes, and he collapsed at home and died. He was 53 -- same age as Dr. Barry, as Barry happily reminded me when I called him back.
Mirta wasn't everyday close to her brother, but still was shocked and saddened by his death. We talked awhile, and then followed up last night. The funeral is Thursday -- an all night wake, and I plan to stop by later in the evening. Felix had 6 kids -- 17 through 30, and I really feel for them. Losing your Dad isn't a happy occurrence...
And then I got a text from a friend visiting from out of state -- her son is facing major criminal charges. She wanted to meet Wifey and me for lunch, but Wifey bowed out, so I did my best over dim sum to listen and comfort. The details don't matter, but the feelings do, and our friend is devastated, of course. Her late 20s son, with no prior criminal history, might be facing prison into his middle age. As the Ds would say, I can't even...
The cliches are cliches because they're true: we have to savor and enjoy each moment, each day. In a NY minute, as the song says, everything can change. The phone call isn't about a routine appointment -- it may herald news of a too soon death.
To that end, I plan to fully dive into the coming joy of next week. D2 is due in around 1 am T Day morning --and Dadber (Uber, but provided by Dad) will be at MIA. I told D2 that her cost of using Dadber is a late night Cuban sandwich with me (actually very early morning) at Pinecrest Bakery, open 24 hours.
Then Thursday, we're hosting the Ds, D1's fiance and his Mom, and D2's boyfriend and his family, at Christy's. The martinis should flow, and we will toast our amazing kids.
Sunday, D1 turns 28. I'm still trying to figure out this warp of the time-space continuum, which allows me, a 30 year old man, to have a 28 year old daughter. Regardless, we will celebrate together, before D2 jets back to NYC...
So, Big Man willing, that will be our week. For now, though, there's a time to mourn, and empathize...
Monday, November 14, 2016
Trumped Out
So even though the election was over nearly a week ago, the Lefties can't just, as the "Frozen" song advises, let it go...Conversations and FaceBook (tm) posts continue to lament the coming misery. As my Cuban friends say, for me, at least: Basta!
The Dems ran a deeply flawed candidate, minorities voted for her, but not nearly enough, and the so called millennials left their videogames and voted least of all. And now the millennials, of course, protest the loudest -- shouting the refrain I taught my Ds I don't want to hear, since they were about 4 years old "It's not FAIR!"
The Ds got sick of my saying it, but LIFE is not fair. The smartest often loses, and the best gets put in the dustbin of history. But this Trump victory was eminently fair -- he won more states than did the heroine of the post menopausal set...
I watched a video of SNL -- the great comedian Dave Chappelle was the guest. He said of Trump, essentially, he's sitting this one out. His friends claim they're leaving the US -- is he coming? Nah, he said, as a rich dude, he plans to stay right here, and see how those tax cuts affect him...
Meanwhile, closer to home, we had a banner weekend. Friday night we met more of D1's fiance Joey's family -- and instantly grew close. I really look forward to hosting them and more at the Big Fat Colombian wedding -- now looking more like 300 than 250.
Saturday I ambled over to Mike's -- walked around to his back yard and plopped myself down in his in-home Molokai Bar. Mike made Hurricanes, and brought in what I call Hate Chicken -- from Chick-Fil-Et. I call it that since the owner is a well known anti gay marriage guy. But the chicken is so delicious -- we force ourselves to eat it, anyway.
Paul and Darriel were there, and we laughed and caught up and the Canes won big. A cool breeze blew through Mike's lean to creation, and we had a great time.
Saturday night we took the girlie Caddy to Miami Beach -- Wifey's friend Cara threw herself a 70th birthday bash at Avanti -- her go-to Italian place across from Mt. Sinai Hospital. The drinks poured freely, and Wifey caught up with old friends from the flower industry. I sat next one of Cara's friends -- a semi retired fashion exec, who founded and ran Forum Shops. She was an FIT grad, and looked about my sisters' age, and I kept asking when she attended, but she wouldn't tell me. She was trying to pass for 50s, but since she and Cara went to high school together, I kind of figured things out...but it was still nice to chat, and share tales of raising now grown kids.
Wifey drove home, and couldn't quite follow my three martini directions, so we ended up going home via first Doral, and finally through Westchester, South Miami, Coral Gables, and finally, Pinecrest. I wondered what Red Road looks like at 12:30 on a Sunday morning, and now I know...
Yesterday I was enjoying the great weather, and allowed Wifey to have a quality time Mom/Daughter day without a pesky son in law. I stayed home and watched the Fins, who ended up playing a great game and beating the Chargers.
Weekends where Canes and Fins win used to be a common thing here, but over the past 8 years or so, no longer are. But, sure enough, the past two weekends have produced 4 wins...
Trump promised to "Make America Great Again." I hope he does. I'm happy with making Miami football great again...
The Dems ran a deeply flawed candidate, minorities voted for her, but not nearly enough, and the so called millennials left their videogames and voted least of all. And now the millennials, of course, protest the loudest -- shouting the refrain I taught my Ds I don't want to hear, since they were about 4 years old "It's not FAIR!"
The Ds got sick of my saying it, but LIFE is not fair. The smartest often loses, and the best gets put in the dustbin of history. But this Trump victory was eminently fair -- he won more states than did the heroine of the post menopausal set...
I watched a video of SNL -- the great comedian Dave Chappelle was the guest. He said of Trump, essentially, he's sitting this one out. His friends claim they're leaving the US -- is he coming? Nah, he said, as a rich dude, he plans to stay right here, and see how those tax cuts affect him...
Meanwhile, closer to home, we had a banner weekend. Friday night we met more of D1's fiance Joey's family -- and instantly grew close. I really look forward to hosting them and more at the Big Fat Colombian wedding -- now looking more like 300 than 250.
Saturday I ambled over to Mike's -- walked around to his back yard and plopped myself down in his in-home Molokai Bar. Mike made Hurricanes, and brought in what I call Hate Chicken -- from Chick-Fil-Et. I call it that since the owner is a well known anti gay marriage guy. But the chicken is so delicious -- we force ourselves to eat it, anyway.
Paul and Darriel were there, and we laughed and caught up and the Canes won big. A cool breeze blew through Mike's lean to creation, and we had a great time.
Saturday night we took the girlie Caddy to Miami Beach -- Wifey's friend Cara threw herself a 70th birthday bash at Avanti -- her go-to Italian place across from Mt. Sinai Hospital. The drinks poured freely, and Wifey caught up with old friends from the flower industry. I sat next one of Cara's friends -- a semi retired fashion exec, who founded and ran Forum Shops. She was an FIT grad, and looked about my sisters' age, and I kept asking when she attended, but she wouldn't tell me. She was trying to pass for 50s, but since she and Cara went to high school together, I kind of figured things out...but it was still nice to chat, and share tales of raising now grown kids.
Wifey drove home, and couldn't quite follow my three martini directions, so we ended up going home via first Doral, and finally through Westchester, South Miami, Coral Gables, and finally, Pinecrest. I wondered what Red Road looks like at 12:30 on a Sunday morning, and now I know...
Yesterday I was enjoying the great weather, and allowed Wifey to have a quality time Mom/Daughter day without a pesky son in law. I stayed home and watched the Fins, who ended up playing a great game and beating the Chargers.
Weekends where Canes and Fins win used to be a common thing here, but over the past 8 years or so, no longer are. But, sure enough, the past two weekends have produced 4 wins...
Trump promised to "Make America Great Again." I hope he does. I'm happy with making Miami football great again...
Saturday, November 12, 2016
The Big, Fat Colombian Wedding
So D1 and Joey have the venue reserved, and the date, for what I have begun calling the big, fat, Colombian wedding. I'm guessing the final count will be somewhere North of 250...
I worked hard, and saved well. I made it clear to the Ds that they could attend college wherever they liked. Both picked UF, and both attended on full scholarships, courtesy of the "Bright Futures" plan initiated 20 years ago, to keep top students in the state rather than go to places like Duke or Emory. It worked in our case -- both spent their time in Gainesville, and since I had the also relatively cheap Prepaid Program, the Ds college tuition was very little. Plus, D1 went to FIU for her Masters, and D2 stated at UF. Again, the tuition was very low.
So, as any wise Dad who wants to spoil his kids learns, eventually you have to pay -- big! And this is that time, in D1's case.
Joey is blessed with a very large and very loving extended family. Last night we met four more of them -- his Mom's sister and brother, and their spouses. They live in Bogota, and have homes in Northeast Miami Dade, too. They made the trip to our house, in a location the Cubans call "Casa Carajo," which means, essentially, "way the hell out there." I learned last night this idiom isn't the same to Colombians, who reacted to my welcome to "Casa Carajo" with bewilderment -- our house was not "hellish" at all -- it was beautiful...
My future machatanista, or mother in law for my kid, was beaming. She has three awesome sons, and said now she would have "2 amazing daughters." Her oldest, Bob, is married to a lovely young woman -- a research scientist at the U, originally from Peru. D1 will be the first gringa in the family -- and she feels very fortunate for that.
These people were so incredibly warm, and loving. By the end of the night, they invited Wifey and I to Bogota. And the invites weren't the pleasant, meaningless invites we Americans issue "We should get together sometime." Rather, they wanted a COMMITMENT as to when they could host us. I have a feeling Colombian trips are definitely in our future...
D1 tells me it's like the show "Friends" there. Cousins, aunts, uncles simply stop by all day. If you go to an appointment near Tia Jackie, you just definitely stop by, for coffee or a glass of wine. The cousins grow up best friends, and so remain forever. Of course, being a wiseass, I corrected D1 -- it was more like the show "Amigos." That got me a few chuckles...
Joey's Aunt saved a bottle of Dom Perignon from 1975. She thought about giving it away, in 1989, but when Joey was born, she told Joey's Mom Jackie they'd open it when Joey got engaged. So, last night, we brought it out --41 year old bubbly. Alas, it was bubble-less and tasted like sweetened vinegar. I guess it needed proper storage.
But we laughed, and I had a relief bottle of Vieuve ready -- we popped that one, and toasted the couple.
And it occurred to me the effervescence of the evening, with D1's new family, was the opposite of the old sparkling wine.
Big Man willing, next September ought to be the most awesome one for our family, as it joins with another.
I worked hard, and saved well. I made it clear to the Ds that they could attend college wherever they liked. Both picked UF, and both attended on full scholarships, courtesy of the "Bright Futures" plan initiated 20 years ago, to keep top students in the state rather than go to places like Duke or Emory. It worked in our case -- both spent their time in Gainesville, and since I had the also relatively cheap Prepaid Program, the Ds college tuition was very little. Plus, D1 went to FIU for her Masters, and D2 stated at UF. Again, the tuition was very low.
So, as any wise Dad who wants to spoil his kids learns, eventually you have to pay -- big! And this is that time, in D1's case.
Joey is blessed with a very large and very loving extended family. Last night we met four more of them -- his Mom's sister and brother, and their spouses. They live in Bogota, and have homes in Northeast Miami Dade, too. They made the trip to our house, in a location the Cubans call "Casa Carajo," which means, essentially, "way the hell out there." I learned last night this idiom isn't the same to Colombians, who reacted to my welcome to "Casa Carajo" with bewilderment -- our house was not "hellish" at all -- it was beautiful...
My future machatanista, or mother in law for my kid, was beaming. She has three awesome sons, and said now she would have "2 amazing daughters." Her oldest, Bob, is married to a lovely young woman -- a research scientist at the U, originally from Peru. D1 will be the first gringa in the family -- and she feels very fortunate for that.
These people were so incredibly warm, and loving. By the end of the night, they invited Wifey and I to Bogota. And the invites weren't the pleasant, meaningless invites we Americans issue "We should get together sometime." Rather, they wanted a COMMITMENT as to when they could host us. I have a feeling Colombian trips are definitely in our future...
D1 tells me it's like the show "Friends" there. Cousins, aunts, uncles simply stop by all day. If you go to an appointment near Tia Jackie, you just definitely stop by, for coffee or a glass of wine. The cousins grow up best friends, and so remain forever. Of course, being a wiseass, I corrected D1 -- it was more like the show "Amigos." That got me a few chuckles...
Joey's Aunt saved a bottle of Dom Perignon from 1975. She thought about giving it away, in 1989, but when Joey was born, she told Joey's Mom Jackie they'd open it when Joey got engaged. So, last night, we brought it out --41 year old bubbly. Alas, it was bubble-less and tasted like sweetened vinegar. I guess it needed proper storage.
But we laughed, and I had a relief bottle of Vieuve ready -- we popped that one, and toasted the couple.
And it occurred to me the effervescence of the evening, with D1's new family, was the opposite of the old sparkling wine.
Big Man willing, next September ought to be the most awesome one for our family, as it joins with another.
Friday, November 11, 2016
Trump and Veteran's Day
So today is Veteran's Day, and it's been three days since Donald Trump won the presidency. Dr. Barry is so smart -- he and I were drinking at 94th AeroSquadron, watching the planes come and go, and he remarked how concerned he was that Hillary was campaigning in Michigan -- shouldn't that be a gimme state for the Dems? Turned out it wasn't, and the Donald pulled off the big upset win.
Wifey is still upset. I have moved on. Ever the optimist, I see things this way: I'm a rich white guy who was willing to have a President whose policies would cost me more in taxes, to have a more fair and just country for minorities and the poor. Well, many of the minorities couldn't be bothered to go vote for their interests, and many of the poor whites were dumb enough to think that a billionaire who was born a millionaire will be the guy to act in their interests. So my family will just have to "suffer" with lower taxes, probably, and cuts in social services we don't even use. The electorate has spoken...
D2 got caught up in the absurd protests Wednesday night, in NYC. She voted for HRC and despises Trump, but realizes it's over, and works many hours, and just wants to be allowed to make it home after long work hours without annoyance.
My true Leftie friends, especially on FaceBook (tm) , can't seem to move on. Whatever. Life goes on whether you win or lose, and to dwell on the negative seems silly to me.
Meanwhile, a day honoring those who truly deserve it goes on with little notice, except for closing schools and the stock market.
It's funny how my generation is so non military. I have only two friends, Kenny and John, who served -- in the Navy and Air Force. Kenny is actually a war veteran -- he was the flight surgeon on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War. But these fellows are in the minority -- the result of the end of the draft.
When my parents used to gather with their contemporaries, almost all of the men were veterans -- WW II, like my Dad. So Veteran's Day for my generation is a thankful time, but we don't intimately relate.
I always think about my Dad's history. He was pushing dress delivery carts in lower Manhattan, in December of 1941, when everything stopped and everyone gathered around radios to hear FDR announce the attack on Pearl Harbor. He knew immediately he'd be drafted, and he was, a few months later. He was 22. He served nearly four years, and returned from the Service to start his life with my Mom, back in the Bronx.
When I was 22, I started law school, an annoyance, but not anything like the army. At 25 I started my life with Wifey, and we'll be married thirty years, come January. My life wouldn't be possible without the Service of my Dad and his generation. I never forget that.
Meanwhile, closer to home, we have D1's fiance Joey and his family coming over tonight. We're going to host them, and get to meet Joey's aunt and uncle, and their spouses -- Joey says they've been like other sets of parents to him.
Wifey set a beautiful table, and we have food coming in from Lots of Lox. Wifey asked Miriam, our long time housekeeper, to come over to serve.
Joey's aunt gave him and D1 a bottle of champagne for their engagement -- it's over 40 years old. We plan to pop the cork, in honor of Joey and D1. I'll pour martinis. It ought to be a grand night.
Again, made possible by the service of men like my Dad. As for Trump, lately I can't care less...
Wifey is still upset. I have moved on. Ever the optimist, I see things this way: I'm a rich white guy who was willing to have a President whose policies would cost me more in taxes, to have a more fair and just country for minorities and the poor. Well, many of the minorities couldn't be bothered to go vote for their interests, and many of the poor whites were dumb enough to think that a billionaire who was born a millionaire will be the guy to act in their interests. So my family will just have to "suffer" with lower taxes, probably, and cuts in social services we don't even use. The electorate has spoken...
D2 got caught up in the absurd protests Wednesday night, in NYC. She voted for HRC and despises Trump, but realizes it's over, and works many hours, and just wants to be allowed to make it home after long work hours without annoyance.
My true Leftie friends, especially on FaceBook (tm) , can't seem to move on. Whatever. Life goes on whether you win or lose, and to dwell on the negative seems silly to me.
Meanwhile, a day honoring those who truly deserve it goes on with little notice, except for closing schools and the stock market.
It's funny how my generation is so non military. I have only two friends, Kenny and John, who served -- in the Navy and Air Force. Kenny is actually a war veteran -- he was the flight surgeon on an aircraft carrier during the Gulf War. But these fellows are in the minority -- the result of the end of the draft.
When my parents used to gather with their contemporaries, almost all of the men were veterans -- WW II, like my Dad. So Veteran's Day for my generation is a thankful time, but we don't intimately relate.
I always think about my Dad's history. He was pushing dress delivery carts in lower Manhattan, in December of 1941, when everything stopped and everyone gathered around radios to hear FDR announce the attack on Pearl Harbor. He knew immediately he'd be drafted, and he was, a few months later. He was 22. He served nearly four years, and returned from the Service to start his life with my Mom, back in the Bronx.
When I was 22, I started law school, an annoyance, but not anything like the army. At 25 I started my life with Wifey, and we'll be married thirty years, come January. My life wouldn't be possible without the Service of my Dad and his generation. I never forget that.
Meanwhile, closer to home, we have D1's fiance Joey and his family coming over tonight. We're going to host them, and get to meet Joey's aunt and uncle, and their spouses -- Joey says they've been like other sets of parents to him.
Wifey set a beautiful table, and we have food coming in from Lots of Lox. Wifey asked Miriam, our long time housekeeper, to come over to serve.
Joey's aunt gave him and D1 a bottle of champagne for their engagement -- it's over 40 years old. We plan to pop the cork, in honor of Joey and D1. I'll pour martinis. It ought to be a grand night.
Again, made possible by the service of men like my Dad. As for Trump, lately I can't care less...
Monday, November 7, 2016
Better Aging Through Chemistry
Wifey's biggest life stressor, by far, has been her ancient mother, particularly in the nearly a year since her Dad died. And, since I live with Wifey, and she shares everything with me, including the stress, my mother in law has been a 200 lb burr under my saddle, too.
The woman is physically an ox. Her young doctor reported that she has the heart and breathing of a thirty year old. But she has become more obnoxious, offensive, and downright nasty to be with -- sanctimonious and victimized, awful, you name it. The depth of this occurred a few weeks ago, when she barked orders at me in our local deli, Lots of Lox, and I called her on her behavior, which just made things worse. Instead of simply apologizing, she went on a tirade -- "All of a sudden you so SENSITIVE???!!!" was her response.
Well, there may be a light at the end of this nasty tunnel. Wifey took her to her doctor's appointment last week, and the doc put the old crone on Selexa, a mood stabilizer. My mother in law agreed to take it to deal with her "anxiety." Whatever. The damn pills may be working!
Yesterday, we took her out, and on an annoyance scale of 1-10, where 10 is normal for her, she probably came in at a more tolerable 7. While she typically protests at the restaurant that she is "not hungry" and goes on and on about it, before wolfing down her food like a fraternity boy denied a day's feeding, yesterday she only announced she was not hungry once, before scarfing down a world class sized hot dog. When the bill came, she was almost classy in the way she announced she was paying. OK -- never really classy, but not obstreperous, at least.
It may have been that my mood was elevated by the Fins exciting win over the Jets, so I can't really trust these observations, but the visit with her seemed, well, less odious than usual. Hopefully this is the start of greater tolerability.
When we returned to our condo, the weather was gorgeous. I suggested we go sit by the pool, which is surrounded by lovely tropical vegetation. We had some comical relief, as her attempt to sit on a deck lounge nearly resulted in a Three Stooges-like teeter totter, before Wifey and I grabbed her and plopped her into the seat built into her walker.
But we sat there for awhile, actually enjoying the delightful breeze, before she announced brusquely that she "vas cold" and "vanted to go in."
So go Selexa! If this wonder drug can even out this tough old, um, woman -- I'll be most grateful.
The woman is physically an ox. Her young doctor reported that she has the heart and breathing of a thirty year old. But she has become more obnoxious, offensive, and downright nasty to be with -- sanctimonious and victimized, awful, you name it. The depth of this occurred a few weeks ago, when she barked orders at me in our local deli, Lots of Lox, and I called her on her behavior, which just made things worse. Instead of simply apologizing, she went on a tirade -- "All of a sudden you so SENSITIVE???!!!" was her response.
Well, there may be a light at the end of this nasty tunnel. Wifey took her to her doctor's appointment last week, and the doc put the old crone on Selexa, a mood stabilizer. My mother in law agreed to take it to deal with her "anxiety." Whatever. The damn pills may be working!
Yesterday, we took her out, and on an annoyance scale of 1-10, where 10 is normal for her, she probably came in at a more tolerable 7. While she typically protests at the restaurant that she is "not hungry" and goes on and on about it, before wolfing down her food like a fraternity boy denied a day's feeding, yesterday she only announced she was not hungry once, before scarfing down a world class sized hot dog. When the bill came, she was almost classy in the way she announced she was paying. OK -- never really classy, but not obstreperous, at least.
It may have been that my mood was elevated by the Fins exciting win over the Jets, so I can't really trust these observations, but the visit with her seemed, well, less odious than usual. Hopefully this is the start of greater tolerability.
When we returned to our condo, the weather was gorgeous. I suggested we go sit by the pool, which is surrounded by lovely tropical vegetation. We had some comical relief, as her attempt to sit on a deck lounge nearly resulted in a Three Stooges-like teeter totter, before Wifey and I grabbed her and plopped her into the seat built into her walker.
But we sat there for awhile, actually enjoying the delightful breeze, before she announced brusquely that she "vas cold" and "vanted to go in."
So go Selexa! If this wonder drug can even out this tough old, um, woman -- I'll be most grateful.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Tailgates Winding Down
So yesterday Mirta, my sister of another mister, came by bright and early, and, supplied with guava pastelitos and cookies from Pinecrest Bakery, got into my little girlie Caddy, and tooled up the Palmetto to Joe Robbie. It was the second to last Canes home game.
The weather was gorgeous, though as the party proceeded, some rain blew in, as it did throughout the game. But it was warm, and no one much cared.
Norman and HIS sister of another mister Maria were grilling away. Actually, Maria's husband Ramon was at the fire -- turning out burgers and dogs and shish kebab, and some of the most delicious sausages ever.
It was homecoming, and several of our friends wore their silly Indian jackets, the mark of Iron Arrow, the oldest UM honor society. Dr. Barry was tapped in a few years ago, but he left his jacket at home -- he's too much of a populist and hater of BS to take it seriously. Dr. Eric and his sister Elissa are members, and asked why Barry wasn't participating. I wise ass joked that it was simple: when Eric was tapped in, Iron Arrow excluded women, and so Eric refused his entry. The next year they went co-ed, and Eric joined. I surmised that Barry was not protesting: he would only actually use his membership when Iron Arrow admitted regular schleppers...
The tailgate ended in the rain -- several of us huddled under the UM canopy, until the storm passed. Then Barry, his sister of another mister Debbie (lot of this dynamic going around lately), Mirta, and I made our way to our seats. As we entered the Club, there was a sad scene: an older man, on the floor outside of a skybox, in full cardiac arrest -- several Miami Dade cops and paramedics engaged in full on CPR.
Barry and Debbie walked in, telling a cop they were a doctor and nurse. The cop brusquely asked for their licenses, but before Barry and Debbie could produce them, the group stretchered the man away. It was of course an unsettling scene -- especially for me. It brought back awful memories of my Dad in the barber shop where he died -- paramedics taking over from my futile attempts at CPS.
But as I thought about it, I became philosophical: for a Canes fan, there are worse places to die. I told Barry that if that happened to me, please dispense with the violent and usually futile CPR -- just carry my corpse to my seat, and let it experience my final Canes game -- then let the ambulance carry me away...
The game was fine -- Canes won big, although they played sloppily. They have a long, long way to go before they become even near elite again. But we joked, and laughed. The game ended, and Barry and Debbie, and Mirta and I lingered awhile as the stadium emptied. None of us had any pressing places to be -- it was lovely just to drink in the scene.
Mirta and I called Wifey, to plan dinner. Wifey was busy setting the table for next Friday -- D1's future family is coming over for a shabbat dinner. Wifey asked to bring in food instead, so Mirta and I stopped at DiNapoli, and did just that. We ate, and talked of Mirta's awesome grandkids, and how much pleasure they bring her. We hope to join that club sooner than later.
There's one home game left this season -- T Day Saturday. I've asked D2 if she wanted to go with me. She'll decide later on -- if she opts out, I told Mirta she can have my tickets to take whoever she wants. Precious time with D2 trumps all.
Speaking of Trumps -- the election is two days away. It really amazes me that a cartoon character like Trump might actually win. But hey -- that's democracy -- there is no constitutional prohibition against being a dumb ass, and if that's what our population wants, so be it.
As a rich white guy, a Trump presidency will mean I'll have to suffer through lower taxes, and a return to a time when rich white guys were the only important members of American society. Screw the poor...
I guess we'll know soon enough.
Either way, the Canes will play on, and my friends and I will gather to enjoy our time together.
The weather was gorgeous, though as the party proceeded, some rain blew in, as it did throughout the game. But it was warm, and no one much cared.
Norman and HIS sister of another mister Maria were grilling away. Actually, Maria's husband Ramon was at the fire -- turning out burgers and dogs and shish kebab, and some of the most delicious sausages ever.
It was homecoming, and several of our friends wore their silly Indian jackets, the mark of Iron Arrow, the oldest UM honor society. Dr. Barry was tapped in a few years ago, but he left his jacket at home -- he's too much of a populist and hater of BS to take it seriously. Dr. Eric and his sister Elissa are members, and asked why Barry wasn't participating. I wise ass joked that it was simple: when Eric was tapped in, Iron Arrow excluded women, and so Eric refused his entry. The next year they went co-ed, and Eric joined. I surmised that Barry was not protesting: he would only actually use his membership when Iron Arrow admitted regular schleppers...
The tailgate ended in the rain -- several of us huddled under the UM canopy, until the storm passed. Then Barry, his sister of another mister Debbie (lot of this dynamic going around lately), Mirta, and I made our way to our seats. As we entered the Club, there was a sad scene: an older man, on the floor outside of a skybox, in full cardiac arrest -- several Miami Dade cops and paramedics engaged in full on CPR.
Barry and Debbie walked in, telling a cop they were a doctor and nurse. The cop brusquely asked for their licenses, but before Barry and Debbie could produce them, the group stretchered the man away. It was of course an unsettling scene -- especially for me. It brought back awful memories of my Dad in the barber shop where he died -- paramedics taking over from my futile attempts at CPS.
But as I thought about it, I became philosophical: for a Canes fan, there are worse places to die. I told Barry that if that happened to me, please dispense with the violent and usually futile CPR -- just carry my corpse to my seat, and let it experience my final Canes game -- then let the ambulance carry me away...
The game was fine -- Canes won big, although they played sloppily. They have a long, long way to go before they become even near elite again. But we joked, and laughed. The game ended, and Barry and Debbie, and Mirta and I lingered awhile as the stadium emptied. None of us had any pressing places to be -- it was lovely just to drink in the scene.
Mirta and I called Wifey, to plan dinner. Wifey was busy setting the table for next Friday -- D1's future family is coming over for a shabbat dinner. Wifey asked to bring in food instead, so Mirta and I stopped at DiNapoli, and did just that. We ate, and talked of Mirta's awesome grandkids, and how much pleasure they bring her. We hope to join that club sooner than later.
There's one home game left this season -- T Day Saturday. I've asked D2 if she wanted to go with me. She'll decide later on -- if she opts out, I told Mirta she can have my tickets to take whoever she wants. Precious time with D2 trumps all.
Speaking of Trumps -- the election is two days away. It really amazes me that a cartoon character like Trump might actually win. But hey -- that's democracy -- there is no constitutional prohibition against being a dumb ass, and if that's what our population wants, so be it.
As a rich white guy, a Trump presidency will mean I'll have to suffer through lower taxes, and a return to a time when rich white guys were the only important members of American society. Screw the poor...
I guess we'll know soon enough.
Either way, the Canes will play on, and my friends and I will gather to enjoy our time together.
Friday, November 4, 2016
Big Numbers
My first full time lawyer job, in 1986, paid $29K per year. I left that gig as the firm, led by a jerk of an anti semite, was failing, for a gig with an aviation defense firm in the Grove -- they paid me $34K. My third spot, where I went right before D1 was born, paid a whopping $45K per year. From there I was off to the races...
If you're lucky, as I was, your standard of living increases over the years. Most people live above their means -- we have been fortunate to only have had to do that briefly -- when Wifey quit to have D1 -- until my income caught up. Wifey still likes to grind me over an incident in 1989. I was very pressured and stressed about making things a go on my salary, and I came home to see that Wifey and my sister had bought a new bedding and curtain set for D1. I think it cost about $150. I freaked -- take it back -- that's a luxury we can't afford! My sister had already hung the curtains, and the bedroom set had to stay. Wifey wasn't worried at all -- she didn't need to. I had taken on the responsibility of all our finances.
Well -- what a difference several decades can make. Today I stroked checks for our real estate taxes, property insurance, a healthy AMEX bill, and, finally, funds to open D1's wedding account.
The Big Man has a good sense of humor. Yesterday I had my yearly physical exam, and until I hear the results of the lab tests, and the EKG, and all the rest, I simply assume I'm going to be told the end is near. I plan on leaving the doc's office, going by Publix, and realizing I shouldn't buy any green bananas -- I won't be around to have them ripen.
Well -- once again, I was told I was fat but strong. Actually, I made up the first part -- my doc is a rather zaftig woman herself, so calling me fat would be hilarious. But the one, newfangled blood test the concierge company does, some kind of peroxidase deal, claims to be the best predictor of impending death from stroke or heart attack, and mine was "very low." Of course, the predictor is only 6 months...
Still, I was being told by the Big Man to savor and enjoy, which I plan to do.
Wifey provides no support at all. I moped to her about these huge checks, and she reminded me that it was my choice to buy this big ass house, and my decision to offer D1 a wedding costing more than four years of private college. She's right, of course.
If I had to do it again, I would DEFINITELY decide to be born rich. Like really, really rich, like Trump's kids. Then I could simply start a charitable foundation and spend my financial worry time on deciding which charities are most worthy.
I went to college and law school with some of those kids. One pair in particular sticks in my memory -- they got married in law school. The girl was the daughter of a very big developer, as was the guy. I think they took the Bar, but never practiced. That ain't workin' -- that's the way you do it.
Nah. If I was given big money when I was a teen, I'd have become, probably, a total douche bag -- one of those South Beach, buy a table at the club kinds of guys.
Now I simply get to pay huge property taxes and throw huge weddings.
It could be worse...
If you're lucky, as I was, your standard of living increases over the years. Most people live above their means -- we have been fortunate to only have had to do that briefly -- when Wifey quit to have D1 -- until my income caught up. Wifey still likes to grind me over an incident in 1989. I was very pressured and stressed about making things a go on my salary, and I came home to see that Wifey and my sister had bought a new bedding and curtain set for D1. I think it cost about $150. I freaked -- take it back -- that's a luxury we can't afford! My sister had already hung the curtains, and the bedroom set had to stay. Wifey wasn't worried at all -- she didn't need to. I had taken on the responsibility of all our finances.
Well -- what a difference several decades can make. Today I stroked checks for our real estate taxes, property insurance, a healthy AMEX bill, and, finally, funds to open D1's wedding account.
The Big Man has a good sense of humor. Yesterday I had my yearly physical exam, and until I hear the results of the lab tests, and the EKG, and all the rest, I simply assume I'm going to be told the end is near. I plan on leaving the doc's office, going by Publix, and realizing I shouldn't buy any green bananas -- I won't be around to have them ripen.
Well -- once again, I was told I was fat but strong. Actually, I made up the first part -- my doc is a rather zaftig woman herself, so calling me fat would be hilarious. But the one, newfangled blood test the concierge company does, some kind of peroxidase deal, claims to be the best predictor of impending death from stroke or heart attack, and mine was "very low." Of course, the predictor is only 6 months...
Still, I was being told by the Big Man to savor and enjoy, which I plan to do.
Wifey provides no support at all. I moped to her about these huge checks, and she reminded me that it was my choice to buy this big ass house, and my decision to offer D1 a wedding costing more than four years of private college. She's right, of course.
If I had to do it again, I would DEFINITELY decide to be born rich. Like really, really rich, like Trump's kids. Then I could simply start a charitable foundation and spend my financial worry time on deciding which charities are most worthy.
I went to college and law school with some of those kids. One pair in particular sticks in my memory -- they got married in law school. The girl was the daughter of a very big developer, as was the guy. I think they took the Bar, but never practiced. That ain't workin' -- that's the way you do it.
Nah. If I was given big money when I was a teen, I'd have become, probably, a total douche bag -- one of those South Beach, buy a table at the club kinds of guys.
Now I simply get to pay huge property taxes and throw huge weddings.
It could be worse...
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Fat But Healthy
So Wifey and I belong to a company called MDVIP, which is a concierge medical practice. You pay an annual fee, and in return get primary medical care the way it used to be -- immediate appointments, always talk to the doc, if you travel you can use another MDVIP doc.
We joined when our friend and family doc Dave became a member. Dave would waive our fee in exchange for free legal work I 'd do for him. In return, I'd use the service as little as possible, including the annual physical, which checks many vials of your blood for any hint or illness or disease.
Three years ago, Dave retired, and Dr. Mary came in from Texas. She gave us the first year free, too, to make sure we liked her. We did, and continued the plan. But since I pay full freight, I DO use the benefits, and today was my annual physical exam.
A few weeks ago, I saw Nurse Nancy, who took 5 vials of blood. Today I went over the report in detail with Dr. Mary, after she did a complete, old school exam. I was with her over an hour. The good news was that, despite being a fat pig, I'm surprisingly healthy. Last year I had flirted with "pre diabetes," but this year the flirting ended, thankfully. Even my PSA, which measures for prostate stuff, was within normal ranges.
It's so pleasant in the office. Dr. Mary has a friendly, large Doodle dog, who follows her around. I always take her photo and sent it to the Ds.
Dr. Mary's husband writes for Major League Baseball, and moved here to cover the Marlins. So a lot of our visit was dissecting the Cubs, even though Dr. Mary, as a native Missourian, is a Royals fan.
I celebrated the good health news with a carb-less breakfast at Bagel Emporium. Actually, it came with a bagel, which I bagged and gave to Bill, Stuart's Dad, in our office. He's 83 and not too worried about blood values anymore...
So all I have to do is lose about 40 lbs, and I'll be good to go for D1's wedding next September. It could be worse...
We joined when our friend and family doc Dave became a member. Dave would waive our fee in exchange for free legal work I 'd do for him. In return, I'd use the service as little as possible, including the annual physical, which checks many vials of your blood for any hint or illness or disease.
Three years ago, Dave retired, and Dr. Mary came in from Texas. She gave us the first year free, too, to make sure we liked her. We did, and continued the plan. But since I pay full freight, I DO use the benefits, and today was my annual physical exam.
A few weeks ago, I saw Nurse Nancy, who took 5 vials of blood. Today I went over the report in detail with Dr. Mary, after she did a complete, old school exam. I was with her over an hour. The good news was that, despite being a fat pig, I'm surprisingly healthy. Last year I had flirted with "pre diabetes," but this year the flirting ended, thankfully. Even my PSA, which measures for prostate stuff, was within normal ranges.
It's so pleasant in the office. Dr. Mary has a friendly, large Doodle dog, who follows her around. I always take her photo and sent it to the Ds.
Dr. Mary's husband writes for Major League Baseball, and moved here to cover the Marlins. So a lot of our visit was dissecting the Cubs, even though Dr. Mary, as a native Missourian, is a Royals fan.
I celebrated the good health news with a carb-less breakfast at Bagel Emporium. Actually, it came with a bagel, which I bagged and gave to Bill, Stuart's Dad, in our office. He's 83 and not too worried about blood values anymore...
So all I have to do is lose about 40 lbs, and I'll be good to go for D1's wedding next September. It could be worse...
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Sweet Home South Bend
So Wifey and I drove to MIA, and headed to the Centurion Lounge, for some breakfast before the weekend to Canes football. We ate, and watched the planes come and go -- the Lounge has an awesome view of one of the runways, and I never outgrew my boyhood fascination with aircraft, so I watched for quite some time.
On the way to the gate, we met a fellow named Jim, also dressed in orange and green. He was headed to the game, too, as were most of the people on the huge triple 7. At O'Hare, I stopped to ask directions to the taxi stand, and was grabbed by a shuttle driver -- trip Downtown with his company would be half price, with just a few stops. Wifey and I agreed, bought a $50 ticket, and climbed onto the vehicle. A few more folks came aboard, including a late 60s lady who had NEW YORKER written all over her. She started right away asking and complaining why we hadn't left.
Although she looked like a LI type, she acted like a neurosurgeon late for an emergency surgery -- so obnoxious that it became funny. She kept asking, in her whining way "What's the ETA???" until finally I turned around and told her the shuttle rule was that whoever asked more than once got dropped off LAST. The driver, though, dropped her first, and as she de-vanned, I turned to the others and said "Boy --I'm gonna miss her." Everyone laughed, and we happily chatted as each one got dropped off.
We arrived at the Drake, the historic great hotel on MM (Miracle Mile). The 'hood looked safe -- even though Chicago kids are killing themselves at a record pace -- 18 died over last weekend alone. But not in the ritzy areas -- as we walked Michigan Avenue, each corner had 2-3 cops.
We went to the Drake bar, where the famous have partaken, and sat in front of the initials JD and MM carved by The Yankee Clipper. I had 3 martinis, and we chatted with a Canes couple from Okhahoma, of all places. Our friend Rob joined us, and we cabbed to Geno's, where we had two huge tables.
We drank more, and laughed, and watched the Cubs lose. The pizza was mediocre. Mike ordered a tequila shot for Wifey, but an already inebriated Darriel leaned in to observe what would have been a historic event, and knocked the glass over, onto Wifey. So the shot got done TO her...
Next early am, we walked to the Raffaelo Hotel, where Eric and his crew were staying, and boarded a bus to South Bend. Wifey slept, from the effects of the non consumed tequila, and I caught up with Norman and his boy Benji, and Norman's good friend/client Maria. We got to South Bend early, and enjoyed several hours walking the campus, hearing the famous bagpipers, and taking silly photos in front of the Knute Rockne statue. It was a warm and glorious Midwestern Fall day.
From there, we went to the Alumni Association BBQ, and had our pre game meal, and watched Canes propaganda, including the comically accented new president of the U, who did a great Chico Escuela impersonation as he tried to rile up the 1000 alumni there.
Then we walked into the stadium. The team forgot to -- we were down 20-0, and it looked like a long afternoon. But then the young troops rallied -- and made it a nailbiter -- before we lost as time expired. Still, we yelled and screamed and had a great time.
We met with Norman and Benji for the ride back to Chicago. They planned to get a late Italian meal, and we said we'd go, but then nearly fell asleep. We begged off, and then shared a sandwich back at the Drake, as the Cubs lost again. I think I brought bad team luck to Chicago...
Sunday, we Ubered to Rosemont, near O'Hare, and met my old friend Jeff and his Chicago native wife Myndee, and their daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth had just passed her CPA exam, and was to start work the next day. We bored her (and Wifey and Myndee) with tales of our LI childhoods. Jeff has become Mr. Chicago -- loves his Cubs and Blackhawks. He actually unfriended an old high school buddy for making fun of his teams...
They dropped us at the airport, and we had a nice smooth flight home. Mission accomplished, except for the result of the game.
As for the Cubs, well, they're hanging on. My favorite line about them: every team is entitled to a bad century...
Hopefully the Canes can win two more games and go to a bowl. And then next year...
On the way to the gate, we met a fellow named Jim, also dressed in orange and green. He was headed to the game, too, as were most of the people on the huge triple 7. At O'Hare, I stopped to ask directions to the taxi stand, and was grabbed by a shuttle driver -- trip Downtown with his company would be half price, with just a few stops. Wifey and I agreed, bought a $50 ticket, and climbed onto the vehicle. A few more folks came aboard, including a late 60s lady who had NEW YORKER written all over her. She started right away asking and complaining why we hadn't left.
Although she looked like a LI type, she acted like a neurosurgeon late for an emergency surgery -- so obnoxious that it became funny. She kept asking, in her whining way "What's the ETA???" until finally I turned around and told her the shuttle rule was that whoever asked more than once got dropped off LAST. The driver, though, dropped her first, and as she de-vanned, I turned to the others and said "Boy --I'm gonna miss her." Everyone laughed, and we happily chatted as each one got dropped off.
We arrived at the Drake, the historic great hotel on MM (Miracle Mile). The 'hood looked safe -- even though Chicago kids are killing themselves at a record pace -- 18 died over last weekend alone. But not in the ritzy areas -- as we walked Michigan Avenue, each corner had 2-3 cops.
We went to the Drake bar, where the famous have partaken, and sat in front of the initials JD and MM carved by The Yankee Clipper. I had 3 martinis, and we chatted with a Canes couple from Okhahoma, of all places. Our friend Rob joined us, and we cabbed to Geno's, where we had two huge tables.
We drank more, and laughed, and watched the Cubs lose. The pizza was mediocre. Mike ordered a tequila shot for Wifey, but an already inebriated Darriel leaned in to observe what would have been a historic event, and knocked the glass over, onto Wifey. So the shot got done TO her...
Next early am, we walked to the Raffaelo Hotel, where Eric and his crew were staying, and boarded a bus to South Bend. Wifey slept, from the effects of the non consumed tequila, and I caught up with Norman and his boy Benji, and Norman's good friend/client Maria. We got to South Bend early, and enjoyed several hours walking the campus, hearing the famous bagpipers, and taking silly photos in front of the Knute Rockne statue. It was a warm and glorious Midwestern Fall day.
From there, we went to the Alumni Association BBQ, and had our pre game meal, and watched Canes propaganda, including the comically accented new president of the U, who did a great Chico Escuela impersonation as he tried to rile up the 1000 alumni there.
Then we walked into the stadium. The team forgot to -- we were down 20-0, and it looked like a long afternoon. But then the young troops rallied -- and made it a nailbiter -- before we lost as time expired. Still, we yelled and screamed and had a great time.
We met with Norman and Benji for the ride back to Chicago. They planned to get a late Italian meal, and we said we'd go, but then nearly fell asleep. We begged off, and then shared a sandwich back at the Drake, as the Cubs lost again. I think I brought bad team luck to Chicago...
Sunday, we Ubered to Rosemont, near O'Hare, and met my old friend Jeff and his Chicago native wife Myndee, and their daughter Elizabeth. Elizabeth had just passed her CPA exam, and was to start work the next day. We bored her (and Wifey and Myndee) with tales of our LI childhoods. Jeff has become Mr. Chicago -- loves his Cubs and Blackhawks. He actually unfriended an old high school buddy for making fun of his teams...
They dropped us at the airport, and we had a nice smooth flight home. Mission accomplished, except for the result of the game.
As for the Cubs, well, they're hanging on. My favorite line about them: every team is entitled to a bad century...
Hopefully the Canes can win two more games and go to a bowl. And then next year...
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