The weather the last few days has been exquisite. January in Miami is typically the most beautiful weather month, and today is a prime example...brilliant sunshine, almost comically blue skies, temperature in the high 60s, and a lovely cooler night coming. Someone would have to be crazy to leave this to travel to gray and freezing NYC, or they would have to, like me, have a daughter there they adore.
So on Thursday, Wifey, D1, and I will jet up to LGA. I don't really mind the cold -- D1 and Wifey do. D1 has been calling her sister daily for weather updates, and Wifey has already been setting out her North Face (tm) Arctic-level coat. As if she would forget to take it!
On Friday, my baby daughter turns 25, and we're going up to celebrate. D1 has our restaurant list all picked out -- with a small assist for me. Thursday we're going to Pietro's -- I just read an article about them in the Times. They're the last remaining Mad Men era Midtown steakhouse. The Palm is there, of course, but it's now a chain. The other classic places, where three martini lunches and NY Strips were readily served, are gone. But Pietro's remains, and we're headed there. I hope D2's man Jonathan can get off work early enough to join us. Right now, it looks iffy...
D2 is taking off Friday -- something she NEVER does. We plan to have brunch at Sadelle's, and then play tourist -- maybe see the observation platform at the new Freedom Tower, and the cool new train station -- maybe the Whitney Museum, which D2 can get us to free, as a Macy's executive. I guess we'll see how it goes. Friday night we have reservations at a sushi place in what is now called NYC's Little Japan. Who knew? Apparently this is a thing there, now, and we'll go check it out.
Saturday night is the big event -- we're hosting about 20 friends of D2's at Sammy's Romanian, on the Lower East Side. I took D2 to Sammy's a few years back, with Jonathan, and it became a favorite. The food is ok -- skirt steaks, chopped liver, kreplach...and they serve Stoli bottles in blocks of ice. But the real fun is the DJ -- an enormous Israeli with Borscht Belt humor, who keeps everyone dancing and laughing. Sammy's is essentially the best bar mitzvah party anyone has ever attended, and that's how D2 plans to mark her first century on the planet. I admire her style and taste -- my Dad would have, too.
By Sunday we should all be in a food coma, and recovering from the weekend. We then get to return to paradise -- not a bad gig at all.
The years truly have flown. It seems far less than 23 years ago that I'd return home from work, and Wifey would greet me at the door with our gorgeous baby in her arms -- and D2 would push Wifey away to get to me. She was a Daddy's girl from the beginning -- Wifey would laugh, and ask if she were just a mean nanny or something.
And then D2 would be off to annoy her Marcia Brady-like sister -- ruining D1's perfectly set play stages, or interrupting D1's dance performances. Now the two are best friends, something Wifey and I encouraged greatly. Mission accomplished.
So we will fly to the cold for the warmest of warmth -- the love of D2, as she celebrates a milestone. Bring on the cold weather!
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Monday, January 30, 2017
We Really Ought To Go There More
Every once in awhile, Wifey and I visit a place, typically close by, and we say to ourselves "Selves -- we really should come here more often!" And so it was Friday with Black Point Marina.
BPM is only about 15 minutes south of us -- a county facility with a tiki bar and restaurant, set on a lovely marina . Wifey and her book club often meet there for lunch to enjoy the company and food and NOT discuss the book they've been assigned. We for for the occasional dinner.
So Friday it was lovely out, and we called some friends to gin up interest, and Mike and Loni were game. We fetched them and headed down Old Cutler Road, which was jammed, so Mike used some phone technology, found us a shortcut, and got us there in a jiffy. My friend John was at a bar, though as a patron, so he couldn't get me my drinks for free...but he was solo, and we invited him to join us.
The staff found us a table right on the water, and the drinks flowed, and the laughter followed. John is quite the raconteur, and has a wealth of tales from his days as a USAF fighter pilot. The joke I always tell is that he got bored with flying supersonic, and being treated like a rock star by the local girls in the tiny AF towns he'd visit, and so went on to law school for real excitement.
He told one tale about a case where a patron of a South Beach bar was bitten by a parrot, and claimed the bird gave her a usually sexually transmitted disease. To me, any tale with a parrot in it is likely going to be funny, and as Mike and I riffed on John's story, well, we all laughed so hard that hearing a splash from our falling into the water was a real hazard. But we kept our footing, and enjoyed ourselves -- toasting John, whose 65th birthday was the following day.
Saturday Jeff picked me up, and we headed to Mike's to muster for the Canes game. This was a rare occurrence -- Jeff is typically too busy with his elderly and failing widow mother to join us -- and it turned to another fine time. Our fellow law school friend Peter was along, and we watched the Canes upset North Carolina at a rocking arena. Saturday night Wifey and I had a quiet dinner at our local go-to Thai place, and I joked that, without D2 there, I was free to order my favorite king of the sea soup, which D2 always says smells like feet to her... It does, but a good kind of feet, so I really enjoy it.
Sunday Wifey and I drove to Wynwood, on a rainy, cool day, and met at Joey's, where D1 and her man Joey (no relation) and Joey's mom Jackie gathered for a brunch. We caught up, and chatted about the upcoming Big Fat Colombian wedding.
The weather stayed gray, which matched the mood for our next stop -- visiting my mother in law. We ordered sandwiches at Hole in the Wall, which is our local hole in the wall. It was packed. The place has been there for years -- simple -- TVs, beer and wine, and great wings and sandwiches. The owner, Sam, was struggling to read the takeout orders. I offered him my readers, but he said he was "resisting." He's nearly 50 -- resistance to near sighted vision is futile.
Wifey made me laugh at mi suegra's place. The old woman kept barking VERY LOUD, and each time Wifey would cover her ears like she was at a Metal concert. The old woman kept saying "Vy you laugh? I don't say nothing funny!" which made things even more hilarious.
Anyway, the weekend ended with a cool, star filled night, where I moved a rocking chair to the middle of my front steps and gazed up, to remind myself of the infinity of creation, and how the problems of a couple of people doesn't amount to a hill of beans...
But I WILL visit Black Point more...
BPM is only about 15 minutes south of us -- a county facility with a tiki bar and restaurant, set on a lovely marina . Wifey and her book club often meet there for lunch to enjoy the company and food and NOT discuss the book they've been assigned. We for for the occasional dinner.
So Friday it was lovely out, and we called some friends to gin up interest, and Mike and Loni were game. We fetched them and headed down Old Cutler Road, which was jammed, so Mike used some phone technology, found us a shortcut, and got us there in a jiffy. My friend John was at a bar, though as a patron, so he couldn't get me my drinks for free...but he was solo, and we invited him to join us.
The staff found us a table right on the water, and the drinks flowed, and the laughter followed. John is quite the raconteur, and has a wealth of tales from his days as a USAF fighter pilot. The joke I always tell is that he got bored with flying supersonic, and being treated like a rock star by the local girls in the tiny AF towns he'd visit, and so went on to law school for real excitement.
He told one tale about a case where a patron of a South Beach bar was bitten by a parrot, and claimed the bird gave her a usually sexually transmitted disease. To me, any tale with a parrot in it is likely going to be funny, and as Mike and I riffed on John's story, well, we all laughed so hard that hearing a splash from our falling into the water was a real hazard. But we kept our footing, and enjoyed ourselves -- toasting John, whose 65th birthday was the following day.
Saturday Jeff picked me up, and we headed to Mike's to muster for the Canes game. This was a rare occurrence -- Jeff is typically too busy with his elderly and failing widow mother to join us -- and it turned to another fine time. Our fellow law school friend Peter was along, and we watched the Canes upset North Carolina at a rocking arena. Saturday night Wifey and I had a quiet dinner at our local go-to Thai place, and I joked that, without D2 there, I was free to order my favorite king of the sea soup, which D2 always says smells like feet to her... It does, but a good kind of feet, so I really enjoy it.
Sunday Wifey and I drove to Wynwood, on a rainy, cool day, and met at Joey's, where D1 and her man Joey (no relation) and Joey's mom Jackie gathered for a brunch. We caught up, and chatted about the upcoming Big Fat Colombian wedding.
The weather stayed gray, which matched the mood for our next stop -- visiting my mother in law. We ordered sandwiches at Hole in the Wall, which is our local hole in the wall. It was packed. The place has been there for years -- simple -- TVs, beer and wine, and great wings and sandwiches. The owner, Sam, was struggling to read the takeout orders. I offered him my readers, but he said he was "resisting." He's nearly 50 -- resistance to near sighted vision is futile.
Wifey made me laugh at mi suegra's place. The old woman kept barking VERY LOUD, and each time Wifey would cover her ears like she was at a Metal concert. The old woman kept saying "Vy you laugh? I don't say nothing funny!" which made things even more hilarious.
Anyway, the weekend ended with a cool, star filled night, where I moved a rocking chair to the middle of my front steps and gazed up, to remind myself of the infinity of creation, and how the problems of a couple of people doesn't amount to a hill of beans...
But I WILL visit Black Point more...
Thursday, January 26, 2017
The Boys of Winter
So my brother Norman has been the complete social director this week. Saturday he invited me to a bachelor's party for one of his firm's young lawyers, and last night the fun continued. He had four awesome tickets to see Don Henley at the Hard Rock Arena up at the Seminole Reservation, and made a men's night out of it.
I took the train to my office, and then met Mike at his, after a walk over the Brickell Bridge on a truly spectacular afternoon. I paused at the bridge's zenith and looked out at the mouth of the Miami River, to Biscayne Bay. I never get over how gorgeous the city is...particularly in the wonderful weather months of Winter...
Mike and I drove to Norman's office, and then we three braved traffic up to Casa Carajo, a/k/a Broward County. We parked and tried to get some drinks at Martarano's outside bar. No dice -- the two overworked barkeeps never even looked up. So Mike and I went inside, and Norman waited on Jim, our fourth, who lives in Casa Carajo, a/k/a Cooper City. We 4 mustered inside, over adult beverages.
Jim sheepishly admitted why he was late: his wife asked him to stop at a CVS to buy some feminine hygiene products -- the height of emasculation. No, I corrected him -- Jim was being a showoff -- as his wife was the only of the four spouses of us still of that age...We all laughed heartily -- preferring, as always, the company of men...
There was a serviceable opening act -- an indie-type bluegrassy band from NYC called JD and the Straight Shots. They have several songs in chick flicks, like a Meryl Streep thing called Osage something or other. We 4 agreed we never watch such tripe...
And then Henley came on, and he rocked immediately. Norman had scored FINE tickets -- front row in the second floor section -- perfect to see and hear. The arena was sold out, and, as opposed to going out in Miami, we were far from the oldest ones there. In fact, there were plenty of EARLY Boomers -- late 60s and maybe even a few folks 70 or so...
People immediately started taking cell phone shots, and Henley put a stop to it -- saying they were permitted when he sang a song about a hotel everyone might know. And it worked -- all phones were put into pockets until the strains of "Hotel California" were heard...
Henley was in fine voice, and his band was terrific, too. He played great Eagles songs, and his solo hits, including "Heart of the Matter," which he co wrote with Bruce Hornsby, a fellow U alum, so the song is his best. He talked about how his first hit and many others were recorded "just south of here." Two know it all women behind us said "Oh -- he means Key West." I almost turned around like a snooty professor to correct them, but then Henley said "It was in Coconut Grove."
We all 4 loved it -- he even covered a Tears for Fears song, which Norman and Jim really enjoyed -- that's their wheelhouse of music.
We also took turns making a few visits to the men's room -- I noted sadly that when I used to go to Canes game in the Orange Bowl, and needed to pee, I would NEVER get in line at the trough behind a middle aged or older guy -- it takes too long. Alas, I an now that guy...
The show ended, and Jim went off to see a friend who was playing at one of the other places. Mike, Norman, and I went to Norman's suv and, well waited. It took an hour to get out of the lot. I guess President Trump hasn't fixed everything yet.
It was, all told, a fine night with fine gentlemen. We got to see Henley before he joins his brother Glenn Frey in that great Eagles nest in the sky.
In the aging rockers department, I scored 4 tickets for Norman and his wife Deb and Wifey and I to see U2 -- in June. I think I'll spring for a limo to that one...the ladies will enjoy it as they endure a night out with extremely funny men...
I took the train to my office, and then met Mike at his, after a walk over the Brickell Bridge on a truly spectacular afternoon. I paused at the bridge's zenith and looked out at the mouth of the Miami River, to Biscayne Bay. I never get over how gorgeous the city is...particularly in the wonderful weather months of Winter...
Mike and I drove to Norman's office, and then we three braved traffic up to Casa Carajo, a/k/a Broward County. We parked and tried to get some drinks at Martarano's outside bar. No dice -- the two overworked barkeeps never even looked up. So Mike and I went inside, and Norman waited on Jim, our fourth, who lives in Casa Carajo, a/k/a Cooper City. We 4 mustered inside, over adult beverages.
Jim sheepishly admitted why he was late: his wife asked him to stop at a CVS to buy some feminine hygiene products -- the height of emasculation. No, I corrected him -- Jim was being a showoff -- as his wife was the only of the four spouses of us still of that age...We all laughed heartily -- preferring, as always, the company of men...
There was a serviceable opening act -- an indie-type bluegrassy band from NYC called JD and the Straight Shots. They have several songs in chick flicks, like a Meryl Streep thing called Osage something or other. We 4 agreed we never watch such tripe...
And then Henley came on, and he rocked immediately. Norman had scored FINE tickets -- front row in the second floor section -- perfect to see and hear. The arena was sold out, and, as opposed to going out in Miami, we were far from the oldest ones there. In fact, there were plenty of EARLY Boomers -- late 60s and maybe even a few folks 70 or so...
People immediately started taking cell phone shots, and Henley put a stop to it -- saying they were permitted when he sang a song about a hotel everyone might know. And it worked -- all phones were put into pockets until the strains of "Hotel California" were heard...
Henley was in fine voice, and his band was terrific, too. He played great Eagles songs, and his solo hits, including "Heart of the Matter," which he co wrote with Bruce Hornsby, a fellow U alum, so the song is his best. He talked about how his first hit and many others were recorded "just south of here." Two know it all women behind us said "Oh -- he means Key West." I almost turned around like a snooty professor to correct them, but then Henley said "It was in Coconut Grove."
We all 4 loved it -- he even covered a Tears for Fears song, which Norman and Jim really enjoyed -- that's their wheelhouse of music.
We also took turns making a few visits to the men's room -- I noted sadly that when I used to go to Canes game in the Orange Bowl, and needed to pee, I would NEVER get in line at the trough behind a middle aged or older guy -- it takes too long. Alas, I an now that guy...
The show ended, and Jim went off to see a friend who was playing at one of the other places. Mike, Norman, and I went to Norman's suv and, well waited. It took an hour to get out of the lot. I guess President Trump hasn't fixed everything yet.
It was, all told, a fine night with fine gentlemen. We got to see Henley before he joins his brother Glenn Frey in that great Eagles nest in the sky.
In the aging rockers department, I scored 4 tickets for Norman and his wife Deb and Wifey and I to see U2 -- in June. I think I'll spring for a limo to that one...the ladies will enjoy it as they endure a night out with extremely funny men...
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
Oh Very Young Why Did You Leave Us
So I woke up this am to a very sad tale in the news: a 14 year old foster child hung herself live on a FaceBook (tm) stream. Apparently she went into a bathroom and did it as her foster parents slept, and the police were alerted by friends, but arrived too late. The girl was beautiful, and although a few grades behind in school, had been keeping a journal, and wished to someday write a book about her difficult life. I guess she chose a different ending than a possible book tour.
This sad affair brought back memories of my foray into the world of foster kids -- probably now 6 years gone by. My partner Paul had gotten involved as a guardian ad litem, and encouraged me to do the same. D2 was off at college, and I had plenty of free time, and so I channeled my inner do gooder and signed up for the required course, which took two weekends. I received my certification and passed a background check, and was assigned a young lady to meet and advocate for.
She was 15, and in may ways like the girl who killed herself today. She happened to be very beautiful, and, as I learned, possessed of a genius IQ. She was born into the wrong family. Her father was in prison for life after killing a rival drug dealer, and her mom made some poor boyfriend choices. One of these paramours decided he didn't like crying babies, and so tried to crush my young friend to death under a glass coffee table. She nearly died, but made it, and the State of Florida decided maybe Mom wasn't her best choice for a living place.
She was given to an aunt, and that worked out for awhile, but an older cousin became a militant lesbian (I'm not making this up) and decided to bring the then teen into her world. The State didn't think that was cool, either. and so she ended up in foster care, where I met her.
We got to know each other. I decided I would be the missing male role model for her life. I knew there was no better father to daughters, especially smart ones, than I was. I met with teachers, therapists, and spent a good amount of time with my client. I explained that, given her natural gifts, a scholarship to an Ivy League college awaited her -- just keep focused on school, and you can transcend your awful, unfair childhood.
I got to learn first hand, the absurd incompetence of the system, and its bloated bureaucracy. I'd attend group telephone conferences attended by, no kidding, EIGHT Department functionaries (psychologists, case workers, liasons, and others with titles out of Orwell). They'd talk and talk, and no one would do anything except schedule a future meeting to "check progress."
One time, a visit was required of the place my client wanted to move. One of the voices on the call suggested I do it. I exploded -- EIGHT of these idiots were on the state payroll, and they wanted the one volunteer -- me -- to schlep to Florida City to do the check??? A case worker's assistant, or some such, meekly agreed to do it instead.
Well, my client took a different path. Despite my cheerleading, and the "efforts" of this team of support state salaried staff, my client got pregnant with her high school dropout boyfriend. I was really disappointed, and told her. No -- she was going to have the baby, and finally a being that "HAD to love her."
My supervisor called and said it was decided that I be GAL for the baby, too. No, I said. First, I wasn't looking for an 18 year commitment, and second, there was a clear conflict of interest. What if I thought the baby, for example, needed to be placed elsewhere, and my teen Mom client desperately wanted to keep her? How could I advocate for both?
The powers that be called and decided there WOULD be only one GAL, and I could either take both spots or neither. I took neither. My adventure as a GAL was done. I made sure my now 17 year old client had my contact info, invited her to call if she wanted advice, and wished her well. I never heard from her again -- she must be 23 or so, now.
I hope she found a way out of the cycle her family had put her in. I fear this is unlikely. Today showed me the spectacular way a young like can be failed, by the State, and more closely, by a despicable set of parents.
It was a sad tale to start a Wednesday.
This sad affair brought back memories of my foray into the world of foster kids -- probably now 6 years gone by. My partner Paul had gotten involved as a guardian ad litem, and encouraged me to do the same. D2 was off at college, and I had plenty of free time, and so I channeled my inner do gooder and signed up for the required course, which took two weekends. I received my certification and passed a background check, and was assigned a young lady to meet and advocate for.
She was 15, and in may ways like the girl who killed herself today. She happened to be very beautiful, and, as I learned, possessed of a genius IQ. She was born into the wrong family. Her father was in prison for life after killing a rival drug dealer, and her mom made some poor boyfriend choices. One of these paramours decided he didn't like crying babies, and so tried to crush my young friend to death under a glass coffee table. She nearly died, but made it, and the State of Florida decided maybe Mom wasn't her best choice for a living place.
She was given to an aunt, and that worked out for awhile, but an older cousin became a militant lesbian (I'm not making this up) and decided to bring the then teen into her world. The State didn't think that was cool, either. and so she ended up in foster care, where I met her.
We got to know each other. I decided I would be the missing male role model for her life. I knew there was no better father to daughters, especially smart ones, than I was. I met with teachers, therapists, and spent a good amount of time with my client. I explained that, given her natural gifts, a scholarship to an Ivy League college awaited her -- just keep focused on school, and you can transcend your awful, unfair childhood.
I got to learn first hand, the absurd incompetence of the system, and its bloated bureaucracy. I'd attend group telephone conferences attended by, no kidding, EIGHT Department functionaries (psychologists, case workers, liasons, and others with titles out of Orwell). They'd talk and talk, and no one would do anything except schedule a future meeting to "check progress."
One time, a visit was required of the place my client wanted to move. One of the voices on the call suggested I do it. I exploded -- EIGHT of these idiots were on the state payroll, and they wanted the one volunteer -- me -- to schlep to Florida City to do the check??? A case worker's assistant, or some such, meekly agreed to do it instead.
Well, my client took a different path. Despite my cheerleading, and the "efforts" of this team of support state salaried staff, my client got pregnant with her high school dropout boyfriend. I was really disappointed, and told her. No -- she was going to have the baby, and finally a being that "HAD to love her."
My supervisor called and said it was decided that I be GAL for the baby, too. No, I said. First, I wasn't looking for an 18 year commitment, and second, there was a clear conflict of interest. What if I thought the baby, for example, needed to be placed elsewhere, and my teen Mom client desperately wanted to keep her? How could I advocate for both?
The powers that be called and decided there WOULD be only one GAL, and I could either take both spots or neither. I took neither. My adventure as a GAL was done. I made sure my now 17 year old client had my contact info, invited her to call if she wanted advice, and wished her well. I never heard from her again -- she must be 23 or so, now.
I hope she found a way out of the cycle her family had put her in. I fear this is unlikely. Today showed me the spectacular way a young like can be failed, by the State, and more closely, by a despicable set of parents.
It was a sad tale to start a Wednesday.
Monday, January 23, 2017
Bustin' Balls
So Wifey and I were just sitting around Saturday afternoon -- planning to do something, but somehow succumbing to the inertia with living in a house we both love to be in. Wifey says she wants to move, but admits she loves it where we are -- big lot where she has taken to spending hours outside, cleaning the many garden beds. I got a text from my friend inviting me to a bachelor party for a young member of his company -- turns out they have a tradition of throwing these things whenever a member gets married. I asked Wifey if she wanted to do anything -- her answer was to see a movie -- I typically can't stand movies anymore -- and so I decided to go.
The groom to be used to work with a young fellow I know well -- as did several of the group's participants. The events of the evening are not important -- except for one -- we rode to our destinations in a big limo-type bus. And that was by far my favorite part.
The younger fellows all knew each other well, and my buddy and I were the elder statesmen -- not quite old enough to be these guys' fathers, but close.
One of the participants was former military, then a lawyer, and now an entrepreneur -- he was also hilarious, as he mercilessly made fun of the future groom for "outkicking his coverage" or, marrying above his station.
The rest of the trip, both there and back, was more of the same -- the return trip even funnier due to the social lubricating effects of alcohol.
We were an ethnically diverse group -- a couple of Irish guys, a Southern Californian Mexican American, and a few American Jews -- and we all bonded over shared inability to truly understand women -- and not for lack of trying.
The proteges looked to me for some answers -- married nearly 30 years -- and I was only able to offer the advice of hanging in there.
I was dropped off during the wee small hours of the morning. I figured this was good practice for D1's wedding -- 7 months off, but scheduled to be an all night affair.
Ah -- guys hanging together, busting balls, like my favorite parts of The Sopranos...it was a fine way to spend an evening...
The groom to be used to work with a young fellow I know well -- as did several of the group's participants. The events of the evening are not important -- except for one -- we rode to our destinations in a big limo-type bus. And that was by far my favorite part.
The younger fellows all knew each other well, and my buddy and I were the elder statesmen -- not quite old enough to be these guys' fathers, but close.
One of the participants was former military, then a lawyer, and now an entrepreneur -- he was also hilarious, as he mercilessly made fun of the future groom for "outkicking his coverage" or, marrying above his station.
The rest of the trip, both there and back, was more of the same -- the return trip even funnier due to the social lubricating effects of alcohol.
We were an ethnically diverse group -- a couple of Irish guys, a Southern Californian Mexican American, and a few American Jews -- and we all bonded over shared inability to truly understand women -- and not for lack of trying.
The proteges looked to me for some answers -- married nearly 30 years -- and I was only able to offer the advice of hanging in there.
I was dropped off during the wee small hours of the morning. I figured this was good practice for D1's wedding -- 7 months off, but scheduled to be an all night affair.
Ah -- guys hanging together, busting balls, like my favorite parts of The Sopranos...it was a fine way to spend an evening...
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Wow -- It Really WASN'T a Movie
So yesterday I had a phone conference set for 11, and decided to stay home to attend it. Turns out it was the right move, as the day ended Downtown with a monumental traffic jam as nice, Lefty kids protested the Trump inauguration by marching onto I-95, effectively shutting down the city during the evening rush hour.
Wifey and I watched a lot of the festivities. She kept making disgusted sounds. I simply thought -- wow -- somehow this guy really made it to be president.
Like most of my peers, I thought Trump's entire campaign was a silly diversion during the otherwise serious season. I wasn't even really shocked that he beat the rest of the GOP field -- they were a collection of losers, in one way or another. Marco Rubio? A wimpy guy who changed like the wind. Jeb Bush? He couldn't even gain admission to Miami's top WASPy country clubs anymore.
Still, I figured Trump's nomination was simply the end of the GOP as it exists today. Hillary staved off the Larry David looking liberal from Vermont -- really Brooklyn. Other than silly kids thinking everything is free -- Sanders wasn't a real candidate, either. So Hillary would coast into office -- the smartest girl in class who nobody really liked, except the dumber girls who wanted to cheat off her exams... A HRC presidency would be tolerable -- hopefully Obamacare would be tweaked and made better, and she would be tougher and not be afraid to say "radical Islamist" like Obama was.
And then, damn -- the reality tv guy -- the cartoon character -- won. It didn't seem real. He said he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue in NYC and still win. And he was right!
Truth is, for my family and me, Trump is probably better for us. Our taxes will be lower, and he'll be better for Israel, which, as Jews, we care a lot about. My lefty friends kept forgiving Obama all his anti-Israel moves -- sort of like battered women forgiving the latest slap by their husbands -- but his act was wearing thin on me.
Not Trump. He and Bibi are buds. Together they'll be large and in charge.
Of course I voted for HRC. I think it's right to vote for the country, even if it goes against selfish interest. But the truth is, the poorest folks, the ones who are going to get most royally screwed by Trump and his incoming administration, couldn't be bothered to go out and vote. Blacks voted for Obama in record numbers, but largely stayed home for HRC. So now they get to see how it works out for them...
I get a kick out of my lefty friends on FaceBook. They go on and on as if the Trump gestapo is about to invade their large houses and take them prisoner. As for me, I like Dave Chappelle's approach, when asked by some friends if he was moving to Canada now that a "racist pig" was POTUS. "Nah -- I'm gonna stay right here and see how those tax cuts work out for me."
And so it shall be around here, too.
I guess I learned early on to not take presidential elections too seriously. As a teen, I truly thought Jimmy Carter was going to be the best ever. After the scandal of Watergate, and boredom of Gerry Ford, Carter would bring greatness. Turned out he was probably the worst president of modern times -- in 4 years made the US a laughingstock, internationally. I remember meeting some European kids at UM in '79 and them telling me how when someone saw a US passport, it was a big deal. With Carter, the customs guys laughed.
And, history has now judged Ford much better -- took a broken nation and healed it, like a kindly, and prudent grandfather might heal a fractured family.
So you never know. Maybe Trump will turn out to be just fine -- cutting great deals for the US, being a steward of a rising economy. Probably not. But he's our guy -- Queens born, like I am, as Dr. Barry reminded me. Dr. Barry's a Queens guy, too. He wants to start the betting pool for impeachment.
Some very interesting times, like the Chinese curse goes, are upon us.
Wifey and I watched a lot of the festivities. She kept making disgusted sounds. I simply thought -- wow -- somehow this guy really made it to be president.
Like most of my peers, I thought Trump's entire campaign was a silly diversion during the otherwise serious season. I wasn't even really shocked that he beat the rest of the GOP field -- they were a collection of losers, in one way or another. Marco Rubio? A wimpy guy who changed like the wind. Jeb Bush? He couldn't even gain admission to Miami's top WASPy country clubs anymore.
Still, I figured Trump's nomination was simply the end of the GOP as it exists today. Hillary staved off the Larry David looking liberal from Vermont -- really Brooklyn. Other than silly kids thinking everything is free -- Sanders wasn't a real candidate, either. So Hillary would coast into office -- the smartest girl in class who nobody really liked, except the dumber girls who wanted to cheat off her exams... A HRC presidency would be tolerable -- hopefully Obamacare would be tweaked and made better, and she would be tougher and not be afraid to say "radical Islamist" like Obama was.
And then, damn -- the reality tv guy -- the cartoon character -- won. It didn't seem real. He said he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue in NYC and still win. And he was right!
Truth is, for my family and me, Trump is probably better for us. Our taxes will be lower, and he'll be better for Israel, which, as Jews, we care a lot about. My lefty friends kept forgiving Obama all his anti-Israel moves -- sort of like battered women forgiving the latest slap by their husbands -- but his act was wearing thin on me.
Not Trump. He and Bibi are buds. Together they'll be large and in charge.
Of course I voted for HRC. I think it's right to vote for the country, even if it goes against selfish interest. But the truth is, the poorest folks, the ones who are going to get most royally screwed by Trump and his incoming administration, couldn't be bothered to go out and vote. Blacks voted for Obama in record numbers, but largely stayed home for HRC. So now they get to see how it works out for them...
I get a kick out of my lefty friends on FaceBook. They go on and on as if the Trump gestapo is about to invade their large houses and take them prisoner. As for me, I like Dave Chappelle's approach, when asked by some friends if he was moving to Canada now that a "racist pig" was POTUS. "Nah -- I'm gonna stay right here and see how those tax cuts work out for me."
And so it shall be around here, too.
I guess I learned early on to not take presidential elections too seriously. As a teen, I truly thought Jimmy Carter was going to be the best ever. After the scandal of Watergate, and boredom of Gerry Ford, Carter would bring greatness. Turned out he was probably the worst president of modern times -- in 4 years made the US a laughingstock, internationally. I remember meeting some European kids at UM in '79 and them telling me how when someone saw a US passport, it was a big deal. With Carter, the customs guys laughed.
And, history has now judged Ford much better -- took a broken nation and healed it, like a kindly, and prudent grandfather might heal a fractured family.
So you never know. Maybe Trump will turn out to be just fine -- cutting great deals for the US, being a steward of a rising economy. Probably not. But he's our guy -- Queens born, like I am, as Dr. Barry reminded me. Dr. Barry's a Queens guy, too. He wants to start the betting pool for impeachment.
Some very interesting times, like the Chinese curse goes, are upon us.
Thursday, January 19, 2017
It was a banner night; it was a shocking night
So life, even for annoying optimists like me, has its peaks and valleys. Last night held both of those.
First the peak: Wifey attended a talk given by D1, at our local shul. The talk capped an awesome day for D1 -- full slate of clients, followed by her first night of teaching at UM. She was hired to teach a graduate level nutrition class, and, well, the way I tend to admire professors combined with my love of the U -- it made me incredibly proud. And Wifey reported that the packed house at the shul, probably over 60 women, adored D1 -- hung on her every, rapid fire delivered word about improving their health. D1's dear friend Alyssa surprised her and attended, along with her Mom Barbara, and I got to speak to the two giddy young ladies as they drove home together afterwards. I've known Alyssa since Middle School, and she is an accomplished executive at a local Latin American company, and married to one of my favorite guys, Freddy, a Honduran. Alyssa and Freddy and D1 and D1's man Joey double date -- the two Latin guys with their gringa ladies. It's all so wonderful to me.
And then Wifey told me she had received an awful text from a dear friend, about the boyfriend of another friend. It seems the other friend's boyfriend, a man in his late 40s, had died.
Wifey and I called the friend's sister, and she filled us in. The fellow had been troubled -- a recovering addict and drinker. I met him only once -- at a birthday party -- and liked him. More importantly, he seemed to bring so much happiness to Wifey's friend, a life long single woman.
I had a strong suspicion he was a recovering addict -- I guess a career of representing a wide array of folks has given me a sense of who people are -- and it turned out my suspicions were correct. The fellow took his own life, in his apartment in Fort Lauderdale.
I had only met him the one time, but I was still shocked and saddened. He was young and handsome, and clearly a fellow who attended the gym. He had a great time with the varied crowd at the Miami Beach party -- most of whom were a good deal older than he. He was from Ohio and an Ohio State fan -- I joked with him that I forgave him for that -- and we talked about the infamous National Championship game. I left the party thinking -- well, this is a fellow with a troubled past, but he seems ok now, and most importantly, has brought some new life to Wifey's friend of nearly 40 years.
And now he's gone -- just like that.
It's funny -- just yesterday morning, I had a long talk with one of my brothers -- about how some people have the capacity to experience true joy in life, while so many others simply can't. This unfortunate latter group simply cannot ever let go and savor things -- they always keep control, and ruminate, and judge.
So the lesson I take from yesterday is simple -- when life brings you the good, like, for me, D1's soaring -- I will unabashedly celebrate, and crow, and let her know how much I adore her. Around the bend, as the sages know, often lurks danger.
I went to sleep last night with Neil Young's words in my head: "Every junkie's like a setting sun." May this fellow find the peace wherever his soul is -- the peace he didn't find among us.
First the peak: Wifey attended a talk given by D1, at our local shul. The talk capped an awesome day for D1 -- full slate of clients, followed by her first night of teaching at UM. She was hired to teach a graduate level nutrition class, and, well, the way I tend to admire professors combined with my love of the U -- it made me incredibly proud. And Wifey reported that the packed house at the shul, probably over 60 women, adored D1 -- hung on her every, rapid fire delivered word about improving their health. D1's dear friend Alyssa surprised her and attended, along with her Mom Barbara, and I got to speak to the two giddy young ladies as they drove home together afterwards. I've known Alyssa since Middle School, and she is an accomplished executive at a local Latin American company, and married to one of my favorite guys, Freddy, a Honduran. Alyssa and Freddy and D1 and D1's man Joey double date -- the two Latin guys with their gringa ladies. It's all so wonderful to me.
And then Wifey told me she had received an awful text from a dear friend, about the boyfriend of another friend. It seems the other friend's boyfriend, a man in his late 40s, had died.
Wifey and I called the friend's sister, and she filled us in. The fellow had been troubled -- a recovering addict and drinker. I met him only once -- at a birthday party -- and liked him. More importantly, he seemed to bring so much happiness to Wifey's friend, a life long single woman.
I had a strong suspicion he was a recovering addict -- I guess a career of representing a wide array of folks has given me a sense of who people are -- and it turned out my suspicions were correct. The fellow took his own life, in his apartment in Fort Lauderdale.
I had only met him the one time, but I was still shocked and saddened. He was young and handsome, and clearly a fellow who attended the gym. He had a great time with the varied crowd at the Miami Beach party -- most of whom were a good deal older than he. He was from Ohio and an Ohio State fan -- I joked with him that I forgave him for that -- and we talked about the infamous National Championship game. I left the party thinking -- well, this is a fellow with a troubled past, but he seems ok now, and most importantly, has brought some new life to Wifey's friend of nearly 40 years.
And now he's gone -- just like that.
It's funny -- just yesterday morning, I had a long talk with one of my brothers -- about how some people have the capacity to experience true joy in life, while so many others simply can't. This unfortunate latter group simply cannot ever let go and savor things -- they always keep control, and ruminate, and judge.
So the lesson I take from yesterday is simple -- when life brings you the good, like, for me, D1's soaring -- I will unabashedly celebrate, and crow, and let her know how much I adore her. Around the bend, as the sages know, often lurks danger.
I went to sleep last night with Neil Young's words in my head: "Every junkie's like a setting sun." May this fellow find the peace wherever his soul is -- the peace he didn't find among us.
Tuesday, January 17, 2017
I Wouldn't Join Any Club That Would Have Me As A Member
Ah, those classic words from one of my life's heroes, Groucho Marx. Wifey and I just saw one of the Brothers' film clips at the Philly museum -- and though I knew the routine by heart, I still laughed out loud. The nice lesbian Jewish couple watching next to us looked at me funny...
When Paul and I were active in practice, we were lucky to get recognized by a few lawyers guides. Martindale Hubble gave us the highest "AV" rating, which I loved, only since my first boss, a virulent anti semite I'll call Dan, since that's his name, never rose above "BV."
We never bothered to seek entrance to any of these things, as most of our clients came from referrals from people who we knew very well, and didn't need to consult guides, but sometimes the guides were nice marketing tools. One was the South Florida Legal Guide, or SFLG. We made it in their first year, probably around 1998. One time a prospective client wanted to meet us after another fellow, who I knew was not in the Guide. I told the client to hire whomever they wanted, but I would only hire someone listed in the Guide. We got the case...
Every year when the SFLG comes out, I look at it, assuming they'll finally leave us out. We still practice, but not as vigorously as before, and we're certainly not charged for causing too much wear and tear on the steps of the local courthouses. But, alas, we remain listed as always.
One of my pet peeves, which I share with Dr. Barry, is great fun making of people who take themselves too seriously, and think they're all that, and proudly so proclaim.
One of my FaceBook (tm) friends is one such fellow. He's a lawyer I'll call Erv, since that's his name, and indeed he is wildly successful. He's probably won more huge verdicts than just about anyone practicing today, and enjoys a great reputation. But his FB pages always seem to feign humility, while clearly trumpeting his manifold accomplishments.
The other day he posted the cover of the latest SFLG, and commented along the lines that he was humbled to receive this great honor. Literally hundreds of his friends and followers all complimented him. I took this as an invite to have a bit of passive aggressive fun, as my friend Stuart would say.
I commented and went on and on, essentially saying that being included in the Guide was akin to winning a Nobel Prize -- but bigger. I explained that it was the highest honor one can receive -- true acclaim by one's peers. If one could be publicly honored by the US Supreme Court or included in the Guide -- well, chose the latter.
Erv's response was exactly as I expected: a simple thank you for my congratulations. It was exquisite. I would have been way impressed if he said something along the lines of "On second thought, the honor must not be so great if a has been like you is in the Guide with the likes of me." Nah -- totally missed the inside joke.
So I so honor Groucho. I hold the humble in high esteem. A few weeks ago I had dinner with a friend up for four Grammy's this year -- and he kept changing the subject away from himself, and saying all he does is turn knobs on a board. Neal is my kind of guy. A Grammy is, as Biden said to Obama, a big F ing deal. Not so much being in a local magazine that, while using peer reviews for its listings, exists by selling advertising by those so included.
Now that I'm in the mood, I may finally do something I've wanted to do for quite some time -- having business cards printed up with my name followed by "Super Genius," like Wiley E Coyote. Super Genius is, in fact, a club I wish I could join...
When Paul and I were active in practice, we were lucky to get recognized by a few lawyers guides. Martindale Hubble gave us the highest "AV" rating, which I loved, only since my first boss, a virulent anti semite I'll call Dan, since that's his name, never rose above "BV."
We never bothered to seek entrance to any of these things, as most of our clients came from referrals from people who we knew very well, and didn't need to consult guides, but sometimes the guides were nice marketing tools. One was the South Florida Legal Guide, or SFLG. We made it in their first year, probably around 1998. One time a prospective client wanted to meet us after another fellow, who I knew was not in the Guide. I told the client to hire whomever they wanted, but I would only hire someone listed in the Guide. We got the case...
Every year when the SFLG comes out, I look at it, assuming they'll finally leave us out. We still practice, but not as vigorously as before, and we're certainly not charged for causing too much wear and tear on the steps of the local courthouses. But, alas, we remain listed as always.
One of my pet peeves, which I share with Dr. Barry, is great fun making of people who take themselves too seriously, and think they're all that, and proudly so proclaim.
One of my FaceBook (tm) friends is one such fellow. He's a lawyer I'll call Erv, since that's his name, and indeed he is wildly successful. He's probably won more huge verdicts than just about anyone practicing today, and enjoys a great reputation. But his FB pages always seem to feign humility, while clearly trumpeting his manifold accomplishments.
The other day he posted the cover of the latest SFLG, and commented along the lines that he was humbled to receive this great honor. Literally hundreds of his friends and followers all complimented him. I took this as an invite to have a bit of passive aggressive fun, as my friend Stuart would say.
I commented and went on and on, essentially saying that being included in the Guide was akin to winning a Nobel Prize -- but bigger. I explained that it was the highest honor one can receive -- true acclaim by one's peers. If one could be publicly honored by the US Supreme Court or included in the Guide -- well, chose the latter.
Erv's response was exactly as I expected: a simple thank you for my congratulations. It was exquisite. I would have been way impressed if he said something along the lines of "On second thought, the honor must not be so great if a has been like you is in the Guide with the likes of me." Nah -- totally missed the inside joke.
So I so honor Groucho. I hold the humble in high esteem. A few weeks ago I had dinner with a friend up for four Grammy's this year -- and he kept changing the subject away from himself, and saying all he does is turn knobs on a board. Neal is my kind of guy. A Grammy is, as Biden said to Obama, a big F ing deal. Not so much being in a local magazine that, while using peer reviews for its listings, exists by selling advertising by those so included.
Now that I'm in the mood, I may finally do something I've wanted to do for quite some time -- having business cards printed up with my name followed by "Super Genius," like Wiley E Coyote. Super Genius is, in fact, a club I wish I could join...
Exhausting the Topic
When D2 was here, one evening Wifey put on a movie about Queen Victoria, and the three of us watched. My Ds and Wifey love British Royal tales -- I sort of watched out of boredom. But there was one great line -- one of the consorts was going on and on about something, and the young queen said "You have exhausted the topic!" Wifey and I looked at each other -- both sometimes have a tendency to go on a bit long about things -- she routinely, and me when I have a few vodkas...So now, one looks at the other, and says "Sweetie -- you have exhausted the topic..."
And so it was about last weekend. We flew to Philly to attend a friends' daughters' wedding, and, well, it was a very simple affair. We learned that there was a beer crawl the first night we weren't invited to -- just for the younger guests -- and Wifey and I ended up falling asleep in the hotel by 9. The wedding itself was simple and the brunch the following day featured powdered eggs and not enough tables to sit --most of the guests were Jews, and having a brunch without lox is, well, not done...It was in Philly.
I went on and on -- I guess when people HAVE the money to put on a nice affair and instead don't do so, it goes against my grain. I've been to plenty of wedding put on by folks of humble means -- and they're often at least warm and inviting affairs. This one -- we tried to dance once, and the expressionless DJ stopped the 70s song and put on an instrumental. Just weird the whole time...
But Wifey is right -- I exhausted the topic. We got away -- walked the streets of Philadephia, thankfully with OUT AIDS, like Tom Hanks in the movie -- ate some decent pizza, and found a friendly pub where we ate nice chicken sandwiches, I drank a well poured Guiness, and watched the NFL game. So enough about the complaining!
The last day there, we walked to the new Jewish American History museum, and it was worth the walk. The top floor was all about rock impressario Bill Graham, and then the other floors essentially told the story of my family (turn of the century immigrants from Eastern Europe) and Wifey's (Holocaust Survivors who found Israel). There were great films, and recreations of typical homes from the 60s where American Jews fled to suburbs. All around well done.
We also stopped in the Mutter Medical Museum. That was a clunker for me -- essentially floors of pathology specimens. I DID text my boys Eric and Barry, though -- telling them I was impressed -- I would have clearly flunked gross anatomy had I gone to med school -- stuff all looks the same to me. That led to a hilarious thread about whether they have an "Obamacare Wing -- devoted to the time when the US actually tried to insure people." My friends are funny, thankfully.
So we;re back in the humidity -- and I learned, again, a lesson about me. When I attend social events my gut tells me are going to be unenjoyable, I have only myself to blame. My inner circle -- hell -- I'll walk a desert for them. But older friends, no longer that close -- unless they put on an event that truly appeals to me -- it's better to simply send Wifey on her own. When I don't, and instead get wildly annoyed -- well, I tend to exhaust the topic.
And so it was about last weekend. We flew to Philly to attend a friends' daughters' wedding, and, well, it was a very simple affair. We learned that there was a beer crawl the first night we weren't invited to -- just for the younger guests -- and Wifey and I ended up falling asleep in the hotel by 9. The wedding itself was simple and the brunch the following day featured powdered eggs and not enough tables to sit --most of the guests were Jews, and having a brunch without lox is, well, not done...It was in Philly.
I went on and on -- I guess when people HAVE the money to put on a nice affair and instead don't do so, it goes against my grain. I've been to plenty of wedding put on by folks of humble means -- and they're often at least warm and inviting affairs. This one -- we tried to dance once, and the expressionless DJ stopped the 70s song and put on an instrumental. Just weird the whole time...
But Wifey is right -- I exhausted the topic. We got away -- walked the streets of Philadephia, thankfully with OUT AIDS, like Tom Hanks in the movie -- ate some decent pizza, and found a friendly pub where we ate nice chicken sandwiches, I drank a well poured Guiness, and watched the NFL game. So enough about the complaining!
The last day there, we walked to the new Jewish American History museum, and it was worth the walk. The top floor was all about rock impressario Bill Graham, and then the other floors essentially told the story of my family (turn of the century immigrants from Eastern Europe) and Wifey's (Holocaust Survivors who found Israel). There were great films, and recreations of typical homes from the 60s where American Jews fled to suburbs. All around well done.
We also stopped in the Mutter Medical Museum. That was a clunker for me -- essentially floors of pathology specimens. I DID text my boys Eric and Barry, though -- telling them I was impressed -- I would have clearly flunked gross anatomy had I gone to med school -- stuff all looks the same to me. That led to a hilarious thread about whether they have an "Obamacare Wing -- devoted to the time when the US actually tried to insure people." My friends are funny, thankfully.
So we;re back in the humidity -- and I learned, again, a lesson about me. When I attend social events my gut tells me are going to be unenjoyable, I have only myself to blame. My inner circle -- hell -- I'll walk a desert for them. But older friends, no longer that close -- unless they put on an event that truly appeals to me -- it's better to simply send Wifey on her own. When I don't, and instead get wildly annoyed -- well, I tend to exhaust the topic.
Friday, January 13, 2017
The Number of Years
Ya just never know, a wise man often said. As for the number of years we each have on this mortal coil, that's surely the truth.
Before I leave on an airplane trip, I often wax philosophical about mortality, especially since, in Miami, it's too hot to wax your own car.
I realized how silly it is, as my daily drives on I-95 are a far greater cause of death than a 737 to Philly, but I guess it's the lack of control while flying that somehow makes it scarier. Ha. As if -- any of us truly had control when the Big Man decides to act or not.
Wifey and I had to drive over to the Gables this am, to continue the almost comically complicated process of converting some investment accounts from Merrill Lynch "Advisory" to "Edge" which you handle yourself. As we left, I asked her what she thought the Ds' lives would be like if we had a "Sully" -like experience this trip but without Captain Sully. She shut me down right away -- my dark and strange obsession with early death -- but I carried on the conversation a bit. We concluded the Ds would be just fine -- we've given them a fine foundation for adulthood, and, well American Airlines's insurance carriers would make the finances rosy. Or rosier...
My partner and friend Stu's Dad Bill works most days. He's nearing 82. He walks hunched over, and tells us he feels every day of his long life. Others say they feel young, but look to the rest of the world like they're old as fuh...
My friend Jeff's Dad would have turned 80 today. He died a few months ago. He always said he planned on a VERY long life -- both of his parents made it to their mid 90s. That was not the hand he was dealt...
Still, today I bought tickets to see U2 in June, and went ahead and renewed my Canes tickets for next Fall -- so I guess I really DO plan on being around awhile longer.
Hell -- my urologist who I'll call Bob, since that's his name (nickname: "He with ENORMOUS finger") said my prostate was stable -- I only need to see him once a year, instead of every 6 months -- so I got that going for me.
And most importantly, on the future plate, is the Big Fat Colombian wedding we're having for D1 in September. Even my 92 year old suegra plans on being around for that one...
Wifey and I are both having buyer's remorse about this Philly trip. Our friends' daughter is getting married, and since we missed her sister's ceremony, Wifey feels we need to attend this one. Weather in Philly is going to be miserable -- freezing rain, maybe an ice storm. But I figure we'll have a few laughs, and tales to tell. The groom is Israeli -- I met him once, and he knows, apparently, all there is to know about, well, everything. So that'll be good for some tales to bring home to the 305.
And, if by some freak of fate, my whistling past the graveyard backfires, and we don't return, well, then all I can say is: we had one hell of a time, and it's a wonderful life.
Before I leave on an airplane trip, I often wax philosophical about mortality, especially since, in Miami, it's too hot to wax your own car.
I realized how silly it is, as my daily drives on I-95 are a far greater cause of death than a 737 to Philly, but I guess it's the lack of control while flying that somehow makes it scarier. Ha. As if -- any of us truly had control when the Big Man decides to act or not.
Wifey and I had to drive over to the Gables this am, to continue the almost comically complicated process of converting some investment accounts from Merrill Lynch "Advisory" to "Edge" which you handle yourself. As we left, I asked her what she thought the Ds' lives would be like if we had a "Sully" -like experience this trip but without Captain Sully. She shut me down right away -- my dark and strange obsession with early death -- but I carried on the conversation a bit. We concluded the Ds would be just fine -- we've given them a fine foundation for adulthood, and, well American Airlines's insurance carriers would make the finances rosy. Or rosier...
My partner and friend Stu's Dad Bill works most days. He's nearing 82. He walks hunched over, and tells us he feels every day of his long life. Others say they feel young, but look to the rest of the world like they're old as fuh...
My friend Jeff's Dad would have turned 80 today. He died a few months ago. He always said he planned on a VERY long life -- both of his parents made it to their mid 90s. That was not the hand he was dealt...
Still, today I bought tickets to see U2 in June, and went ahead and renewed my Canes tickets for next Fall -- so I guess I really DO plan on being around awhile longer.
Hell -- my urologist who I'll call Bob, since that's his name (nickname: "He with ENORMOUS finger") said my prostate was stable -- I only need to see him once a year, instead of every 6 months -- so I got that going for me.
And most importantly, on the future plate, is the Big Fat Colombian wedding we're having for D1 in September. Even my 92 year old suegra plans on being around for that one...
Wifey and I are both having buyer's remorse about this Philly trip. Our friends' daughter is getting married, and since we missed her sister's ceremony, Wifey feels we need to attend this one. Weather in Philly is going to be miserable -- freezing rain, maybe an ice storm. But I figure we'll have a few laughs, and tales to tell. The groom is Israeli -- I met him once, and he knows, apparently, all there is to know about, well, everything. So that'll be good for some tales to bring home to the 305.
And, if by some freak of fate, my whistling past the graveyard backfires, and we don't return, well, then all I can say is: we had one hell of a time, and it's a wonderful life.
Monday, January 9, 2017
We're All Still Boys
So the York A/C in the Suegra condo crapped out, and this am Danny's man Ivan met me there bright and early to install a new one. Ivan and Danny are like repair guys from the 1950s -- when they say they'll be over at 8 am, they're there 10 before...
My mother in law was fast asleep, and I closed her bedroom door, but she emerged and smiled. The positive news, as I related to Wifey, is that she looks mostly recovered from her fall -- I think Wifey can go back to the day time aide only -- the old woman gets around the condo just fine herself.
Anyway, Ivan's assistant started tearing out the old air handler, and Ivan was up on the condo roof, preparing for the new unit. And then, at 7:45, the crane arrived. The hired one to lift the new compressor to the second story roof, and to remove the old unit. The crane guy came in, parked, and immediately wrapped the new Rheem unit in heavy fabric, and up it went. I videotaped the process.
Maybe there are grown men who don't think watching heavy construction equipment working is way cool, but I am NOT one of those grown man. Watching the 600 lb unit fly through the air, and gently touch down, followed by the quick removal of the old unit was very neat to watch. I didn't ask the crane operator if I could play with the machine, but I thought about it...
I left for home, and a few hours later, Ivan sent me two photos on text: the newly installed air handler, in the condo closet, and the new compressor, squatting proudly on the roof. He assured me everything worked "perfect."
I plan to trust him for now, as we're enjoying a lovely cool front. But by the weekend we'll be back in the low 80s, and I can check out the handiwork of the a/c men.
I did get to chat with the crane man -- Cuban American, smoking a stogie. I asked how many lifts he does each day, and he said on a good day, maybe 25 or more. At $400 per, I quickly noted he had a hell of a good business. "Yes -- berry good," he agreed. I couldn't resist, and said "But it has its ups and downs..." He smiled, and said he hears that only about 5 times each day. Puns are universally revered...
So for now, we have a cool suegra, who, more importantly, seems to be stable and not in need of a nursing home. This gladdens Wifey. Speaking of nursing homes, we're meeting her friend tonight, whose fiance has been in rehab since April. I hope to hear some positive news about him.
And after dinner, Pat is meeting me to watch the final college game of the year. Since the Fins tanked yesterday, as I expected, after tonight football for me is over. We're flying home from NYC on Super Bowl Sunday, and I'm happy about it -- I couldn't care less about who wins.
I guess in that way I'm not still like a boy, at least a football crazed one. But those cranes are way cool...
My mother in law was fast asleep, and I closed her bedroom door, but she emerged and smiled. The positive news, as I related to Wifey, is that she looks mostly recovered from her fall -- I think Wifey can go back to the day time aide only -- the old woman gets around the condo just fine herself.
Anyway, Ivan's assistant started tearing out the old air handler, and Ivan was up on the condo roof, preparing for the new unit. And then, at 7:45, the crane arrived. The hired one to lift the new compressor to the second story roof, and to remove the old unit. The crane guy came in, parked, and immediately wrapped the new Rheem unit in heavy fabric, and up it went. I videotaped the process.
Maybe there are grown men who don't think watching heavy construction equipment working is way cool, but I am NOT one of those grown man. Watching the 600 lb unit fly through the air, and gently touch down, followed by the quick removal of the old unit was very neat to watch. I didn't ask the crane operator if I could play with the machine, but I thought about it...
I left for home, and a few hours later, Ivan sent me two photos on text: the newly installed air handler, in the condo closet, and the new compressor, squatting proudly on the roof. He assured me everything worked "perfect."
I plan to trust him for now, as we're enjoying a lovely cool front. But by the weekend we'll be back in the low 80s, and I can check out the handiwork of the a/c men.
I did get to chat with the crane man -- Cuban American, smoking a stogie. I asked how many lifts he does each day, and he said on a good day, maybe 25 or more. At $400 per, I quickly noted he had a hell of a good business. "Yes -- berry good," he agreed. I couldn't resist, and said "But it has its ups and downs..." He smiled, and said he hears that only about 5 times each day. Puns are universally revered...
So for now, we have a cool suegra, who, more importantly, seems to be stable and not in need of a nursing home. This gladdens Wifey. Speaking of nursing homes, we're meeting her friend tonight, whose fiance has been in rehab since April. I hope to hear some positive news about him.
And after dinner, Pat is meeting me to watch the final college game of the year. Since the Fins tanked yesterday, as I expected, after tonight football for me is over. We're flying home from NYC on Super Bowl Sunday, and I'm happy about it -- I couldn't care less about who wins.
I guess in that way I'm not still like a boy, at least a football crazed one. But those cranes are way cool...
Saturday, January 7, 2017
In a Fort Lauderdale Minute, Everything Can Change
So the scary, crazy real world came a little too close for comfort yesterday -- a deranged gunman shot and killed 5 and wounded another 8 at FLL.
Wifey and I were home together. I stayed away from Brickell, since no one else in my office seemed too interested in working, and we had a date with our English friends at Brickell City Centre later in the evening. The news reports started coming in, and we watched, in rapt attention.
We rarely fly into or out of FLL, but plenty of our friends and family do. Most of the budget carriers go there, as the landing fees are much cheaper than MIA, and if you live in North Miami Dade, it's more convenient. Apparently a schizophrenic former National Guardsman started hearing voices last November, and went to the FBI in Alaska to tell him. They sent him to local police, and from there no follow up was undertaken. I guess the voices got more stringent, and he flew from Minneapolis to FLL with a legally checked gun, fetched it from baggage claim, loaded it in the bathroom, and came out and started his massacre.
So these days, if you're going to be senselessly shot, you have a choice: terrorist (usually Islamist) or nut case. Either way, you end up the same dead or maimed.
It's sickening, of course, and there are no clear remedies. The gun lobby is too strong to ever have gun control. Many of my idiot FaceBook posters see it the other way: too bad more folks awaiting their luggage weren't themselves armed -- they could have taken out the maniac quicker. Ha. As if. That's magical thinking. Few other than highly trained legal killers, like SWAT guys, or Navy SEALS, can do that sort of thing in real life. The average schlemiel with a Nine would more likely panic, and shoot more innocent victims in trying to thwart the bad guy. If only reality were so simple...
By later in the day, the situation was under control, although the clownish BSO and TSA kept people stuck on planes for hours. So Wifey and I did the only reasonable thing -- went on with our lives.
We drove to my building, and walked to the East Hotel, and its awesome restaurant, an Uruguayan grille. D1 was there before us, and we went to the bar for a martini and glass of wine, and water for Wifey. Paul and Patricia had to cancel, on account of some schlepping duties, but Lou came -- Paul's long time Philly friend. And soon after our English friends Dave and Sandra arrived, with even MORE Brits in tow -- Phil and Jackie -- longtime neighbors and friends from Stoke.
Except for D1, we were the oldest ones in the restaurant -- typical these days on Brickell. Phil is a retired RAF helo pilot, and had been in Miami before, but years ago, when it was more "sleepy." We ate heartily -- lamb chops, steak, chicken, and great small pizzas. We laughed a lot and caught up -- Dave and Sandra's girl is about to have a baby, and Sandra is dealing with the fact that she' s no longer a 19 year old hitchhiking her way across Canada...
Then we went up to the roof of the East, to a bar called Sugar, with absurdly great views -- I told Jackie if she looked hard enough , to the Northeast, across the Atlantic, she might make out the London Eye on the Thames...
D1 and Lou left, and then we walked around a bit, though Phil has mobility problems, so we ducked into Rosa Mexicana and their bar.
We toasted being safe, for our families, in this crazy and dangerous world, and being lucky enough to not be, so far, in the right place at the wrong time.
The Brits called an Uber, and Sandra had me translate for the driver, as he only spoke American English, and she couldn't understand him. Wifey and I walked back to my building, got into the loaner SUV, and headed for home. The Brits have another day in the 305, and then board a ship for two weeks in the Caribbean Sea. They invited us to go on an Amazon cruise with them in May, but I've had it with cruising for awhile. Maybe Wifey can go with her BFF Edna...I'll watch the dogs.
When we arrived home, it was lovely out -- a completely clear sky filled with stars. I thanked the Big Man, and said a prayer for the victims in the airport. Hemingway had it right -- in this nutty, violent, and cruel world, the best a man can do is stake out his own oasis of calm and peace. I was happy to do that last night.
Wifey and I were home together. I stayed away from Brickell, since no one else in my office seemed too interested in working, and we had a date with our English friends at Brickell City Centre later in the evening. The news reports started coming in, and we watched, in rapt attention.
We rarely fly into or out of FLL, but plenty of our friends and family do. Most of the budget carriers go there, as the landing fees are much cheaper than MIA, and if you live in North Miami Dade, it's more convenient. Apparently a schizophrenic former National Guardsman started hearing voices last November, and went to the FBI in Alaska to tell him. They sent him to local police, and from there no follow up was undertaken. I guess the voices got more stringent, and he flew from Minneapolis to FLL with a legally checked gun, fetched it from baggage claim, loaded it in the bathroom, and came out and started his massacre.
So these days, if you're going to be senselessly shot, you have a choice: terrorist (usually Islamist) or nut case. Either way, you end up the same dead or maimed.
It's sickening, of course, and there are no clear remedies. The gun lobby is too strong to ever have gun control. Many of my idiot FaceBook posters see it the other way: too bad more folks awaiting their luggage weren't themselves armed -- they could have taken out the maniac quicker. Ha. As if. That's magical thinking. Few other than highly trained legal killers, like SWAT guys, or Navy SEALS, can do that sort of thing in real life. The average schlemiel with a Nine would more likely panic, and shoot more innocent victims in trying to thwart the bad guy. If only reality were so simple...
By later in the day, the situation was under control, although the clownish BSO and TSA kept people stuck on planes for hours. So Wifey and I did the only reasonable thing -- went on with our lives.
We drove to my building, and walked to the East Hotel, and its awesome restaurant, an Uruguayan grille. D1 was there before us, and we went to the bar for a martini and glass of wine, and water for Wifey. Paul and Patricia had to cancel, on account of some schlepping duties, but Lou came -- Paul's long time Philly friend. And soon after our English friends Dave and Sandra arrived, with even MORE Brits in tow -- Phil and Jackie -- longtime neighbors and friends from Stoke.
Except for D1, we were the oldest ones in the restaurant -- typical these days on Brickell. Phil is a retired RAF helo pilot, and had been in Miami before, but years ago, when it was more "sleepy." We ate heartily -- lamb chops, steak, chicken, and great small pizzas. We laughed a lot and caught up -- Dave and Sandra's girl is about to have a baby, and Sandra is dealing with the fact that she' s no longer a 19 year old hitchhiking her way across Canada...
Then we went up to the roof of the East, to a bar called Sugar, with absurdly great views -- I told Jackie if she looked hard enough , to the Northeast, across the Atlantic, she might make out the London Eye on the Thames...
D1 and Lou left, and then we walked around a bit, though Phil has mobility problems, so we ducked into Rosa Mexicana and their bar.
We toasted being safe, for our families, in this crazy and dangerous world, and being lucky enough to not be, so far, in the right place at the wrong time.
The Brits called an Uber, and Sandra had me translate for the driver, as he only spoke American English, and she couldn't understand him. Wifey and I walked back to my building, got into the loaner SUV, and headed for home. The Brits have another day in the 305, and then board a ship for two weeks in the Caribbean Sea. They invited us to go on an Amazon cruise with them in May, but I've had it with cruising for awhile. Maybe Wifey can go with her BFF Edna...I'll watch the dogs.
When we arrived home, it was lovely out -- a completely clear sky filled with stars. I thanked the Big Man, and said a prayer for the victims in the airport. Hemingway had it right -- in this nutty, violent, and cruel world, the best a man can do is stake out his own oasis of calm and peace. I was happy to do that last night.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Things Wear Out
So we started 2017 with the need to replace some stuff. First, the A/C in the condo where my mother in law is now staying decided to only blow warm air. The unit is the original one from the condo conversion, in '06, and I'm sort of surprised it's lasted this long. Everything the greedy developer used in the project was the cheapest and crappiest, and I thought the A/C would go five years ago. Our tenant Lenny, who paid below market rent in exchange for doing his own repairs, told me when he moved out last year that the unit was on its last legs. He was right.
So I called Danny, a guy so good at his trade that my buddy Norman, who referred him to me, once said he almost looked forward to A/C breakdowns so he could deal with Danny. I agree. Danny sent his man Ivan over yesterday, and hopefully will install a new unit Saturday. Luckily, the weather has been not too hot, so my suegra and her aides can survive until the cool indoor air returns...
And then, just this am, I did my daily check for leaks around the old hot water heater, the one inside the house. A second one, that lives in the garage, has been replaced twice in the 16 years we've lived at Villa Wifey, but the inside one is the original, nearing 20 years. Sure enough, this am there was a small leak, and corrosion on the bottom of the unit. The timing was great -- it happened the day after D2 left for NYC, so we didn't have to deal with anything while she was staying.
I called the comically named South End Plumbing, who we've used since our first house, in 1986, and they had an opening today. Wifey was home anyway, and, as I write, Tom the plumber is installing a new heater.
So stuff breaks. It wears down. But not my marriage! Yesterday Wifey and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. With ups and downs, like everyone else, we've endured, and signed up for another 30 years.
We celebrated simply. D2 had a physical exam with our family doc, and I took her, and then we fetched Wifey for breakfast at LOL. From there we stopped in on her grandmother, so she could say goodbye. Then it was home, for an exquisite snuggling session with Bo, the special needs Spaniel, and the strange rescue dog. D2 said her goodbyes.
We took her to MIA, and she met Jonathan at the Centurion Lounge before dealing with the crowds and lovely mood of traveling after the holidays. But it was a good flight -- they both made it back to NYC, even though D2 had watched "Sully" with us and had her doubts...
Then Wifey and I went to Canton, our go-to Chinese place since the days we were dating. It was quiet, and we shared some chicken and vegetables, in honor of D1, the dietitian. And then I drove us to the UM campus -- to this day, one of my real happy places.
The campus was nearly deserted -- classes are out, I assume. We parked in a lot across from my beloved Building 22, which is a new parking lot. And we walked across the new bridge, and through the Music School, to the Intramural Field. Wifey has nice memories of watching my friends and I play softball there -- she and Norman's ex wife were the cheerleaders.
There are now rows of orange and green rocking chairs on the patio overlooking the field, and Wifey and I sat in a few and talked of days gone past. Then we walked back to the car, in a light drizzle, which was exquisite.
Just the other day, my FaceBook (tm) friend Dion (I'm one of his 200k friends) posted a short video of himself walking in his Boca Raton neighborhood, also in a light warm winter rain. He remarked "You haven't lived life unless you've walked in the rain." Wise fellow, that Dion.
So Big Man willing, we'll endure through more years, even as stuff wears out and breaks. After all, it's only stuff...
So I called Danny, a guy so good at his trade that my buddy Norman, who referred him to me, once said he almost looked forward to A/C breakdowns so he could deal with Danny. I agree. Danny sent his man Ivan over yesterday, and hopefully will install a new unit Saturday. Luckily, the weather has been not too hot, so my suegra and her aides can survive until the cool indoor air returns...
And then, just this am, I did my daily check for leaks around the old hot water heater, the one inside the house. A second one, that lives in the garage, has been replaced twice in the 16 years we've lived at Villa Wifey, but the inside one is the original, nearing 20 years. Sure enough, this am there was a small leak, and corrosion on the bottom of the unit. The timing was great -- it happened the day after D2 left for NYC, so we didn't have to deal with anything while she was staying.
I called the comically named South End Plumbing, who we've used since our first house, in 1986, and they had an opening today. Wifey was home anyway, and, as I write, Tom the plumber is installing a new heater.
So stuff breaks. It wears down. But not my marriage! Yesterday Wifey and I celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary. With ups and downs, like everyone else, we've endured, and signed up for another 30 years.
We celebrated simply. D2 had a physical exam with our family doc, and I took her, and then we fetched Wifey for breakfast at LOL. From there we stopped in on her grandmother, so she could say goodbye. Then it was home, for an exquisite snuggling session with Bo, the special needs Spaniel, and the strange rescue dog. D2 said her goodbyes.
We took her to MIA, and she met Jonathan at the Centurion Lounge before dealing with the crowds and lovely mood of traveling after the holidays. But it was a good flight -- they both made it back to NYC, even though D2 had watched "Sully" with us and had her doubts...
Then Wifey and I went to Canton, our go-to Chinese place since the days we were dating. It was quiet, and we shared some chicken and vegetables, in honor of D1, the dietitian. And then I drove us to the UM campus -- to this day, one of my real happy places.
The campus was nearly deserted -- classes are out, I assume. We parked in a lot across from my beloved Building 22, which is a new parking lot. And we walked across the new bridge, and through the Music School, to the Intramural Field. Wifey has nice memories of watching my friends and I play softball there -- she and Norman's ex wife were the cheerleaders.
There are now rows of orange and green rocking chairs on the patio overlooking the field, and Wifey and I sat in a few and talked of days gone past. Then we walked back to the car, in a light drizzle, which was exquisite.
Just the other day, my FaceBook (tm) friend Dion (I'm one of his 200k friends) posted a short video of himself walking in his Boca Raton neighborhood, also in a light warm winter rain. He remarked "You haven't lived life unless you've walked in the rain." Wise fellow, that Dion.
So Big Man willing, we'll endure through more years, even as stuff wears out and breaks. After all, it's only stuff...
Monday, January 2, 2017
Embracing the Winners
So yesterday D2 and Jonathan awoke from their late night NYE celebration, and we gathered Wifey and headed off to the Grove. We had brunch at Glass and Vine, and then walked to Sailboat Bay, where I took a first day of the year picture of the handsome young couple. Jonathan was going to Uber back to his parents' house in Aventura, but it was a lovely day for a drive, and the loaner SUV I have has a sun roof, so we drove him back. Wifey slept, as she often does in moving vehicles...
We dropped Jonathan off, and were heading home, when D1 texted her sister, inviting us over to her condo. We found an excellent parking space -- no small feat in Midtown, and met D1 and Joey, and Joey's brother and sister in law on their pool deck. Bob and Vera were in the jacuzzi, and came out, and we all sat in the swinging sofas, and talked. Actually, I mostly listened.
Bob and Joey are both young executives at an international exercise company, and Vera is getting an advanced degree in Biology at the U, where she does research on stem cells. D1 founded and runs her own nutrition company, and D2 is a young executive at Macy's. And I noticed something: most of the tales they told were about people they know, and the successes they attained.
There were tragedies, of course, and a few tales about major fails relating to NYE, but, on the whole, these young people shared something critical: they found people who win to be far more fascinating than people who lose.
It struck me that all life is aspirational. We strive for goals. For some the goals are negative, and others wish to soar -- whether financially, or socially, or philanthropically. And yesterday afternoon, Wifey and I were privileged to be in this company of 5 terrific young people, all of whom shared that positive outlook. It was powerful and it was beautiful.
My partner Paul and I always talk about how crucial it is to keep yourself surrounded by young people. I guess it's one of the characteristics of Baby Boomers -- Paul is an early one, and I'm at the tail end of that. Our parents tended to more be around their comtemporaries. When I think of my parents, when I was in college, I have a vision of them at their condo pool, surrounded by other retirees. The discussions were about bank CDs and early bird dinners. When my friends and I visited, we were an anomaly. Hell -- my parents' condo even prohibited kids -- you had to be 18 to live there, and at least 55 to own one of the units.
That ain't me, babe. I really prefer spending a LOT of time with the younger folks -- especially those on the rise -- looking to get ahead -- looking to soar.
The past is nice to reflect on, and we do it a lot, especially this time of year. But looking ahead, as the Ds and their troop do -- well, that makes the coming year worthwhile.
We dropped Jonathan off, and were heading home, when D1 texted her sister, inviting us over to her condo. We found an excellent parking space -- no small feat in Midtown, and met D1 and Joey, and Joey's brother and sister in law on their pool deck. Bob and Vera were in the jacuzzi, and came out, and we all sat in the swinging sofas, and talked. Actually, I mostly listened.
Bob and Joey are both young executives at an international exercise company, and Vera is getting an advanced degree in Biology at the U, where she does research on stem cells. D1 founded and runs her own nutrition company, and D2 is a young executive at Macy's. And I noticed something: most of the tales they told were about people they know, and the successes they attained.
There were tragedies, of course, and a few tales about major fails relating to NYE, but, on the whole, these young people shared something critical: they found people who win to be far more fascinating than people who lose.
It struck me that all life is aspirational. We strive for goals. For some the goals are negative, and others wish to soar -- whether financially, or socially, or philanthropically. And yesterday afternoon, Wifey and I were privileged to be in this company of 5 terrific young people, all of whom shared that positive outlook. It was powerful and it was beautiful.
My partner Paul and I always talk about how crucial it is to keep yourself surrounded by young people. I guess it's one of the characteristics of Baby Boomers -- Paul is an early one, and I'm at the tail end of that. Our parents tended to more be around their comtemporaries. When I think of my parents, when I was in college, I have a vision of them at their condo pool, surrounded by other retirees. The discussions were about bank CDs and early bird dinners. When my friends and I visited, we were an anomaly. Hell -- my parents' condo even prohibited kids -- you had to be 18 to live there, and at least 55 to own one of the units.
That ain't me, babe. I really prefer spending a LOT of time with the younger folks -- especially those on the rise -- looking to get ahead -- looking to soar.
The past is nice to reflect on, and we do it a lot, especially this time of year. But looking ahead, as the Ds and their troop do -- well, that makes the coming year worthwhile.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Well it is Just Seventeen and You Know What I Mean...
So I spent the final day of '16 as a dutiful coach potato, watching all manner of college football -- getting my fill before the season ends next week. Wifey came home with D2 and Jonathan, and all got ready for the NYE festivities.
I got D2 and J to pregame with me -- a few vodkas, and some tequilla for D2. Then Wifey dropped me off at a party at Mike and Loni's, dropped J and D2 at Cath's house, for a second pregame before they Ubered to Midtown, and then went to bring some supplies to her mother.
Everyone asked me where Wifey was, and I told them there was the dramatic story or the real one. The dramatic one was that, on the eve of our 30th anniversary, she woke up and just took off -- couldn't stand me for even another moment. The real story was about her mother, and an hour or so later, she joined us at the party.
We caught up with old friends, and drank, and ate apps...Around 11:30 we watched Times Square, which was awful and boring -- Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin, and middle American-like acts like Taylor Swift. We switched to the Miami show, which had Coolie, Snoop, Salt N Pepa, Queen Latifah, and, of course, Pitbull. That show rocked, and it took us to the new year.
Mike poured champagne, and we said goodbye to what many thought was an awful year. Not me. I refuse to take politics too seriously anymore, and since my close friends and family are ok, well, I'm ok, too.
This am, I had my coffee, and, nearing noon, D2 and Jonathan are still asleep. I assume they came home in the wee small hours, and today will be a traditional recovery day. I plan to watch even more football -- the Fins -- and at some point drive J back to Aventura.
So welcome, 2017. I still clearly remember being a boy, and asking my father about the distant future -- the year 2000. In the late 60s, it seemed so, so far away, and my Dad pointed out I wouldn't even be 40 when 2000 came. Time. All we really have.
So I hope for good health for my family and myself. I hope to laugh, a lot. I hope to maybe make a few shekels in the law business, as my monthly Amex bills from Wifey and the Ds haven't gotten smaller even as my income has. And that's ok.
I hope to throw the biggest, fattest, Colombian Jewish wedding of all -- to celebrate D1 and Joey, and the start of their life together.
So the rollercoaster is loaded up, we're strapped in, and the ascent up the first hill has begun. All is fine...
I got D2 and J to pregame with me -- a few vodkas, and some tequilla for D2. Then Wifey dropped me off at a party at Mike and Loni's, dropped J and D2 at Cath's house, for a second pregame before they Ubered to Midtown, and then went to bring some supplies to her mother.
Everyone asked me where Wifey was, and I told them there was the dramatic story or the real one. The dramatic one was that, on the eve of our 30th anniversary, she woke up and just took off -- couldn't stand me for even another moment. The real story was about her mother, and an hour or so later, she joined us at the party.
We caught up with old friends, and drank, and ate apps...Around 11:30 we watched Times Square, which was awful and boring -- Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin, and middle American-like acts like Taylor Swift. We switched to the Miami show, which had Coolie, Snoop, Salt N Pepa, Queen Latifah, and, of course, Pitbull. That show rocked, and it took us to the new year.
Mike poured champagne, and we said goodbye to what many thought was an awful year. Not me. I refuse to take politics too seriously anymore, and since my close friends and family are ok, well, I'm ok, too.
This am, I had my coffee, and, nearing noon, D2 and Jonathan are still asleep. I assume they came home in the wee small hours, and today will be a traditional recovery day. I plan to watch even more football -- the Fins -- and at some point drive J back to Aventura.
So welcome, 2017. I still clearly remember being a boy, and asking my father about the distant future -- the year 2000. In the late 60s, it seemed so, so far away, and my Dad pointed out I wouldn't even be 40 when 2000 came. Time. All we really have.
So I hope for good health for my family and myself. I hope to laugh, a lot. I hope to maybe make a few shekels in the law business, as my monthly Amex bills from Wifey and the Ds haven't gotten smaller even as my income has. And that's ok.
I hope to throw the biggest, fattest, Colombian Jewish wedding of all -- to celebrate D1 and Joey, and the start of their life together.
So the rollercoaster is loaded up, we're strapped in, and the ascent up the first hill has begun. All is fine...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)