Adios, 2017

And so I sit, drinking the last morning coffee of 2017, and reflecting about the year gone by.  Last night was a fun one, albeit in an "other than THAT, Mrs. Lincoln" sort of way.

After dealing with yet another ancient suegra issue, Wifey and Mirta and I said goodbye to D2, who was planning to attend an alternate wedding party in Pinecrest, and headed up the Palmetto.  It was an alternative party, since her high school friend Max is marrying in North Carolina, in a small ceremony for family only, and his folks wanted to have a party for friends here in town, first.

We parked, and found that Mike was hosting his tailgate one row over -- we joined him, and caught up with old friends.  Barry and his family had Ubered to the game, and Paul and Patricia and Alex came, too.  My old friend Steve the cop was on duty, with his old buddy Darren.  Darren is one of these people I see far too little of.

It turns out his middle girl is a 1L at UF, and Darren got her on the phone for me to talk with .  The girl is a budding superstar -- and I asked her to say hi to my rabbi friend's son.  She knew him -- they're in the same section.  I'd love it if these two became closer -- truly the next generation, kids of wonderful men.

We found our way to the Club section, and I learned why I had the final three seats there -- smack in the middle of the Wisconsin fans.  The game began, and I went a bit wild.  Mirta thought it best we get out of there, and we did -- repairing to Norman's skybox, where a party was in full force.

We stayed there for the rest of the game.  The Canes had a big lead but blew it -- our hopefully soon to be ex QB isn't good enough -- he threw 3 picks.  Still, it was a fine season -- 10-3 -- and I have my season ticket renewal package to send in next week.  And for me, it brings football season to a close -- I'll have only passing ha ! interest in which teams win the college ring and Super Bowl...

Now I can focus on more important things than the Canes, like -- well, I don't know yet -- I'll find something.

What a year.  The highlight for us was, of course, the Big, Fat, Colombian wedding -- the biggest affair ever put on by someone in my family.  As far as I can tell --over three hundred guests had the time of their life.  Only one reported she didn't -- the "Spanish music was too loud."  Hey. Every party has a pooper...

D1 and Joey have a lot coming up in '18 -- they bought a new house, and will monitor its construction progress. D1 has big plans for her business.

D2 and Jonathan seem closer to moving back here.  D2 was bemoaning that the first week of the year will hit her with single digit temperatures.  She's a tropical girl.  As for what the plans might specifically be, they'll be working for the Nunya Company, as in Nunya (my) business...

Wifey and I have some serious focus coming on health issues -- weight loss, better fitness.  We have promised the Ds to endeavor as such...

So the mortal coil spins, and brings us, tonight another year to savor.  I figure if it turns out less than great -- I'll opt to follow the Jewish calendar, and switch years in September.  Hopefully that won't be necessary...

The E Death Fallout Continues

In the same way most folks accumulate possessions, I've now realized that I gather many places I've used my long time email address.  And I guess the fallout will continue for a long time.

A few days ago, I decided to donate two Club seats I had bought to the Orange Bowl to my Rabbi friend.  He was appreciative -- he'd sell the tickets and use the proceeds for the Friendship Circle -- a great program that pairs Shul kids with mentally challenged kids in the community, mostly autistic, and benefits both groups.

I dropped off the tickets I had printed.  Rabbi gave them to his ticket guru friend Ron to sell them.  But, to put them on StubHub, you needed the PDF from the OB Committee.  No problem, I said.  But there was -- the PDF was in my old, inaccessible email account.  So it will be tough to sell the tickets -- Rabbi might just take his Gator Law son to the game, which will be good for both -- attending a Canes game can be a religious experience.

Yesterday, Dr. Barry toiled in his ICU, and his wife and two boys came to our breakfast place, LOL, for a late birthday breakfast for Scott.  Scott likes to keep things low key, so of course I made a big deal to Lori, our waitress, that he turned 21.  Lori brought over a slice of chocolate cake with a candle, and some staff, and we loudly sang to this awesome young man.

Afterwards, his brother Josh, the tech wizard, came over and helped restore some of our electronic life.  But alas, AOL is inscrutable, and incompetent.  They simply won't respond to our entreaties to unblock our accounts. I'm developing malevolent thoughts towards that company...

The Ds had a superb sister bonding day.  D2 and D1 and Joey went to D1's beach club, SoHo House, and enjoyed the day.  Jonathan was missing -- he had to catch up on work from his parents' place in Aventura.  They're enjoying having their boy home, I know.

D1 and Joey have a signed contract for a new house, near Shorecrest in Miami's Upper East Side.  Joey is wildly excited -- he goes by each day to photograph the progress, which so far is some holes in the ground with steel rebar.  They're hoping to welcome 2019 in their new home -- I bet it happens.

Today Paul and I will meet our comptroller/brother in law Dennis for our annual end of the year meeting, which will consist of some playing of the horses and lunch at Gulfstream.  Paul's buddy Lou will be there -- a man who loves the horses like I love the Hurricanes.

The last three visits to Gulfstream, I haven't won one single race.  My luck has been comically bad.  Perhaps it'll change today -- and the track will pay for our NYE celebration.

And what a weekend it'll be.  NYE eve, tomorrow, we're off to the Orange Bowl game -- Wifey and Mirta and me.  Norman has a skybox, and our Club seats will get us access to his party.  I learned yesterday that Dr. Barry indeed bought tickets, and hopefully we can coordinate with him and his family as well.

Sunday I'll be picking up some stone crabs and champagne.  Norman and Deb and Mike and Loni are coming over late -- around 9 - and it'll be our goal to stay awake until midnight to ring in 2018.

18 is a lucky number in the Jewish tradition -- it stands for "Chai," or life.  I'm hoping that proves true, for all of us this year.

I hope our actual lives are grand -- great health, and laughter.  I'm adapting to the death of my former E life pretty well...

My Girls

So Xmas Eve I pulled a Seinfeldian great airport pickup.  Wifey and Bo, the special needs Spaniel, were flying home from ATL, and D2 and Jonathan from Newark.  Their flights ended up arriving minutes apart, and both Wifey and D2 had checked a bag.

I patiently waited in the parking lot of 94th Aerosquadron, where a huge Cuban American Nochebuena party was in full swing.  I texted both parties that Dadber Pool was ready.  D2 fetched her bag, and I pulled into the AA area and got her and the dog.  But wait -- D2's carousel had stopped!

Typically, MIA police shoo you away, but it being Xmas, I guess, security was off.  So I pulled an old school move: stayed standing in one spot a good 20 minutes.  I kept checking my mirrors, awaiting the dreaded officer, and ready with a spiel about how thankful I was he was working Christmas, and all that crap.  Plus, I have an old friend who is a MIA based cop.  No need -- I was left unmolested, and soon enough I got the call that D2 and Jonathan were waiting outside UA's baggage.  It was a pickup of beauty...

We dropped Wifey and the dog home, and headed out to the Grove to meet D1 and Joey at my crazy friend Joel's house.  It was festive -- children running around, their beautiful Springer Spaniel Bella greeting everyone, and Joel's wife Courtney in full Leslie Mann hilarious, eye rolling form. Courtney has become a favorite WOF (wife of friend) to me -- she's really, really cool, and keeps a hectic life together with great humor and grace.

D1 and Joey left with Jonathan -- the latter J was headed to his parents' house in Aventura, and Ubered there from Midtown.  D2 and I drove home down quiet Old Cutler, catching up on life in NYC and life in the 305.

The 25th dawned, which is, of course, the day that people the world over gather to share warmth and gifts of love: Wifey's birthday.  She has reached a grand age which I am sworn to keep secret, but is only 4 years away from blessed Medicare...

D1 arrived, and I made Daddy Eggs for everyone, which are my secret scrambled eggs recipe consisting of no ingredients but the eggs, and the fact that I whip them into a state of fluffiness.

We debated the movie choice, which we always do on the one family movie day of the year, and settled on the Churchill bio "Darkest Hour."  We drove to Merrick Park, which was delightfully sparsely populated, and went to the luxe theater.  We settled into the seats, and the movie began.  The Ds and I liked it, as did Wifey, though she slept through at least 60% of it.

Afterwards we decamped to the Brasserie, a French place, and I had quick thoughts about the lack of servers.  But a nice gay black fellow came, brought us our soft drinks and took our order, and complained of the rudeness of fellow diners "even on Christmas."  I told him "Well, you won't get that from us!" and we sat.  And sat. And sat.

It occurred to us that we had been waiting over an hour. The waiter came by, harried, and said he'd check on our salad orders.  Another 20 minutes.  Finally he came, looking proud, and said "I figured out what happened!  The kitchen lost your ticket!"  We smirked at him, got up, and left.  I took it that the Brasserie bought us an iced coffee and two Diet Cokes.  D1 will deal with them on Yelp...

We walked across the mall and sat at Villagio, which was crowded but competent.  We had the opposite experience -- out lentil soups came out quickly, and we enjoyed a lovely late lunch.  An old office mate, Diana, was at the next table with her sister and ancient mother, and we caught up with her.  She watched the Ds grow from little girls to women, and enjoyed the catching up.

We lamented the loss of the old days. Her new job has, it seems, zero good spirit, and we longed for the days when Paul and I ran a competent and fun operation.

We headed home, and the Ds did a Zumba session in front of the TV.  It was delightful -- having them both home, being together and joking with each other.  They didn't see it, but I teared up a bit as I sat at my computer, and listened to their giggles...

D1 left for a dessert party, and D2 hosted her friend Catherine and boyfriend Jacob.  They live in Atlanta, and Jake and I caught up on sports.  He's an Emory and UF guy, but loves the Georgia Bulldogs.  He's also a Mark Richt fan, so we were pretty much on the same page when it came to this critical point: college football alliances.

I went up to sleep, a very happy Daddy in the USA.  2017 draws to a close.  As usual, I'm taking stock.  Will there be big changes this year?  Maybe.

I'll begin to learn in less than a week.

My E Death

For reasons too absurd to get into, my longtime email account was canceled yesterday.  No -- actually not just canceled -- it was "terminated" by AOL.com.  Hours of phone conversations with pleasant denizens of the Sub Continent all seem to indicate that dsa61 is now a screen name lost forever.  And it has affected me much more seriously than I thought it would.

DSA61 is the only email address I ever had -- I adopted it back in, I think, 1993 when we first got AOL accounts.  It was short, and unfailingly easy to remember for me, as long as I didn't forget my initials and year of birth.

Of course, over the years having an AOL address marks you as, well, old.  As my friend Jeff noted -- "Who even has AOL anymore?  You must submit to the gods of Google..."  But I have kept on -- something works for me, I stick with it.

All kidding aside, losing the account has serious repercussions. I keep as "new" messages of great importance -- client matters, insurance and financial information, Florida Bar information.  Recently, D1 and Joey have been sending me correspondence about their new house.  That's lost now -- thankfully I can get, I hope, copies from them.

In my "favorite places" section I have all my user names and password hints from Social Security, car leases, the Ds' financial accounts, and my many financial accounts.  That's all lost now, too.

Just the other day, I needed info from my Hurricane Club account.  I retrieved it easily.  No more.

I know that young people switch email addresses all the time.  But somehow I feel my alter ego is now killed off.

When I book a hotel, or speak to a vendor, they're ALL, these days, younger than I am.  I enjoy giving my email address by the disclaimer "OK -- get ready to laugh to yourself, I have AOL..." and they do.  The nice, typically Midwestern folks say "Oh -- it's ok, my parents (or grandparents) have AOL, too."  This was just a ritual I enjoyed.

Well, I'm keeping it.  I already signed up for a new user name with AOL, and paid a new monthly fee for it.  The new name is unwieldy.  I sounds like a gmail name.  I already dislike it, and it has so many letters I know giving it to non native English speakers is going to be a chore.

I had to use it last night to keep my IPhone working.  Even that new-ish technology was linked to DSA61.  No more.

I'm pretty OCD --  much more than most people realize.  I'd like to at least get started on repairing this electronic murder, to the extent I can, but of course the cyber crime happened two days before Christmas.  The helpful but limited tech woman from Bangalore told me "Call on Monday."  I asked whether they weren't closed for Christmas. "Praise Vishnu --you're correct!"  She didn't actually say that, but I could tell the bubble above her headset said precisely that.

Some people are naturally angry.  I'm not.  I'm not comfortable being an angry guy -- and yet this has made me so livid I barely slept last night.  I can't recall the last time anger has robbed me of sleep -- typically it's worry of some sort.

Oh well -- as Tony S said, what are ya gonna do? His fellow Jersey man said that everything dies -- that's a fact; but maybe everything that dies someday comes back.

I fear that will NOT be the case for DSA61.  He seems terminated, along with all his user names, old emails from dear friends, and password reminders.  I guess the positive thing is that he died as a 56 year old man, and will be spared the indignity of further aging and decay.

I'll miss him.  He was so much a part of my identity for the past quarter of a century.  But now he's gone -- dead -- in the virtual ether.

So long, electronic me.

Temporary Bachelorhood Winding Down

It's been a nice week here in pre Wifey's Birthday 305.  Wifey is ensconced in Atlanta, and I've been going it alone...except for the strange rescue dog, who indeed is fine company.

Wednesday night I met Norman, whose wife was off with her daughter, for a great dinner at Shula's.  We sat and discussed crucial things, like the Hurricanes, and the nice young waiter came over, to tell us about the fish specials.  Norman said "Do we look like the kind of guys who'd order fish?"  The waiter laughed -- and we did NOT order fish.  We had the French Onion burgers, which we agree may be best in the city.

I had Ubered over to the restaurant, and Norman dropped me off.  On the way, we listened to what I think may be the best sports interview of recent memory -- Dan LeBatard's skewering of Rob Manfred, Commissioner of Baseball.  It was memorable.

Yesterday I hit the office to move a few papers around, and then retired to Trulucks, where I met Rob and Mike.  Rob's boy Matt is getting married in January, and he's here from LA for the party.  Matt is a talented artist, and making a very nice living at it -- a rarity.  We talked about how lucky he is. The three of us also discussed topics of crucial importance -- the Hurricanes.  We'll all be attending the Orange Bowl on New Year's Eve, Eve.

From there, I Ubered to meet D1 and Joey.  And I tried something new -- Uber Pool.  The estimate was $5 versus $20 for UberX, and I had plenty of time.  The cordial Cuban driver fetched me, and then swung Downtown where he picked up a most affable black fellow -- he was the marketing guy for Greenberg Traurig.  We chatted the entire trip to his Edgewater condo -- he went to Cal Berkley for law school and practiced in California, but he wanted a change -- and came to Miami to market instead of lawyer.  He was in his 30s and seemed to be impressed that the head of litigation at his firm was a friend of mine.  It made me feel very old.

I met my kids at a small Argentinian place on Biscayne and 70th -- near the house they just bought.  We chatted about crucial things -- not the Hurricanes.  After dinner, we drove to the development, and saw they had dug some trenches and put down rebar.  Joey was very, very excited.

It made me remember how I felt when Wifey and I bought our first place.  That led to a funny tale, however.  We hosted my suegra's cousing Dobka -- like my mother in law, a woman not exactly, um, reserved or taciturn.  Our house had open beam ceilings, which Wifey and I loved.

Dobka looked up at them, and smirked.  She said, in her Yiddish accent "So -- you a law-ya -right?"  I  I said I was.  "Den good -- mebbe someday you make some more money and buy a house with finished ceilings."

Wifey and I were crestfallen.  This woman besmirched our proudest possession.  Of course, we laughed at her crassness.  I'll always remember it.

Anyway -- Joey and D1 drove me back to my office, and I got in my car for the drive home.  D1 made me promise to text when I made it.  How the worm has turned...

Today the painter has promised to finish our house, and wants to take me around to show his handiwork, and, of course, get paid.

I have no plans yet for the final days of bachelorhood, but something will come up. It always does.

In the mean time, strange rescue dog awaits her walk...

Green Team Keeps Winning

For years, when we'd go to lunch during the business day, my partner Paul would always look at the TV, and see whether the stock market was up or down.  Of course, the down graphics would show red, while the rising markets would show green.  If the day was an uptick, he'd happily say "The green team is winning."

I paid far less attention back then.  We were making very nice money, and though I had some investments, I figured they'd take care of themselves.  I learned a harsh lesson when I first hired a "money manager" in about '00 or '01.  I had a chunk of money, and Paul suggested I give it to "professionals" to handle.

I decided to go with Northern Trust -- they seemed the very essence of conservative, WASPy investment banking.  At the time, they were on a marketing blitz to bring in clients of a certain level.  I bit.  Wifey and I met with the manager, who I'll call Diane Dansky, since that was her name, and were impressed.  They took us to their skybox at the AAA.  They had sponsored lunches with local academics.

And my money grew for several months -- like 5% each month.  I was happy, I stopped looking at the statements.  And then the tech crash came.  I looked.  My account value was one half what it had been.  I sat down with Diane, and learned the harsh truth -- she had over 500 clients, and really didn't "manage" the accounts at all -- just bought and hold, like I could have done without paying the substantial yearly cost.

I closed the account, and actually thought about suing them, but then figured if my clients learned that I was careless with my own money, could I really be trusted to advise them about settlements and such.

So the experience taught me I'd better damn well watch investments, and closely.  I have ever since.

The election of The Donald is, to me, the greatest national embarrassment of my adult life.  I don't blame him at all -- he's a fake populist huckster, who took advantage of a highly flawed opponent, and won.  And the GOP Congress will, today, pass sweeping "tax reform" that all real experts agree is a future disaster for the country.

But -- for me -- there's been a huge upside -- enormous gains in the stock market.  I've been harvesting some, and just watching the continued rise.

Comedian Dave Chappelle had a similar take, when his liberal friends asked whether he was moving to Canada, following Trump's election. "Nah -- I figure I'll stick around and see how these tax cuts work out for me."

Our voters were stupid enough to vote against most of their self interests, to help the rich get richer.  Who am I to disagree?

So for now, I enjoy the anti Trump FaceBook (tm) screeds.  I refrain from them.  He, too, shall pass.

But at least for now, it's nice to see the Green Team keep winning.

Overcoming Inertia

So in Wifey's absence, the house has been quiet, except for the sound of the three painters working busily on their task.  It's kind of funny to have them here.  Yesterday I stepped out of the shower to see a fellow painting around a window.  He feigned not seeing me, but I know he thought to himself: "Wow -- the owner of this big house could stand to lose some pounds."  Actually, he probably thought to himself: "Que gordo!"

I've been reflecting on the talks I've had with friends who are unhappy in their jobs.  We're all empty nesters, most with at least some degree of financial security, and yet toil on and on, complaining about the lack of challenge or excitement in our careers.

It's just so damn easy to keep the status quo.

I guess the same holds true for marriages that have long ago gone stale.  Divorce is hard work.  I have to think that, especially in the minds of wives whose hearts tell them it's time to move on, they simply say, essentially, screw it -- could be worse.

I've been a lawyer now over 31 years.  From about the first month into the career, I didn't like it.  I got very lucky, of course, and the job has brought our family amazing things -- not the least of which is freedom from worry where our next meals come from.  But I think back to college, when I met the folks who were "pre law."  I didn't like them, for the most part.  And, go figure, they ended up my colleagues in the Bar!

I think back over those I have met.  I always found far more interesting folks who have done several things over their lives.  Now they have interesting tales to tell.

I think about my old friend Roger Howard.  He was a Music professor, neuroscientist, and then, finally, lawyer.  I would love to spend time with him, and have him share his life's experiences.  Roger became a partner at my second law firm -- and after a few years walked away from representing airlines and Lloyds of London to open a small practice in South Miami .  He would refer the bigger cases to me at my then practice.  Roger was so cool -- I remember one afternoon, following a meeting about a case, he explained to me a theory of tonality.

Sadly -- he died young, of leukemia.  But he was a mentor to me.

And inertia holds me back, too.  I still feel young enough to do something other than lawyering.  Maybe 2018 will be the year.

I had dinner with my friend Mirta Sunday night.  We talked a lot about this.  I told Mirta that, if I was at a party, and there were two folks I could spend time with:  one a wildly successful lawyer, the other a former lawyer who now ran a coffee shop -- I would have a clear choice to make -- NOT the full time lawyer.

My firm turns 24 next November.  When my partner/brother and I started out, we pledged to give the business our all for 10 years.  We'd make it, whatever it took.  That was our motto. Well, 2004 came and went, and we kept on plugging.  By the 20 year mark, 2014, we had ceded the daily operations to our buddy Stuart.  And now three years in that incarnation have come and gone.

I miss the heady times of our early years.  We worked hours without watching the clock.  We were in early and stayed late.  If there was a new case to sign up, we'd suit up any day, and any hour, lest we lose the case to other ravenous firms.

We undertook huge responsibility -- for burned children, children with spinal cord injuries, families who lost fathers and mothers.  We very rarely lost.

We took our staff under our wings like they were family.  We paid them most handsomely -- they came in drowning in credit card debt and left with the ability to start their own businesses.

We supported judges, and Congresspeople, and School Board candidates.  We gave freely to charity -- a $200K, interest free mortgage allowed our Rabbi to build his Center.

And we had FUN.  Lots of it.  We threw parties.  We took groups on vacations -- all expenses paid -- Vegas, sailboats, Chalet Suzanne, LA, NYC, Philly...

Maybe there's still a new career in me.  Maybe not.  I just need to set about moving that big rock called inertia...

Oh What A Night -- Mid December Here in '17

So yesterday was my first one as el solo toro, the lonely bull.  I walked the strange sausage dog, and came home to full on painting by the crew.  D1 called -- we were going to share a mitzvah -- visiting her ancient grandmother.

I met D1 at the Palace -- the old woman is now in the nursing home section, at least temporarily.  Gloria, her former caretaker was there -- Wifey still pays her to check in.  Rachel was back in full throat, and pretty unsure of what was going on, but VERY sure she wanted us to "go have lunch and put it on my tab."  As my buddy Paul says, she's going down swinging...

D1 and I then drove to the Kendall Mall, and met at a bagel place, where she ordered healthy salads for us and we caught up.  Mads, the spoiled Spaniel, was happy to be along.  D1 left for a date night with her husband Joey, and I headed back home, listening on the radio to the Canes win again.  But the radio sounded tinny, and I stopped at the dealership, where the "tech girl" diagnosed a blown speaker. I  made an appointment to leave the car for service Monday am -- I have Wifey's SUV to drive until Noche Buena...

Deb and Norman fetched me -- they invited me along on their date night.  We went to Wynwood Yard, and a cool place called Charcoal, situated among old steel shipping containers.  The food and drink were excellent, and the company better.

After dinner, we walked a bit, admiring some dogs of Wynwood, and passing a big party at the Puerto Rican place Jimmy's Kitchen.  The folks were dancing and singing into the cool night air.

Wynwood is a really special place -- artists and hipsters, great restaurants and bars.  It'll probably eventually gentrify, like Lincoln Road, and be boring upper scale stores, but for now it's still way cool.

We walked back to Wynwood Yard, which is a big expanse of food trucks around an outdoor bar, and a great young band was playing.  They covered "You're Just Too Good To Be True," and the hipsters moshed to the song's famous chorus.

Behind them, we noticed a large, art menorah -- covered in multi colored fabric.  Some young Hasids waited by it, watching the moshing and un orthodox dressed young girls.

When the song finished, the band's leader announced it was their last song, and hoped he pronounced "menorah" correctly -- he did -- and then the Chabadniks lit it.  Folks walked around -- laughing and eating and drinking.

I had the same feeling I typically get -- I really never want to live anywhere else.

Today I'll meet Paul and we'll have lunch with his old law school friend Alan -- who is battling cancer -- a recurrence of a rare type of small intestinal lesions.  I haven't seen Alan in months, and look forward to helping cheer him up.

But for now, the strange rescue dog awaits -- she enjoys her bachelor owner, and roughing it for a few days.

Thelma and Louise Ride Again

So Wifey's BFF Edna drove to SoFla herself a few weeks ago -- 12 hours from Atlanta. Last time she visited, she got annoyed at the airlines for their change restrictions, realized she liked long drives, and came on down.  Her husband Marc flew up and back, and Wednesday night she came to spend a final night here at Villa Wifey before heading back home.

Thursday we had breakfast together, and then Wifey started talking and talking about new home projects she thought we should do, and then I hit upon a great idea:  maybe Wifey would like to accompany Edna on her drive back to Atlanta!  Wifey couldn't do long car trips on account of her bad back, but that has passed back Ha! into history, and she made a long schlep to Atlanta fleeing Hurricane Irma, so she knew she could do it.

She went to AA.com and learned that a one way flight home was only $200, and decided to book it for 12/24, the same day D2 flies in.  And Edna and Wifey both adore Bo, the special needs Spaniel, and they decided he should come along, too.  Bo costs $120 to bring on the plane -- well worth it.

So it was set -- they'd leave Friday, and be northbound.  Not so fast.  There were too many things to do first -- Wifey had to visit her Mom, for her 93rd birthday, and Edna needed a final visit to HER parents at Miami Jewish Home.  So Friday was too aspirational --it would be Saturday.

I attended Stu's holiday lunch on Brickell, and then John and I decided to retire to Town, for some more revelry.  I called Wifey, and she was flitting around, and Edna was already annoyed, so I invited Edna to meet us, which she did.  We got home around 7, to a still flitting Wifey, but the two did get out the door around 8 -- with a visit to Miami Jewish planned, followed by a night at Edna's condo in Hallandale, and then a departure this am.

Their plan is to stop for the night in O Town, with friend Elizabeth, and then leave Sunday for the long leg of the trip back to Atl.

Meanwhile, I get 8 days of bachelorhood, which I really enjoy.  It's just me and Vienna, the strange rescue dog, who seemed to enjoy some only dog time.  We already took a long walk together this am.

The house is being painted -- the crew started Tuesday, and we're told it's a full two week affair.  It was time -- Villa Wifey is now 20, and has never been painted.  We're keeping the same colors -- yellow, and beige, and gray.  I fell in love with the place in those shades -- no need to change.

Deb called yesterday to invite Wifey and I to see Cirqu du Soleil with them.  I told her I was Wifey-less, but she said that was fine.  I was honest with her, though -- I appreciate their talent, but after seeing them once in Vegas, I realized I can't watch an entire performance again.  I totally related to Seth Rogen's character in "Knocked Up," who watched them perform under the influence of magic mushrooms, and was totally freaked out.

But Deb said I was still invited to dinner tonight, and I'm looking forward to that.  First, I'll meet D1 over at the Palace, to see the ancient suegra.  Then, the second half of a Canes basketball game on TV at Mike's house is in the mix.

I love Wifey and our life together, but separations indeed make the heart grow fonder.  My signature bachelor move is dinner alone, at the bar of either Trulucks or Shula's in South Miami.  I drink a martini or two, eat dinner, and either chat with the bartender or watch whatever they have on ESPN.  Then  I return to let out the strange rescue dog.  It ought to be a pleasant week.

12/24 my friend crazy Joel is having his annual Christmas Eve get together.  He invited us all last year, and this year as well -- he and his wife Courtney have a gorgeous house in the Grove and do a traditional Italian Xmas eve -- all fish and cold cuts and Joel grills a tenderloin.

It'll be a bit tough logistically this year -- Wifey and Bo arrive at 6, and D2 at 7, assuming all are on time, but I think we can pull it off.

And Xmas Day, for us known as Wifey's birthday, I think we might break Chinese food tradition and instead have a meal at SoHo House, where D1 is a member.

But first thing's first: I'm  a bachelor for the next 8 days.  I put away all women's magazines, and put up, temporarily, a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker.

It's nice, but really only because it's temporary.  The Boss sang it best: don't make no difference what nobody says...ain't nobody wants to be alone.

Dad's Restaurant Rule

Wifey and the Ds know my rule when it comes to restaurants: if you're not greeted well, or there's a big delay in getting service -- it's time to turn around and walk out.  I 've learned that a bad experience never improves with time -- it goes from bad to worse.

So last night, Wifey and I decided to celebrate the first night of Chanukah by seeking some Jewish soul food.  She visited her mother -- transferred from Baptist Hospital back to the Palace, but not the ALF -- rehab.  This may be the beginning of her sad "graduation" from ALF to nursing home.

We decided to meet at the Roasters and Toasters on 128 Street.  I tend to rank Roasters as my #3 local deli, behind Lots of Lox and Bagel Emporium -- the prices at Roasters offend me.  But, it's closest, and since R and T took over the former Mitch's West side, it IS better...

I arrived first and learned that a large number of our fellow tribemen had the same idea -- there were about 40 people there.  It appeared there were only 2 servers.  The 70 something lady manager came out, and asked if she could bring me something.  Yes, I said, I was waiting for my wife, but an iced tea please, and an order of latkes.  20 minutes passed.  Nothing.

A couple across from me had a tea and seemed angry.  Wifey arrived -- I told her "it ain't happening here tonight."  The older couple got up to leave.  I told Wifey we needed to do the same.

The couple waited at the counter to pay for the tea, but no one was there.  I leaned in, and said "I think they at least owe you a free tea for this -- take off."  The woman said "I like the way you think" and walked out.  So we stole an iced tea and hot tea from the incompetent deli...

Wifey wanted to go to LOL, but then we saw Ana Capri was open.  It's an ok Italian place -- we hadn't been in 3 years.  We walked across the lot, and were greeted by a most effete man -- dismissive as well.  He asked for our reservation.

What?  A place in a strip center in Pinecrest on a Tuesday night?  No, I said -- no reservations.  It was 7:15.  "I can get you in at 8 -- maybe earlier if you're lucky."  No thanks, I said -- I was last there three years ago -- I'd try back in 2021.  He rolled his eyes.  I reminded him there were 20 Italian restaurants in a 3 mile radius.  "But we're the best," he lisped.  No, I countered -- Salvatore D is.

We then got in the car and drove to LOL.  It was great.  I ordered latkes,  The American waitress asked why so many were ordering them.  I explained that on Chanukah, Jews are supposed to eat oily foods -- to reflect the oil that kept the menorah burning.

We ate, and reflected on Chanukahs past -- when the Ds were little.  It was a big deal.  As empty nesters, it no longer is.

But Wifey got the present she wanted -- the wacko judge lost the senate race in Alabama.

And I think I will no longer vote to go to Roasters...

And They Seemed Old to Me Then

It's funny how our point of view changes as we age.  FaceBook (tm) just reminded me of a photo I think Wifey had posted -- my parents and I back in Winter of '79.  It shows us standing in my parents' condo, in Delray, before we left for dinner.  It may have been New Year's Eve.

I was a dweeby college freshman home from UM for the Xmas break.  My girlfriend Alison, then still a high school senior, flew down from LI.  I think she took the picture.  I was wearing a spiffy suede tie, quite narrow, with a beige blazer, and my Dad had a green plaid blazer.  The photo was in front of the new china cabinet Mom bought when she moved to South Florida -- I hope it's now in the Laminate Museum somewhere...

The photo is 37 years in the past.  First, of course, it reminds me how much I miss my parents, especially my Dad.  I adored and worshiped him.  What he found funny, I found hilarious.  He was a Greatest Generation guy, and I a late Baby Boomer, but we always saw eye to eye.  In many ways, he was more Liberal than I was -- even though he worked three jobs when he returned from WW II, to support his family.  He was still delightfully politically incorrect, with a Liberal heart.  I remember once, when he was still working, Mom asked him to take the day off -- it was lovely Spring weather.  "Sunny -- I can't," he said.  "I work to support at least 9 Puerto Ricans who won't work, you know.  They depend on me too."  Dad never ran for office.

Anyway, I also remember thinking, at the time, my parents were OLD.  They were 60 and 59, but to the college freshman, that was senior citizen.  Wifey's about to be older than my Dad was in the photo.  Caramba!

Wifey and I certainly don't consider ourselves old, even though I hear noises when I bend over to pick something I dropped.  Hell -- we went to a Little Haiti bar a few weeks ago, to hear an awesome blues musician.

Dr. Barry gets in a new crop of pediatricians in training each summer.  Sometimes I meet them.  They're typically 26 or so.  When we meet, my mind still tells me I'm their contemporary -- hey -- I lived with Eric, a med student, so I get them, right?  The problem is Eric and I lived together 34 years ago.

The young docs in training look at Barry and me as fathers.  Pretty soon it'll be like GRANDfathers...

The other night, friends Stu and Vince and I were at Captain's Tavern -- they had attended a judicial fundraiser in Datran.  Stu recognized an older PI lawyer he knew.  I'll call him Gary, since that's his name.  He was with a younger, attractive woman.  I assumed it was his daughter.  It was his wife.

Turns out Gary married late, like Stu did.  He's 25 years his wife's senior.  They have, I think, high school aged kids.  Gary looks his age -- late 60s or early 70s.  I wonder if his kids think they have an ancient Dad.

Still, it's nice to see the point of view change.  The kid in the FB photo was a kid.  He thought he knew a lot, at 19 or so.  As "Rug Rats'" Angela used to say -- "you babies don't know nothin'!"

So at least this 56.5 year old man can look back on his 19 year old self with more wisdom.  And the memories are warm from this point of view.

Money, Money, Money

So Wifey and I had an unusually expensive couple of events this weekend.  First, we had dinner at Il Gabbianno, which is great, but very expensive.  Saturday we met Edna and Marc again at Gulfstream, my partner and brother Paul's favorite hangout, where there was another quite expensive meal.  Plus, we gambled and lost $200!

All said, we spent nearly $1000 on the weekend's entertainment.  We enjoyed ourselves.  We didn't need it.  It got me to thinking about money, and its role in our lives.

I grew up nicely middle class -- maybe on the upper side, at least among my more blue collar friends.  By the time I came along, my Dad was already in his 40s, and was enjoying the fruits of his very hard, post WW II labor.  When I was 8, we took a family trip to Israel.  I was the first of my friends to be on a jet plane, except for Mark, whose Dad was a weather guy for TWA, and got to fly for free.

Wifey's childhood was more economically challenged.  Her father, may he rest in peace, continued to try various businesses, and never made it.  His ego led him to choices that left him behind his Survivor peers.  The clearest example is when they were back in Miami, in the early 70s, and part of a group of "card players" who were all War refugees.

The group pooled their money, and each invested $10K in real estate -- they decided on what is now West Kendall.  Not my father in law.  He had decided that Miami was already "done" -- no -- the future was Cocoa Beach.  So he put his money in two housing lots there.

In the late 80s, the other card players sold their holdings -- for the high six figures each.  Their land became a major shopping center.  My father in law asked me to help in selling his Cocoa lots.  Since the Space Program never reached its promise, the lots sold for, and I remember this distinctly, $12K.

I joke with Wifey that I could have married a rich girl.  She replies I AM married to a rich girl...

I was extremely lucky when it came to making money, and I never forget that.  Wifey likes to bring up an incident from 1990. D1 was 2, and Wifey and my sister went shopping for curtains and bedclothes for the adorable toddler.  I was the sole support for my family -- Wifey was going to return to work after D1 was three months old, but simply couldn't.

The purchase was, I think, $150, and I hit the roof.  We couldn't afford luxuries like that!  I was already under major pressure -- this made it worse.  Take the stuff back!

It was too late -- my sister had already hung the curtains, and D1 loved her Little Mermaid comforter.  I figured I better step it up, if I was going to live with such a spendthrift wife.

And now, just over 25 years later, we toss away more money to a betting clerk at Gulfstream.

It's nice to have the freedom some money brings.  Wifey suffered from years of back pain.  She sought expensive treatments -- two separate stays in Orlando with every day PT.  None of it was covered by insurance.  But it brought her relief -- and was worth every penny.

About 10 years ago, Paul brought his college buddy Andy to the office.  Andy has led a renaissance man life -- coaching, teaching, leading seminars.  At the time, he was a "money coach," who consulted with people about their feelings with, and dealing with, money.  To help out his buddy, our firm paid for Andy to give a mini-seminar, including a test that showed how healthy and realistic one's views were about money.

Nilda, Stuart's always broke secretary (just last week she emailed to ask for a loan, even though she hasn't worked for Stu for years), scored the lowest.  She believed, in essence, that she would someday win the Lottery, but until then, it was fine to be broke.

I scored the highest.  I understood that having money was nice, but didn't define who I was.  I enjoyed pizza and beer with friends as much as martinis and NY Strips at the Palm.

So I'm lucky in this regard, I guess.  As long as the S and P keeps rising...

Traffic-geddon

So Wifey's BFF Edna is in town, and her man Marc joined her, and wanted to go to Salvatore D for dinner.  SD is our local fancy Italian place, and I always love it, but I asked Edna if she were coming back to stay at hour house after dinner.  She was not.  Well, then -- it hardly made sense for them to schlep all the way from Hallandale -- let's meet at the TOP Italian place in Florida -- which is Downtown.  Edna made the reservations.

Alas - I made a strategic mistake.  Miami's always tough traffic is worse this week -- all the rich and wannabee rich folks are here for Art Basel.  And, I also forgot, the stretch of Biscayne Boulevard in front of the place, Il Gabbiano, is under construction.

Wifey and I stopped off at Baptist to visit her ancient Mom.  My suegra is living out the typical health care deal -- uses most of the resources in the last part of life.  She's been in Baptist all week with a raging UTI.  I thought it might have signaled the end, but the tough old crocodile is improving -- she was mostly coherent during our visit, and is set to be moved to rehab on Monday.  I think it's time for the awful graduation from ALF to Nursing Home, but I guess the layers of administrators, doctors, therapists, social workers, and others will make the call.

We left Baptist for Downtown -- going against traffic, it should have been a 25-30 minute drive.  Ha. As if.  Even with Waze taking me off the Dolphin and along the Miami River -- it took 1.5 hours.  The worst was when I tried to get from Flagler and Biscayne to the restaurant -- total gridlock.  I sneaked in to the Intercontinental Hotel lot, north of the restaurant, and slipped into a free space.  Valet cost $20 -- my parking ticket $18.  So at least that was a small win.

Wifey and I walked the block to the restaurant.  The City was truly buzzing.  Bright, colored lights were everywhere.  The contrast to staid, boring Charlotte, where I was last weekend, was stark.

You either can't stand Miami or love it.  I was talking with Mike's sister Jeannine, who was born and raised here, about it.  She now lives up in Stuart, and asks when I plan to make the move. I told her if I couldn't live in Miami Dade, I wouldn't live in Florida.  The rest of the state for me -- blah.  Ok, maybe Key West...

Anyway, we found a place at the bar, and watched the crowd flow in -- very international, and very colorful. An Asian man next to me was wearing a powder blue suit painted with flowers.  He was clearly either an art gallery owner, or Basel customer.

Edna and Marc were likewise traffic stumped.  We were to meet at 7 -- they arrived at 745.  Wifey left our table and went outside to traffic controller them into the restaurant.  We sat outside, right where the Miami River meets the Bay.  A cool breeze blew. It was magical.

The food was, as usual, outstanding. Edna and Marc loved it.  Edna leaned back, closed her eyes, and drank in the breeze.  No one minded the traffic then.

We left, and Wifey wanted to walk up the Brickell Bridge, to show the awesome view, but Edna had the wrong shoes, so we all just walked back to the Intercontinental.  They had used the valet, so I waited -- we had to transfer some furnishings Edna had bought to their car - and it was lovely -- watching the young, beautiful people walk by, seeing the Centrust Building change its colors...

The traffic home was light -- ain't no one fighting to get to Pinecrest at 11 pm.  We got home, and I made Wifey and I some nigh time tea -- we sat on our porch and drank, and talked of life, and love and family -- how lucky we are.

Yes -- traffic can clog your life, but often the destination is worth the hassle --especially if there's a martini or two waiting at journey's end.

Living in the Tropical Jungle

Now that the debris from Irma is gone, and the temperatures are mercifully cooler, I have resumed my daily constitutionals around the 'hood.  Regarding temperatures -- it's supposed to get mercifully cooler this weekend, but this am belied that -- the walk was hot and sweaty.

The peafowl have really taken over.  We would see them occasionally, but now they're everywhere.  And, as Wifey pointed out, they have no fear of humans.  Flocks of them stroll around, like, well, peacocks.  They let the leashed dogs get to within a foot or so before they squawk off.  We're lucky -- they still avoid our yard on account of our infestation of dogs, but I see another neighbor uprising coming.

They're non native but somehow protected by law.  I'm guessing self help will prevail -- and we'll soon smell backyard grills cooking these pavos royales (royal turkeys).  I bet they taste like, well, turkey...

Today Wifey decided to come along, and she broke out the comical dog stroller she bought.  Our special needs Spaniel Bo can't walk long distances, so every 1/8 mile or so Wifey puts him into a stroller.  After he rests, he whines to get out, and then join us like a real dog.

As we turned a corner, Bo darted for something.  We saw it was a land crab -- critters that walk about a few times per year.  The crab tried to snap at Bo's nose, but thankfully he pulled back in time, avoiding Spaniel injury.  I swear the crab gave us a middle claw as he scampered away...

The walks never get boring for me.  We've lived here now nearly 17 years, so often the memories keep me company as I walk around.

Today we passed the original Devonwood house -- called the Warwick Estate, after the fellow who built the first house, in 1923.  I remember taking my Mom around, in a scooter I rented for her, and pointing that house to her.  "Big deal, " she said , "I was born in 1920, so I'm more historic."  She was, of course, correct.

Meanwhile, D1 flew out of town yesterday, to Orlaaaaaaado, as we call it, after the great "Book of Mormon" song.  She was invited to the MLB Winter Meetings, as team dietitian for the Marlins.  Joey and their dear couple friends Alyssa and Freddy are driving up today, to attend Harry Potter World, and then all come home together.

D2 is at the corporate wheel -- due back home two weeks from this Sunday.  It'll be great to have her and Jonathan here -- I'm told NYC is getting its first snow today, and by late December my tropical daughter will be ready for a warm up...

Tonight Wifey and I are meeting her BFF Edna and her man Marc at Il Gabbiano.  The name is Italian for "Very expensive but worth every penny Italian restaurant."  It truly is -- may be the best restaurant in the state.

And tomorrow, we're meeting them again, along with Paul and Patricia, at Gulfstream, for lunch.  Edna has never been -- we'll hopefully win enough money for her next vacation.

But in the mean time, I'll keep walking.  I'll see what new fauna awaits.

Other Sports

My friend and office roommate Joel calls me the "blue collar Jew."  He grew up pretty well off, in Pinecrest, with many Jewish friends (he's Italian) and most of his buddies were the sons of professionals or business owners. His Dad was a well known criminal defense lawyer -- still is -- but a divorce put a crimp in the family finances, and he was always one of the poorer kids in his group.

I grew up on LI with some Jewish friends, but most were either Italian or Irish, or a mixture of the two.  And my friends' fathers were NYC firemen, or teachers, or insurance agents with poorer clients.  My beloved father was a salesman who did well, but not doctor or lawyer level.

I guess most of my sensibilities from an early age are therefore more "blue collar."  It's certainly true of sports.  At heart, I believe there are four -- baseball, football, basketball, and hockey.  Soccer and tennis, well --- not so much.

Of course, I realize I'm in the minority.  Most of the world thinks soccer is a huge deal.  During our last football trip, one of our number, Peter, who grew up in Buffalo but married a Dutch woman, dragged Mike and me to a pub to watch an Arsenal match.  Mike and I spent most of the games making fun of it -- and Peter was down, as the Arsenal lost.

Today, I see in the Herald that there is "grave danger" that a major tennis tournament, which used to be called the Lipton, after the tea company, may leave Miami Dade.  It was played for years at a stadium on Key Biscayne, and voters decided in '12 to make it bigger and better.  The problem was, there is still a dude in town named Mathison, whose family gifted the land to the County, but kept provisions intact -- namely, that the land remain a park.  I guess Mathison was cool with the initial stadium, but not the bigger one, and he sued to prevent it and won.  Good for him.

So then, the tournament announced it was moving to the former Joe Robbie Stadium -- the Fins' owner Steve Ross wants it there.  Well -- again not so fast.  The mayor said the tournament still owes the County fees from years past, and maybe they ought to settle up.  The tournament said no, and now may leave.  I say -- don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.

Again -- my prejudice comes from my childhood.  I played Little League, and one of my coaches was a Mr. Siefert.  His boys Jimmy and Tommy were on the team.  Jimmy was a gifted athlete, but really preferred tennis to the National Pastime.  I still remember his father chiding him when he dogged a play -- "So Jimmy -- you'd rather play TENNIS?"  He said the sport name like it was gay sex.  It stuck with me.

The news also gins up controversy about the great Beckham's problems in building his stadium for a pro soccer team.  Again -- I couldn't care less.

My views are provincial and simplistic -- blue collar, in effect.  Joel is right.

Other Than THAT, Mrs. Lincoln...

So Friday I left Wifey to deal with a missing car key, for my car, and I called Uber for a ride to MIA.  That was an initial fail -- the driver, Marta, just couldn't figure out how to get in my 'hood, and in violation of Uber's agreement with Miami Dade, spoke ZERO English.  I tried and tried to guide her in, and finally gave up. Uber charged me $5 for the canceled trip, just small enough that I didn't bother to try to contact them to give them hell.  Jose came, two minutes later, and got the job done with his spotless Honda...

My flight was packed with Canes -- probably 80% of the passengers.  When we landed a large fellow led a spirited "We got some Canes over here..."  I Ubered from CLT, with a very nice Croatian fellow who told me about his troubled native country.  Mike and Jeannine were waiting in the lobby of the South Park (Ha!) hotel.  We retired to the bar, and had the first of many toasts.

The hotel was in a very nice section of Charlotte -- offices, and a mall, and apartments.  We strolled around,and I coined the neologism neutron bomb-y.  There seemed to be zero people!  It was a bit spooky, and we returned to our rooms for an afternoon nap.

At 8 we walked to Del Frisco's, and there were plenty of people.  It's an enormous restaurant, and it was buzzing.  We were seated, and had martinis and apps, and waited for Peter, our law school classmate who was on a later, delayed flight.  He joined us, we ate good but not outstanding steaks, and had a lovely evening, capped by a night cap at the hotel bar.

Saturday am Mike and I took a brisk walk around the area.  Again -- very neutron bomb-y.  But it was cool and gray, as Carolina is in the Fall and winter, and we found a Xmas display outside the Coca Cola building.  Mike kneeled to ask for help for our Canes that night.

Peter, in some strange twist, also loves soccer, and is a big Arsenal fan, which is apparently a team from England.  He got into the boring game when he lived there.  He found an Irish pub called Ri Ra on the internet, and we drove there sans Jeanine, to watch the match.  Sure enough, the place was packed, both with Arsenal and their opponent Man U fans.  We had a Guinness and watched -- turned out to be a pretty good game, though Arsenal had no arsenal, and lost.

But, we realized we had found a great place to park for the nights main activity, and we returned to the hotel, to leave a few hours later.  It was time for the big event.

We parked, and had a pregame at Ri Ra, and then walked the mile to the stadium.  Canes fans and Clemson fans were everywhere.  The city had a street blocked off with music and food trucks.  It was nice, but showed that most towns are truly minor league compared to Miami when it comes to hosting a big party.

We got to the stadium, and folks were lining up to get in.  Mike had a ticket issue, and had to see the office to get a replacement.  We went up to the Club, which is like Joe Robbie's Club but not as plush, and chatted with our fellow Canes.

Then the game happened and we lost 38-0.  There were no Canes, anywhere.

We walked back to the car after the 3rd quarter.  An evangelist was preaching on a street corner, about the coming End Times.  Mike suggested we kick his ass.  That brought a big laugh.

Back to the hotel, and somber Canes fans.  Hey -- still a great season -- we knew we'd get the Orange Bowl.  Clemson is just who our team was -- big and fast -- and who we are trying to become again.  What are ya gonna do?

Sunday am we met for excellent coffee at part of the neutron bomb-y street, near Del Frisco's.  Jeanine had an earlier flight, and Peter wanted to do work.

Mike and I left, and headed to the Levine Museum of the New South.  It turned out to be a very well put together small museum.  Turns out that James Duke was America's second richest person in 1900.
They had lunch counters, and busses, and all sorts of inventive civil rights displays, along with writings about music and how the New Deal really sparked the South's rise -- presaging the booming Sun Belt revival of the 80s.

We enjoyed it, and then asked the lady at the front where we might get lunch and watch NFL football -- she pointed us to Duckworth's two blocks up.  It turned out to be an excellent sports bar, with TVs showing every game.  We told the host "Dolphins" and he plopped us beneath a tv showing our team.

They played great -- beating the Broncos.

After the game, we returned Mike's rental Kia van and returned to CLT.  Pete is a member of the Admiral's Club, and got we non members in..

The flight home was fine.

All in all, a fun weekend.  Except for one thing...

Storm Season Ends

So today is the last day of the 2017 hurricane season.  I was reminded of this during my am walk by my friendly neighbor and his Pug, Bailey.  I have resumed the power walking, and better eating, at the strong request of my Ds, who want me around for awhile.

I had been walking a lot, and eating better, in order to fit into my custom tux for D1's wedding.  But then along came Irma, and the tumult it caused, and I got away from the healthful ways.  But I'm back now, baby...

Anyway, it's good to be done with the tensosity (my friend Alan's neologism) surrounding hurricane season.  And Irma was a royal pain -- fleeing to Atlanta, hotel stays Downtown and then the Gables, uninsured cleanup expenses exceeding $10K.

But as I walked around the 'hood this am, I realized that, 2.5 months after the cyclone, there's barely any sign anything happened.  Most of the fallen trees have been cleaned up, and only a few fences remain un-repaired.

Appropriately, my roof guys are coming later this am, to fix the 6-7 tiles that got crushed by falling trees.  I called Infinity, the great company referred by my buddy Norman, and they told me it might be awhile before they could get to my small job.  I was patient, and they called last week and promised they'd come by after T Day.  Sure enough, they called yesterday and said today was the day.

I like the symmetry of it -- the last storm repair happening on the final day of the season.

Turning to Hurricanes, instead of hurricanes:  I leave tomorrow afternoon for Charlotte, the Boring City, in order to attend the ACC Championship game.  My friend Mike scored some fine Club seats, and he, his sister Jeannine, and our law school friend Peter are all staying at the South Park Hotel tomorrow night, with reservations at Del Frisco's for some steaks and martinis. No potato or bread for me.

Wifey passed on the trip on account of the expected game time temps: in the 30s.  It turns out her BFF Edna is coming to town, so Wifey will somehow survive the grief of my 2 night absence...

Hopefully the Canes pull another upset and win the ACC, and then advance to the championship playoffs.  Even if they don't, it's been a great year -- we'll play a top team in the Orange Bowl as a consolation.

All I know is, it's great to deal with Hurricanes, and not hurricanes.  As our coach and my contemporary at the U in the early 80s, Mark Richt would say -- it's life in paradise.

To Celebrate; To Mourn

I joked with D1's husband Joey the other night that he now joined my club -- having a wife whose birthday was around a holiday.  D1's is near TDay, and Wifey's is Christmas, and you sort of feel a bit fatigued with all of the celebration.

But we soldiered on, and though D1 turns 29 today, we decided to have her birthday dinner Saturday night, while her sister was still in town.  Of course -- it was the SECOND event of the day -- earlier the Ds friends Nicole and Scott's mom Missy had her annual reunion brunch -- a delightful event she started when her oldest was off at college.  The Saturday following TDay, Missy had all the visiting kids over -- it was a chance to compare notes from Gainesville, or Ann Arbor, or Atlanta, or Boston, or the Bay Area... The event continues, and now she also has the parents.

Missy's house was packed, and it was nice to see the parents but awesome to see the kids.  These are an accomplished bunch -- an engineer with Tesla, a budding pediatrician who will probably work at UCSF -- various marketing execs and newly minted business executives.  And a full time reporter for the Washington Post -- Perry -- who I told was probably now a better paper than the Grey Lady, the NY Times.  Perry had heard that.

Missy's reunion is a delightful glue that keeps this rising stars socially together.  I chatted with Brooke, who has known D1 since pre school.  She's a young lawyer, and is marrying her fellow Gator fiance in May.  They chose, as their venue, the new UM Student Center -- it's a gorgeous facility overlooking Lake Osceola.  I told them they needed to throw up a proper U to use the place.  They laughed.

Anyway -- Saturday D2 and Wifey and I met D1 and Joey at Glass and Vine, which is probably now my favorite restaurant.  It's indoor/outdoor in a park in the Grove, and the food is delicious and reasonably priced, and on a nice late November evening the atmosphere is exquisite.  D1 and Joey had Ubered over, and were going out after we sang happy birthday, and invited D2, but she came home with us to get in last minute dog snuggling.

Wifey and I drove her to MIA Sunday am.  And we hugged, and it was sad, but not too sad, as she is coming back in less than a month -- I fetch her again on 12/24.

And then, alas, we had a drive to Boca to mourn.  Eric and Dana hosted shiva for Norma, Eric's Mom.  Their local cantor led a minyan, and we all prayed together, and supported the family.  A few of us told Norma tales.  I shared how coming to Eric and Dana's house left me a bit confused -- I always greeted them, at the various parties they hosted, and found my way outside by the pool where Norma held court with her grandkids.  Last night -- no Norma.

But she leaves quite a legacy, and we celebrated that.

Afterwards we reconvened with Barry and Donna and their S2 Josh.  We met at the west Broward outpost of the famous Lester's Diner.  Barry is at the height of interview season for his young doctors in training, and we talked of them, and how it seems like just recently we were young professionals, but now we're much closer to our career twilights...

So we celebrated, and we mourned.  Hopefully when D2 returns in December, it will be only the former -- we'll gather on December 25 to bask in the warmth of the birthday of our personal lord and savior: Wifey.

And speaking of celebrating -- I leave Friday for Charlotte, to watch the Canes play Clemson.  I hope I'm celebrating an ACC Championship.  Regardless, I plan to savor the trip -- good football friends, and guaranteed laughter.  It can't get much better than that...

A Sad Gathering

So Wifey and I fired up the SUV and left for far west Broward.  D2 was up and planning a sister bonding day -- she drove my car to Midtown to spend time with D1 -- I joked with her did she still remember how to drive after 2 years in car-less NYC.  She did -- the two of them had an awesome day.

But Wifey and I found our way to North Lauderdale, and parked in the lot of the cemetery.  I noticed several cars with friends, all waiting inside.  We were listening to the end of the first half of the Canes game -- our boys would go on to lose their first one of the season.  Somehow it seemed appropriate.

Then we walked inside.  Eric and his entire family greeted us.  There was so much sadness.  There was so much love.  I saw my old friend Pete and his wife Memori -- joking, as always, about never forgetting her name.  Eric and Dana's friends and family had come -- some from New England and Jersey -- no mean feat to get last minute tickets on T Day weekend...

Eric leaned in, and asked if I would be a pallbearer.  Of course, I told him.  We filed into the sanctuary, and there was the plain, pine box in the front -- as is tradition.  The cantor Stephanie Shore led the service -- she knew Norma for a long, long time -- grew up in Kendall.  She sang beautifully, and movingly.

Eric and his sister Elissa came to the front.  Elissa was clearly wracked with grief.  But she spoke so beautifully of a woman who was a mother and grandmother supreme -- always calling to check before a flight -- and Elissa flies a LOT in her job. She brought us all to tears by saying that Norma preferred her husband Bruce to her, and how her brother is her hero, and biggest supporter -- as Norma had intended.

Then my brother of another mother spoke -- he used a lot of the email I had sent him.  We all had tears streaming .  It was a truly fitting tribute to a woman who was the Bubbe of bubbes...

My duties were ceremonial -- the casket was on wheels, and the other bearers and I simply kept our hands on it as the director glided it to the hearse for the short drive to the grave.  But it touched me -- my mind flashed with the memories of this fine woman, who adopted me as a second son as an 18 year old college freshman, and always checked in on me as I grew into a man with my own family.

We had the sad, slow, short drive, and at graveside followed the Cantor in Kaddish.  The family sprinkled Jerusalem soil on the casket, and then we all took turns in the final mitzvah for a Jew -- helping to fill the grave.  Then we made two lines for the family to pass through as they walked from the hole.

Poor Barry was sick as a dog -- sweating and sneezing.  His boys were there, along with Donna.  I told him (the lawyer advising the doctor medically) he ought to be home in bed.  He planned to -- but he wouldn't dream of missing this funeral.

Of we three college best friends, only Barry's mother now survives.  Scott and Josh said she was well at their T Day dinner the day before.  I told them to make sure their beloved grandmother sticks around a long while.

Wifey and I found the Turnpike and headed for LOL, for an early dinner.  Both of us craved some deli comfort food following that said event.

But on the way, we reflected on how lucky Norma was.  Her entire family adored and cared for her.  Elissa, a devoted daughter, thanked Dana for being the local caregiver.  Eric and Elissa's 4 kids are best friends as well as cousins.

Norma's nephew and niece flew in.  They simply had to honor their wonderful aunt.  No one dreamed of missing the event.

I had a tinge of sadness for my own family -- so bereft and dysfunctional.  The thought of any of my cousins even visiting my mother during the last 11 months of her life is absurd. And my mother, also a loving grandmother, didn't even see three of her grandkids at all during her nursing home stay -- one visited her twice, and two saw her at least monthly.

But, as Tony S said -- what are ya gonna do?

Norma had little money.  Eric and Dana own her condo -- bought with help from Elissa.  There will be few material things left to her grandkids -- and they couldn't care less.

But Norma lived and died as the queen of an amazing family.

After we drop D2 at MIA tomorrow, Wifey and I will head up to Boca for the shiva.  The mourning period will also take place in New Jersey -- where Elissa and Bruce live.

All I know is, my life is better for having known Norma.  She taught a lot of lessons about how to be a grandparent, and in law.

And despite her lack of dollars -- she lived and died as one of the richest women I know.

Peruvian/Colombian T Day

So D1's new brother and sister in law, Bob and Vera, invited us all to their lovely new house for T Day.  For the past 10 years, I've taken the family to various local restaurants, to avoid the hassle and work of the day, so yesterday was a first homestyle in quite awhile.

Wifey and D2 and I left early, to meet D1 and Joey at the site of a house they're looking to buy -- a development of new construction homes, 18 in all, right by Miami's historic Shorecrest neighborhood.  And so we met, in a light rain, and looked around.

I walked to the model, which was closed, but opened the door and set off the alarm.  Fortunately no police came to wreck our TDay celebrations.

We drove the short way to Morningside, and Bob and Vera's house, and the cooking was in full swing.  Vera is a PhD candidate at the U, but her Mom Susie was a famous baker in Lima, Peru, and clearly the talents were passed on.  We had a true feast, topped off by amazing desserts.

But more importantly, the warmth of Joey's extended family was so beautiful.  His parents and brothers have truly made us a part of their family, and we're privileged for that.  Joey is taking us all to Colombia in late January -- we'll celebrate D2's 26th birthday there -- and his Mom Jackie, during her last visit to Bogota, actually walked to the hotel where she wishes us to stay, to insure that all will be perfect for the visiting gringos...

I thanked Vera for hosting, and she said she was a bit concerned, since this was the first "real American T Day" she had ever had.  Last year, she only had her new Colombian family, along with her Peruvian family, and "they really don't know any better." I assured her that, if I didn't know any better either, I would have assumed that she grew up in the Midwest -- so awesome was the traditional T Day feast she had for us all.

We came home, and D2 had some serious bonding time with her little man Spaniel Bo, and we watched "Gone With the Wind" together.  The turkey (and Stoli Elit) got to me, and I left for bed -- I sort of know the ending to GWTW, anyway.

Today I looked most forward to nothing except watching my Canes play their final game, at noon, but, alas, Fate had other plans.  Wifey and I will be driving up to Far West Broward, for dear Norma's funeral.  Norma's daughter Elissa and her family all came in from New Jersey last night, and Eric and Dana, of course, canceled their T Day in Boca.

So we'll surround our brother and sister in love, and hopefully support them as they bury their Bubbe...

I'd really, really rather have just stayed home to watch TV...

Tomorrow, the feasting continues -- D1 and D2's dear friends Nicole and Scott are home with their Mom Missy, and each year Missy hosts a post T Day brunch.  So there'll be MORE food, and reunion, and laughter.

I promised D1 I'd start eating less, but reserved this final weekend before embarking on the renewed journey to better health.

Speaking of D1...may amazing and accomplished daughter turns 29 on Monday.  She politely refused offers of a birthday dinner -- she just returned from her honeymoon, and T Day, and all that...

But I insisted, so we'll meet in the Grove tomorrow night, to celebrate 1/2 of Wifey and my greatest blessings.

If Norma's sudden death reminds us of anything, it's to NOT hold back on life celebrations...

So what a day it was, yesterday.  Vera sent us all home with leftovers, of course, lest we forget her amazing hospitality.

If there's a man who has more to be thankful for than I...well, I don't know who he is.

Thanksgiving Passings

So my dear friends Alex and Danielle had a death on Tuesday -- Danielle's beloved grandmother Livia.  She was quite a woman -- a Hungarian Jew who made it through the Holocaust, and came to the US and had an amazing family -- two sons, Bob and Tom, and 5 wonderful grandkids, and 2 great grandkids.

Our family has become very close to hers, and I got to know her a bit over the years.  She was strong, and happy, and always most appreciative of the many blessings that came her way.  In her final years, she moved in with Bob and his family, and they took sterling care of her.  I was a good and devoted son to a declining mother, but Bob made me look like an amateur.  He saw to his mother's every need.

The funeral was yesterday, followed by the Shiva.  We were invited, and I gave the Ds the choice -- D2 is only here for a few days.  The Ds said there wasn't really any choice -- we had to go, and so we did, and last night was a true celebration of a life well lived.

The rabbi,a French American, led services outside, under a gorgeous Miami Beach sky, on the water.  It was truly moving.  The Ds and Wifey and I were proud to be part of that amazing family. And, the deli food, well, it was pretty delicious, too.

We dropped off D1, and then D2 asked to be dropped on Brickell to visit with some friends, and I noticed I missed three calls from Eric.  Eric never pocket calls.  I called him, and heard some more sad news -- his mother Norma had died that night.

I was saddened and shocked.  Norma was 82, and had chronic health issues, but nothing that seemed like the end was imminent. Apparently she had a fall in her Pembroke Pines condo, and called the paramedics, but didn't want to go to the hospital,  When Eric didn't hear from her, he called the police and headed over.  Sure enough, she had died in her condo.  The funeral is tomorrow.

When I moved to Miami and became friends with Eric, Norma and her husband Marvin became second parents to me.  I adored them and they adored me.  Marvin passed over 10 years ago, and since then Norma has lived alone in her apartment with her beloved Dachshund.  That was a great story -- her place allowed residents to move in with a dog, but not replace it when the dog died.  Norma flouted the rules -- she was NOT going to live dog-less. So the joke became that her dog was well over 25 years old...

Norma was the classic bubbe.  She LIVED for her kids and grandkids.  She was blessed to see her oldest granddaughter Jen get married last May.  She was beaming then -- Wifey got to talk to her at length, about life, and her family.  Her granddaughter's wedding was truly a banner day for her.

Just a few weeks ago she visited New England to attend her brother's grandson's Bar Mitzvah.  Eric said he knew that would be her last visit -- she struggled to get around.  I told him it reminded me of my Mom's trip to LA when she was 85 -- she had a bad fall at a friend's house, and I just knew then that travel was over for Sunny.

But Norma was fortunate to have the best kind of death: no hospitals, or nursing homes, or slow and steady and sad decline.  She had, really, a very easy passing.

Her funeral is tomorrow, in West Broward.  We'll gather with Eric and Dana and their kids and surround them with love.

When Marvin passed, I told Eric that if there was a heaven, I hoped he and my Dad shared a pastrami sandwich, and kvelled about their families.  Same with Norma -- I like to think she runs into my Mom, and the two of them share tales...my son the doctor, my son the lawyer...

Of we three best college friends, Eric, Barry, and me, and our 6 beloved parents, now only one is still with us -- Barry's mother Beverly.  She's much younger -- had Barry when she was only 19 -- and hopefully she'll be with us for many years to come.  Barry is having her over today for T Day -- I know he'll savor her presence -- Barry's beloved Dad Sy died years ago, too.

So we give thanks, today, though the day is tinged with sadness for those we've lost.  Still -- I thank Norma a LOT for having a baby back in '61 who would become my brother of another mother.

Brava, Norma -- a life well lived.  In the end, that's the most any of us can hope for.

Over New Jersey and Through Newark...

So young corporate executive D2 worked a full day yesterday and then Ubered from Hoboken to Newark, to catch a United packed small jet home for the holidays.  She knew that Dadber would be in service no matter what time she arrived at MIA...

Wifey and I had dinner at Sakura, our local hole in the wall sushi place, and came home to kill time before the late pickup.  I took an uncharacteristically late nap, and popped up, ready for Dadber.  I tracked the United 737 down from Sebastian, and then beat D2 to the arriving text message.  Wifey and the dogs came along for the pickup.

And there was D2, our NY sabbatical daughter, looking all grown up at the curbside.  I recalled the 5 years I'd fetch her at the airport on trips back from UF -- now a few years in the past.

The strange rescue dog made funny happy noises -- she knew her old friend had returned, and the special needs Spaniel joined in.

We arrived home, and had to take special care to avoid the dying rat.  We had one in our garage, and the exterminator placed poison, and sure enough, Wifey saw it straggling near the garage yesterday.  It was a goner, but a few years ago the strange rescue dog was herself poisoned, and nearly died, so we kept the pups leashed.  Luckily, I found the departed rodent early this am, across the driveway, and I tossed it, so our dogs are safe from poisoned dead rats.  Ah, the price of paradise -- though D2 has encountered plenty of non tropical rats living in the City...

We sat on the couch, and talked of life.  D2's man Jonathan is staying in the City -- he procrastinated on buying a plane ticket, and they went up absurdly, so he'll T Day with his friend's family, and catch up on work.

We planned on staying around here today, but for a trip to see my suegra, but, alas, people are never born or die due to others' schedules, and a close family friend lost their nearly 96 year old grandmother yesterday, so we'll be making a family shiva call on Miami Beach this afternoon.

T Day will be at D1's brother and sister in law's lovely new house, in Morningside, with a pre trip to a house D1 and Joey will likely buy -- new construction,  just north of Morningside.  Ah, as Bacharach and David wrote, and Karen Carpenter sang so beautifully, they've only just begun...

It'll be our first Colombian/Peruvian Thanksgiving, and we can't wait.  Joey's family and ours have merged so beautifully -- their warmth is delightful.  D1's suegra Jackie calls D1 daughter -- no "in law" stuff for her.

Friday my Canes are set to play their final regular season game.  Mike will be watching, along with Chris, his 1L, and Amanda, home from the City of Lost Angels for TDay.  I asked D2 to tag along -- she shall, to see her oldest friend, and, apparently, there's a new puppy in the house, too.

Mike scored Club seats for the ACC Championship game, in Charlotte, and I'll be going, as well. Mike texted that he hasn't felt so alive in so long.  Only a true Canes fan gets that.  His sister Jeannine asked about the time he ate an entire pound of bacon for dinner..Mike admitted that was a close second.

So both Ds are with me in the 305, in this, the best time of the year.  What's great about TDay is that, when we say goodbye to D2, we know she'll return in less than a month.  And that's just fine.

This gorgeous morning I am just one happy Daddy in the USA...

Oh No...There Goes Tokyo

D1 and Joey returned from a honeymoon of a lifetime -- two weeks in Japan.  They loved the trip -- amazingly exotic, and hilarious, and interesting.  I had asked for one souvenier: a Godzilla mug or t shirt.

As a kid, I loved Godzilla movies.  My friend Eric and I would sit at his house on Saturdays watching them on tv.  Eric knew all the characters, and as the future engineer he was, loved to point out the absurdities of the movies.  Still, for pre teen boys, nothing in cinema could compete with a cast of atomic monsters destroying cities, and then, with the addition of Mothra and Rodan, each other.

Now D1 and Joey are looking to buy their first house, and a lot of the talk here is all about that.  We're planing to gather at Joey's brother and sister in law for T Day, and I'm sure the discussions will continue.  The young couple takes things seriously, as they ought to with such a big purchase, but I keep telling them that decisions about good things, about the future, and the best decisions to make.

Yesterday, Wifey and I shared a monumentally lazy Sunday.  We were both so tired because of staying out until the wee hours the night before, we didn't even make it to the Palace to see her mother.  She'll go this week, instead.  D2 needs to visit anyway -- maybe a Wednesday stop is in the plans.

So I met with D1 for lunch on Wednesday, and she gave me some stuff to take home, including my authentic, bought in Japan Godzilla shirt.  I put everything in my trunk and forgot to bring it inside the house, until yesterday.

I shall wear my shirt with nostalgic pride, and hear the lyrics of the Blue Oyster Cult ode to Godzilla in my head: "History shows again and again when nature points up the folly of men."

Gigantic Saturday

This truly is the most wonderful time of the year in Miami.  The weather is here, as Jimmy Buffet sang, and there's a ton to do.

My day started with an early meeting with a very nice Ukrainian handyman, who was referred by a surgeon neighbor, and came and repaired the Irma damaged fence.  We like him -- he's going to return post T Day to fix a baseboard that's seen better days.

At 9 my sister of another mister, a/k/a Hurricanes wife Mirta came by, right on time, and we cruised up to Joe Robbie for the last home game of the season.  The Canes were flat as day old beer in the first half, and I thought they might blow their awesome season.  Nah. Not so fast -- they came back like, well, a hurricane, and stomped Virginia.  The tailgate was Norman-less -- he was off in Texas dealing with fraternity dysfunction, but we had a great, classic Miami am party -- bagels and pastelitos...growing up on LI, I never new guava and bagels make a nice pairing.

We skipped out on the final minutes of the game, which proved wise, as the place was packed, and we got home in record time.  Mirta left, and I roused Wifey to get ready for our Saturday night.

The Miami Book Fair is in full swing, and this year I joined as a Literati level member, to get good seats to the talks.  The big one this year was Joe Biden, and we were 15 rows back in the gorgeous Knight Concert Hall -- the smaller venue at Miami's Lincoln Center, called the Arscht Center.

Biden was terrific.  He showed what a true statesman is -- really a man of the people.  He wrote a book about the loss of his wonderful son Beau -- the reason he didn't run for POTUS.  We all left there thinking we could have had HIM in the White House instead of the current cartoon character.  But Joe was hopeful of the future -- he said Irish people have always been nostalgic for the future.  We left the packed hall elevated.

Then, as I was feeling a bit, well, au courant, I Ubered us up to Churchill's, in Little Haiti.  I had heard that a talented guy, Roosevelt Collier, was going to play, at 9.

I used to go to Churchill's, named by it's English owner, in the early 80s, to see a guy named Charlie Pickett.  I worked with a fellow at Boca Hospital who dug him.

Churchill's hasn't changed a bit since my last visit.  It's across the street from Miami Jewish Home, where my Mom and Wifey's Dad spent their final months, but Wifey and I were by far the oldest ones there.

And Collier, who came on after 11, rocked.  Wifey was dancing the entire time.  I was swaying to Collier's jams, too.

We Ubered back to my car, parked in my office, and got home after 1 am.

It was a long and awesome day, and more awesomeness is due this week: T Day!  D2 is flying home Tuesday night, and will be fetched at MIA by Dadber, the Uber service run my me.  Thursday we'll celebrate at D1's brother and sister in law's house in Morningside -- first non restaurant T Day in 10 years.

I offered to be the provider of spirits, and ordered , or over-ordered, wine, beer, and vodka and gin to be delivered on Wednesday.  It will be our first Colombian themed TDay, and should be a fine one.

Speaking of TDay, today the Palace has their celebration.  I told Wifey I'll go to help get my suegra out of the place -- she keeps asking to visit my father in law's grave, but last week was too weak to leave the center.  We'll see about today.

So rock on, days of beauty in the 305 -- like Roosevelt Collier rocked Churchill's last night.

Me Too

So every day brings another news story about bad male behavior -- from The Donald to Harvey Weinstein, the accountant -- no, I mean the movie mogul, to ultra nerdy Al Franken.  Al Franken -- who I never thought very funny when he wrote for SNL with the less funny Tom Davis, and yet somehow became a US Senator.  Turns out he groped someone while sleeping (she was -- he was awake) and yesterday the scandal caused him to cancel his appearance at the Miami Book Fair, where I wasn't going to see him, anyway.

It's nuts.  A group of my partners were in the office last week wondering whether we had done stuff in the past that would make the news now.  No one was sure.  That's true -- a few WERE sure.

Well, it turns out I was involved with a work related sexual harassment case.  Really.  It was during my first job as a lawyer.  But, and I'm being serious, I was a VICTIM.

I had just passed the bar, and was working for an insurance defense firm I nicknamed the Addams Family, since the characters were absurdly weird.  The firm was owned by a fellow I'll call Dan, since that's his name, who was an anti semitic woman chaser.  But funnily, he had a classic Ashkenazi surname, and was thought by most to be Jewish.  He once instructed me to meet a claims manager in NYC, but warned "Count your fingers after you shake his hand -- he's a typical NY Jew."  I responded that I was, too, and Dan was shocked -- he thought my surname was too German to make me a Jew, and "I probably wouldn't have hired you if I knew."  He then guffawed.  I needed the job to pay the mortgage on our first house, and my less than mediocre law school grades didn't exactly make the legal job world my oyster, so I just shrugged it off.

The second name in the firm belonged to a woman I'll call Vanessa, since that's her name.  She was a partner in name only, but was my boss, and essentially ran the firm while Dan was flying all over the country getting business and bedding women (and sometimes men), and Vanessa was only 3 years out of law school, so ultimately the firm got sued by major clients and dissolved.  I was long gone by then.

But back to early 1987... I had just married Wifey.  Like most first year associates, I worked late hours, to bill the time to make money for the firm.  It was about 7 pm.  It was dark.  Vanessa called me into her corner office, on the 26th floor of the top building (at that time) in Miami.  She offered me a drink -- and I accepted.  She knew I liked vodka.

She always drank Bailey's Irish Cream.  Later, another refugee from the Addams Family firm explained to me why -- she was a coke head, and coke heads preferred cream drinks so as not to further irritate their chronically sore throats.  You learn a lot as a young lawyer...

She sat on the couch next to me.  Sort of too close, I remember thinking, but I was a dude, and she was  a very small woman.  She was extremely butch -- she talked like a dude, and to her credit, was a huge Canes fan.  We chatted about the recent loss, and that we would win one next year (we did).

Then she started asking me about "married life."  I told her it was great.  She confessed about always being single, and a few men who broke her heart, and it was a shame I didn't have a brother, because I was the "perfect man."

She drained her Baily's and had another.  This time she sat closer.  Next thing I knew, she put her hand on my knee, and started into my eyes.  I remember saying "Speaking of married life, I need to be getting home" and I bolted.

Now -- my resistance to her overtures never had any effect, I don't think.  A few months later, she got livid with Dan, marched into his office, and frisbeed her framed law diploma at his head.  He ducked, and somehow the thing sliced through the glass and fell to the street below.  Thankfully it was late, and no one on the ground got killed.  That was it for Vanessa as a lawyer, though my morbid curiosity caused me to check the Bar records a few years ago, and she's still an active lawyer, with an office address that looks like a condo in Kendall...

Still, I get to say Me Too, as a victim of harassment.  I got past it.  I kept my human dignity.  I guess it's worse for women.  But that's my strange and true tale...

Rest in Peace Murray Meyerson

Paul and I always talk about attending funerals -- he still feels he should "make an appearance" at the services for prominent members of the Bar or Bench.  I no longer do -- I really hate wearing a suit unless I have to, and unless the person meant much to me, I figure my presence won't be missed.  As an example, a very successful PI lawyer Erv Gonzalez hung himself earlier this year.  Paul went -- I stayed away.

We joke about whose funeral I WOULD attend.  And a name always came up: Murray Meyerson.  When the time comes, I'd assure Paul, I'll go with you to Murray's...

Well, last night, in passing (ha!), Norman mentioned to me that Murray had died last month.  What??? How wasn't I informed?  Norman knew via a FaceBook post from one of Murray's fellow mediators, Frank Allocca.  I don't know Frank.  Wifey and I got home from dinner and I messaged Peter Abraham, a mediator I knew also knew and liked Murray.  He responded, right away, after the Heat lost another game (Peter is the official scorekeeper).  It was true.  Murray died last month, there was no obituary, no media coverage, and a tiny funeral the next day.

I savored my time with Murray, or judge, as I always called him.  He was old school gangsta Miami Beach -- a guy who'd preside over government or cases (he was Miami Beach mayor and a long time judge) and then head to Joe's Stone Crabs and the track -- probably Hialeah was his place, long before Gulfstream became the go to venue.

Murray was long married and then became a widower -- he never had kids.  He looked like he was related to Woody Allen, though much taller.

He was out go to mediator -- settled many cases for Paul and me, and made us a great deal of money while always helping our clients do the right thing -- avoiding the pitfalls of a capricious jury.

We'd have huge chunks of time in our bigger mediations -- so we got to really talk.  Murray was a Miami Dade cop, and went to law school at UM at night after realizing a local lawyer on a crash case he worked on made more on that single case than Murray made in two years of police work.

Murray, like Paul, loved Vegas.  He would go up to a pretty lady of a certain age, and say "Have you ever danced with a perfect stranger?" And they would dance, and there'd be romance, and fine dining, and gambling.  We made plans to go to Vegas with Murray, but sadly never did.  Still, I see him in my mind's eye, charming the ladies, and winning at the tables...

Years ago, he developed a brain tumor, and he thought it was the end, but the neurosurgeons at UM removed it.  He was left with a disfigured face -- one eye drooped badly -- but his intelligence and wit danced on.

I saw him and said I thought he looked fine.  He pointed to his face and said "Dave -- I never WAS a Clark Gable."  Also pure Murray.

When you'd greet him, as I did with a hearty "How are ya, judge?" he'd always answer the same: "I have no JUST complaints."  I stole that response from him years ago.  I plan to use it even more now.

Wifey could tell I was saddened last night -- I knew Murray was old, but I was so surprised at no funeral.  "Just like my Dad," Wifey said.  Yes, but my father in law was a private man.  Murray was a mayor, and judge, and mediator who knew hundreds of lawyers, most of whom adored him like I did.

I guess he wanted a quiet end.  Ecclesiates is always one of my favorite parts of the bible -- because it teaches that no matter how big a shot we become, in the end we're just dust.  All is vanity, it says -- our struggles are all, ultimately, in vain.

So I'll remember Murray Meyerson warmly.  He shared great tales with us.  He shared great wisdom.  His memory will be as a blessing.

I just wished I could have been there to pay proper respects.

Misty Eyed At the Stadium

I'm a fairly well educated fellow, advanced degree, traveled the world, and count as friends a cosmopolitan lot.  Sometimes I wish I could say I love Classical Music, or Opera, or the Visual Arts, and would rather attend a high cultural event than anything else.  Nah.  Other than family simchas, there is no place I enjoy more than being at a Canes game.

I fell in love in '79.  I was a Long Island boy who had never been to a college football game, and I took to it immediately.  And Miami was different -- the games were played at the Orange Bowl, a very urban setting, not the sort of sterile rah rah environment of most college stadia.  My friends and I would tailgate cheaply -- subs and beer -- and the Canes went 5-6 in my freshman year.  The final game was against the hated Gator (always singular, as my mentor Ed Perse taught me later on) and we beat them to give them a 0-10-1 season.  I was hooked.

The team got better, and during my first year at law school, amazingly won a championship.  But the great coach left, and I figured we had seen the glory days, but no -- we went on to win another 4 (really 5) rings under 4 different coaches.  And our tailgates got bigger and bigger as my then college and law buddies got rich.

Well, the team, after about '03, never really was great.  We'd have flashes, but then our mediocre coaches, Shannon and Golden, would let us down.  But, alas, one of our own, Mark Richt, who graduated a year before I did, returned two years ago.  And he hired a classic Miami boy, Manny Diaz, to be his defensive guy.  And, alas, and glory be, the Canes are great again.

Saturday night we played #3 Notre Dame, our long time rival.  Norman and Maria hosted a stellar tailgate, and Paul, and Barry, and Eric and Dana and Donna were all there. Paul's boy Alex, who grew up on the Canes, was beaming.  My nephew of another mister Scott flew in from Maryland just for the game.  Mirta, my sister of another mister, was my date.

We ate, and drank.  I sensed the night would be special, and I brought Stoli Elit for toasting purposes.

And the Canes dominated.  The game was essentially over by the half.  We cheered.  We screamed.

And I actually got misty eyed, realizing how great the night was, and how many years of joy I had with my closest friends, watching this team.

Wifey and the Ds get this.  I got happy texts from D2 in NYC, and D1 on honeymoon in Japan.  They shared in my happiness.

Yesterday morning, as we drank our coffee and read the Herald, Wifey told me she had a surprise -- she had taped the game, and I watched it all over again, sans commercials.  It was just as good the second time.  In fact, I realized the team was even better than I thought -- ND's single, measly TD should have been called back!

Anyway -- there's one final home game -- next Saturday at noon.  It'll be a far less raucous event -- against Virginia.  Then we travel to Pitt T Day Friday, and then the ACC Championship in NC against Clemson, who was been, the last few years, sort of like we were in the late 90s...

I hope we go all the way, but regardless, it's been a terrific ride this year. And I'm a lucky dude.