And so I sit, drinking the last morning coffee of 2017, and reflecting about the year gone by. Last night was a fun one, albeit in an "other than THAT, Mrs. Lincoln" sort of way.
After dealing with yet another ancient suegra issue, Wifey and Mirta and I said goodbye to D2, who was planning to attend an alternate wedding party in Pinecrest, and headed up the Palmetto. It was an alternative party, since her high school friend Max is marrying in North Carolina, in a small ceremony for family only, and his folks wanted to have a party for friends here in town, first.
We parked, and found that Mike was hosting his tailgate one row over -- we joined him, and caught up with old friends. Barry and his family had Ubered to the game, and Paul and Patricia and Alex came, too. My old friend Steve the cop was on duty, with his old buddy Darren. Darren is one of these people I see far too little of.
It turns out his middle girl is a 1L at UF, and Darren got her on the phone for me to talk with . The girl is a budding superstar -- and I asked her to say hi to my rabbi friend's son. She knew him -- they're in the same section. I'd love it if these two became closer -- truly the next generation, kids of wonderful men.
We found our way to the Club section, and I learned why I had the final three seats there -- smack in the middle of the Wisconsin fans. The game began, and I went a bit wild. Mirta thought it best we get out of there, and we did -- repairing to Norman's skybox, where a party was in full force.
We stayed there for the rest of the game. The Canes had a big lead but blew it -- our hopefully soon to be ex QB isn't good enough -- he threw 3 picks. Still, it was a fine season -- 10-3 -- and I have my season ticket renewal package to send in next week. And for me, it brings football season to a close -- I'll have only passing ha ! interest in which teams win the college ring and Super Bowl...
Now I can focus on more important things than the Canes, like -- well, I don't know yet -- I'll find something.
What a year. The highlight for us was, of course, the Big, Fat, Colombian wedding -- the biggest affair ever put on by someone in my family. As far as I can tell --over three hundred guests had the time of their life. Only one reported she didn't -- the "Spanish music was too loud." Hey. Every party has a pooper...
D1 and Joey have a lot coming up in '18 -- they bought a new house, and will monitor its construction progress. D1 has big plans for her business.
D2 and Jonathan seem closer to moving back here. D2 was bemoaning that the first week of the year will hit her with single digit temperatures. She's a tropical girl. As for what the plans might specifically be, they'll be working for the Nunya Company, as in Nunya (my) business...
Wifey and I have some serious focus coming on health issues -- weight loss, better fitness. We have promised the Ds to endeavor as such...
So the mortal coil spins, and brings us, tonight another year to savor. I figure if it turns out less than great -- I'll opt to follow the Jewish calendar, and switch years in September. Hopefully that won't be necessary...
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Friday, December 29, 2017
The E Death Fallout Continues
In the same way most folks accumulate possessions, I've now realized that I gather many places I've used my long time email address. And I guess the fallout will continue for a long time.
A few days ago, I decided to donate two Club seats I had bought to the Orange Bowl to my Rabbi friend. He was appreciative -- he'd sell the tickets and use the proceeds for the Friendship Circle -- a great program that pairs Shul kids with mentally challenged kids in the community, mostly autistic, and benefits both groups.
I dropped off the tickets I had printed. Rabbi gave them to his ticket guru friend Ron to sell them. But, to put them on StubHub, you needed the PDF from the OB Committee. No problem, I said. But there was -- the PDF was in my old, inaccessible email account. So it will be tough to sell the tickets -- Rabbi might just take his Gator Law son to the game, which will be good for both -- attending a Canes game can be a religious experience.
Yesterday, Dr. Barry toiled in his ICU, and his wife and two boys came to our breakfast place, LOL, for a late birthday breakfast for Scott. Scott likes to keep things low key, so of course I made a big deal to Lori, our waitress, that he turned 21. Lori brought over a slice of chocolate cake with a candle, and some staff, and we loudly sang to this awesome young man.
Afterwards, his brother Josh, the tech wizard, came over and helped restore some of our electronic life. But alas, AOL is inscrutable, and incompetent. They simply won't respond to our entreaties to unblock our accounts. I'm developing malevolent thoughts towards that company...
The Ds had a superb sister bonding day. D2 and D1 and Joey went to D1's beach club, SoHo House, and enjoyed the day. Jonathan was missing -- he had to catch up on work from his parents' place in Aventura. They're enjoying having their boy home, I know.
D1 and Joey have a signed contract for a new house, near Shorecrest in Miami's Upper East Side. Joey is wildly excited -- he goes by each day to photograph the progress, which so far is some holes in the ground with steel rebar. They're hoping to welcome 2019 in their new home -- I bet it happens.
Today Paul and I will meet our comptroller/brother in law Dennis for our annual end of the year meeting, which will consist of some playing of the horses and lunch at Gulfstream. Paul's buddy Lou will be there -- a man who loves the horses like I love the Hurricanes.
The last three visits to Gulfstream, I haven't won one single race. My luck has been comically bad. Perhaps it'll change today -- and the track will pay for our NYE celebration.
And what a weekend it'll be. NYE eve, tomorrow, we're off to the Orange Bowl game -- Wifey and Mirta and me. Norman has a skybox, and our Club seats will get us access to his party. I learned yesterday that Dr. Barry indeed bought tickets, and hopefully we can coordinate with him and his family as well.
Sunday I'll be picking up some stone crabs and champagne. Norman and Deb and Mike and Loni are coming over late -- around 9 - and it'll be our goal to stay awake until midnight to ring in 2018.
18 is a lucky number in the Jewish tradition -- it stands for "Chai," or life. I'm hoping that proves true, for all of us this year.
I hope our actual lives are grand -- great health, and laughter. I'm adapting to the death of my former E life pretty well...
A few days ago, I decided to donate two Club seats I had bought to the Orange Bowl to my Rabbi friend. He was appreciative -- he'd sell the tickets and use the proceeds for the Friendship Circle -- a great program that pairs Shul kids with mentally challenged kids in the community, mostly autistic, and benefits both groups.
I dropped off the tickets I had printed. Rabbi gave them to his ticket guru friend Ron to sell them. But, to put them on StubHub, you needed the PDF from the OB Committee. No problem, I said. But there was -- the PDF was in my old, inaccessible email account. So it will be tough to sell the tickets -- Rabbi might just take his Gator Law son to the game, which will be good for both -- attending a Canes game can be a religious experience.
Yesterday, Dr. Barry toiled in his ICU, and his wife and two boys came to our breakfast place, LOL, for a late birthday breakfast for Scott. Scott likes to keep things low key, so of course I made a big deal to Lori, our waitress, that he turned 21. Lori brought over a slice of chocolate cake with a candle, and some staff, and we loudly sang to this awesome young man.
Afterwards, his brother Josh, the tech wizard, came over and helped restore some of our electronic life. But alas, AOL is inscrutable, and incompetent. They simply won't respond to our entreaties to unblock our accounts. I'm developing malevolent thoughts towards that company...
The Ds had a superb sister bonding day. D2 and D1 and Joey went to D1's beach club, SoHo House, and enjoyed the day. Jonathan was missing -- he had to catch up on work from his parents' place in Aventura. They're enjoying having their boy home, I know.
D1 and Joey have a signed contract for a new house, near Shorecrest in Miami's Upper East Side. Joey is wildly excited -- he goes by each day to photograph the progress, which so far is some holes in the ground with steel rebar. They're hoping to welcome 2019 in their new home -- I bet it happens.
Today Paul and I will meet our comptroller/brother in law Dennis for our annual end of the year meeting, which will consist of some playing of the horses and lunch at Gulfstream. Paul's buddy Lou will be there -- a man who loves the horses like I love the Hurricanes.
The last three visits to Gulfstream, I haven't won one single race. My luck has been comically bad. Perhaps it'll change today -- and the track will pay for our NYE celebration.
And what a weekend it'll be. NYE eve, tomorrow, we're off to the Orange Bowl game -- Wifey and Mirta and me. Norman has a skybox, and our Club seats will get us access to his party. I learned yesterday that Dr. Barry indeed bought tickets, and hopefully we can coordinate with him and his family as well.
Sunday I'll be picking up some stone crabs and champagne. Norman and Deb and Mike and Loni are coming over late -- around 9 - and it'll be our goal to stay awake until midnight to ring in 2018.
18 is a lucky number in the Jewish tradition -- it stands for "Chai," or life. I'm hoping that proves true, for all of us this year.
I hope our actual lives are grand -- great health, and laughter. I'm adapting to the death of my former E life pretty well...
Tuesday, December 26, 2017
My Girls
So Xmas Eve I pulled a Seinfeldian great airport pickup. Wifey and Bo, the special needs Spaniel, were flying home from ATL, and D2 and Jonathan from Newark. Their flights ended up arriving minutes apart, and both Wifey and D2 had checked a bag.
I patiently waited in the parking lot of 94th Aerosquadron, where a huge Cuban American Nochebuena party was in full swing. I texted both parties that Dadber Pool was ready. D2 fetched her bag, and I pulled into the AA area and got her and the dog. But wait -- D2's carousel had stopped!
Typically, MIA police shoo you away, but it being Xmas, I guess, security was off. So I pulled an old school move: stayed standing in one spot a good 20 minutes. I kept checking my mirrors, awaiting the dreaded officer, and ready with a spiel about how thankful I was he was working Christmas, and all that crap. Plus, I have an old friend who is a MIA based cop. No need -- I was left unmolested, and soon enough I got the call that D2 and Jonathan were waiting outside UA's baggage. It was a pickup of beauty...
We dropped Wifey and the dog home, and headed out to the Grove to meet D1 and Joey at my crazy friend Joel's house. It was festive -- children running around, their beautiful Springer Spaniel Bella greeting everyone, and Joel's wife Courtney in full Leslie Mann hilarious, eye rolling form. Courtney has become a favorite WOF (wife of friend) to me -- she's really, really cool, and keeps a hectic life together with great humor and grace.
D1 and Joey left with Jonathan -- the latter J was headed to his parents' house in Aventura, and Ubered there from Midtown. D2 and I drove home down quiet Old Cutler, catching up on life in NYC and life in the 305.
The 25th dawned, which is, of course, the day that people the world over gather to share warmth and gifts of love: Wifey's birthday. She has reached a grand age which I am sworn to keep secret, but is only 4 years away from blessed Medicare...
D1 arrived, and I made Daddy Eggs for everyone, which are my secret scrambled eggs recipe consisting of no ingredients but the eggs, and the fact that I whip them into a state of fluffiness.
We debated the movie choice, which we always do on the one family movie day of the year, and settled on the Churchill bio "Darkest Hour." We drove to Merrick Park, which was delightfully sparsely populated, and went to the luxe theater. We settled into the seats, and the movie began. The Ds and I liked it, as did Wifey, though she slept through at least 60% of it.
Afterwards we decamped to the Brasserie, a French place, and I had quick thoughts about the lack of servers. But a nice gay black fellow came, brought us our soft drinks and took our order, and complained of the rudeness of fellow diners "even on Christmas." I told him "Well, you won't get that from us!" and we sat. And sat. And sat.
It occurred to us that we had been waiting over an hour. The waiter came by, harried, and said he'd check on our salad orders. Another 20 minutes. Finally he came, looking proud, and said "I figured out what happened! The kitchen lost your ticket!" We smirked at him, got up, and left. I took it that the Brasserie bought us an iced coffee and two Diet Cokes. D1 will deal with them on Yelp...
We walked across the mall and sat at Villagio, which was crowded but competent. We had the opposite experience -- out lentil soups came out quickly, and we enjoyed a lovely late lunch. An old office mate, Diana, was at the next table with her sister and ancient mother, and we caught up with her. She watched the Ds grow from little girls to women, and enjoyed the catching up.
We lamented the loss of the old days. Her new job has, it seems, zero good spirit, and we longed for the days when Paul and I ran a competent and fun operation.
We headed home, and the Ds did a Zumba session in front of the TV. It was delightful -- having them both home, being together and joking with each other. They didn't see it, but I teared up a bit as I sat at my computer, and listened to their giggles...
D1 left for a dessert party, and D2 hosted her friend Catherine and boyfriend Jacob. They live in Atlanta, and Jake and I caught up on sports. He's an Emory and UF guy, but loves the Georgia Bulldogs. He's also a Mark Richt fan, so we were pretty much on the same page when it came to this critical point: college football alliances.
I went up to sleep, a very happy Daddy in the USA. 2017 draws to a close. As usual, I'm taking stock. Will there be big changes this year? Maybe.
I'll begin to learn in less than a week.
I patiently waited in the parking lot of 94th Aerosquadron, where a huge Cuban American Nochebuena party was in full swing. I texted both parties that Dadber Pool was ready. D2 fetched her bag, and I pulled into the AA area and got her and the dog. But wait -- D2's carousel had stopped!
Typically, MIA police shoo you away, but it being Xmas, I guess, security was off. So I pulled an old school move: stayed standing in one spot a good 20 minutes. I kept checking my mirrors, awaiting the dreaded officer, and ready with a spiel about how thankful I was he was working Christmas, and all that crap. Plus, I have an old friend who is a MIA based cop. No need -- I was left unmolested, and soon enough I got the call that D2 and Jonathan were waiting outside UA's baggage. It was a pickup of beauty...
We dropped Wifey and the dog home, and headed out to the Grove to meet D1 and Joey at my crazy friend Joel's house. It was festive -- children running around, their beautiful Springer Spaniel Bella greeting everyone, and Joel's wife Courtney in full Leslie Mann hilarious, eye rolling form. Courtney has become a favorite WOF (wife of friend) to me -- she's really, really cool, and keeps a hectic life together with great humor and grace.
D1 and Joey left with Jonathan -- the latter J was headed to his parents' house in Aventura, and Ubered there from Midtown. D2 and I drove home down quiet Old Cutler, catching up on life in NYC and life in the 305.
The 25th dawned, which is, of course, the day that people the world over gather to share warmth and gifts of love: Wifey's birthday. She has reached a grand age which I am sworn to keep secret, but is only 4 years away from blessed Medicare...
D1 arrived, and I made Daddy Eggs for everyone, which are my secret scrambled eggs recipe consisting of no ingredients but the eggs, and the fact that I whip them into a state of fluffiness.
We debated the movie choice, which we always do on the one family movie day of the year, and settled on the Churchill bio "Darkest Hour." We drove to Merrick Park, which was delightfully sparsely populated, and went to the luxe theater. We settled into the seats, and the movie began. The Ds and I liked it, as did Wifey, though she slept through at least 60% of it.
Afterwards we decamped to the Brasserie, a French place, and I had quick thoughts about the lack of servers. But a nice gay black fellow came, brought us our soft drinks and took our order, and complained of the rudeness of fellow diners "even on Christmas." I told him "Well, you won't get that from us!" and we sat. And sat. And sat.
It occurred to us that we had been waiting over an hour. The waiter came by, harried, and said he'd check on our salad orders. Another 20 minutes. Finally he came, looking proud, and said "I figured out what happened! The kitchen lost your ticket!" We smirked at him, got up, and left. I took it that the Brasserie bought us an iced coffee and two Diet Cokes. D1 will deal with them on Yelp...
We walked across the mall and sat at Villagio, which was crowded but competent. We had the opposite experience -- out lentil soups came out quickly, and we enjoyed a lovely late lunch. An old office mate, Diana, was at the next table with her sister and ancient mother, and we caught up with her. She watched the Ds grow from little girls to women, and enjoyed the catching up.
We lamented the loss of the old days. Her new job has, it seems, zero good spirit, and we longed for the days when Paul and I ran a competent and fun operation.
We headed home, and the Ds did a Zumba session in front of the TV. It was delightful -- having them both home, being together and joking with each other. They didn't see it, but I teared up a bit as I sat at my computer, and listened to their giggles...
D1 left for a dessert party, and D2 hosted her friend Catherine and boyfriend Jacob. They live in Atlanta, and Jake and I caught up on sports. He's an Emory and UF guy, but loves the Georgia Bulldogs. He's also a Mark Richt fan, so we were pretty much on the same page when it came to this critical point: college football alliances.
I went up to sleep, a very happy Daddy in the USA. 2017 draws to a close. As usual, I'm taking stock. Will there be big changes this year? Maybe.
I'll begin to learn in less than a week.
Sunday, December 24, 2017
My E Death
For reasons too absurd to get into, my longtime email account was canceled yesterday. No -- actually not just canceled -- it was "terminated" by AOL.com. Hours of phone conversations with pleasant denizens of the Sub Continent all seem to indicate that dsa61 is now a screen name lost forever. And it has affected me much more seriously than I thought it would.
DSA61 is the only email address I ever had -- I adopted it back in, I think, 1993 when we first got AOL accounts. It was short, and unfailingly easy to remember for me, as long as I didn't forget my initials and year of birth.
Of course, over the years having an AOL address marks you as, well, old. As my friend Jeff noted -- "Who even has AOL anymore? You must submit to the gods of Google..." But I have kept on -- something works for me, I stick with it.
All kidding aside, losing the account has serious repercussions. I keep as "new" messages of great importance -- client matters, insurance and financial information, Florida Bar information. Recently, D1 and Joey have been sending me correspondence about their new house. That's lost now -- thankfully I can get, I hope, copies from them.
In my "favorite places" section I have all my user names and password hints from Social Security, car leases, the Ds' financial accounts, and my many financial accounts. That's all lost now, too.
Just the other day, I needed info from my Hurricane Club account. I retrieved it easily. No more.
I know that young people switch email addresses all the time. But somehow I feel my alter ego is now killed off.
When I book a hotel, or speak to a vendor, they're ALL, these days, younger than I am. I enjoy giving my email address by the disclaimer "OK -- get ready to laugh to yourself, I have AOL..." and they do. The nice, typically Midwestern folks say "Oh -- it's ok, my parents (or grandparents) have AOL, too." This was just a ritual I enjoyed.
Well, I'm keeping it. I already signed up for a new user name with AOL, and paid a new monthly fee for it. The new name is unwieldy. I sounds like a gmail name. I already dislike it, and it has so many letters I know giving it to non native English speakers is going to be a chore.
I had to use it last night to keep my IPhone working. Even that new-ish technology was linked to DSA61. No more.
I'm pretty OCD -- much more than most people realize. I'd like to at least get started on repairing this electronic murder, to the extent I can, but of course the cyber crime happened two days before Christmas. The helpful but limited tech woman from Bangalore told me "Call on Monday." I asked whether they weren't closed for Christmas. "Praise Vishnu --you're correct!" She didn't actually say that, but I could tell the bubble above her headset said precisely that.
Some people are naturally angry. I'm not. I'm not comfortable being an angry guy -- and yet this has made me so livid I barely slept last night. I can't recall the last time anger has robbed me of sleep -- typically it's worry of some sort.
Oh well -- as Tony S said, what are ya gonna do? His fellow Jersey man said that everything dies -- that's a fact; but maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
I fear that will NOT be the case for DSA61. He seems terminated, along with all his user names, old emails from dear friends, and password reminders. I guess the positive thing is that he died as a 56 year old man, and will be spared the indignity of further aging and decay.
I'll miss him. He was so much a part of my identity for the past quarter of a century. But now he's gone -- dead -- in the virtual ether.
So long, electronic me.
DSA61 is the only email address I ever had -- I adopted it back in, I think, 1993 when we first got AOL accounts. It was short, and unfailingly easy to remember for me, as long as I didn't forget my initials and year of birth.
Of course, over the years having an AOL address marks you as, well, old. As my friend Jeff noted -- "Who even has AOL anymore? You must submit to the gods of Google..." But I have kept on -- something works for me, I stick with it.
All kidding aside, losing the account has serious repercussions. I keep as "new" messages of great importance -- client matters, insurance and financial information, Florida Bar information. Recently, D1 and Joey have been sending me correspondence about their new house. That's lost now -- thankfully I can get, I hope, copies from them.
In my "favorite places" section I have all my user names and password hints from Social Security, car leases, the Ds' financial accounts, and my many financial accounts. That's all lost now, too.
Just the other day, I needed info from my Hurricane Club account. I retrieved it easily. No more.
I know that young people switch email addresses all the time. But somehow I feel my alter ego is now killed off.
When I book a hotel, or speak to a vendor, they're ALL, these days, younger than I am. I enjoy giving my email address by the disclaimer "OK -- get ready to laugh to yourself, I have AOL..." and they do. The nice, typically Midwestern folks say "Oh -- it's ok, my parents (or grandparents) have AOL, too." This was just a ritual I enjoyed.
Well, I'm keeping it. I already signed up for a new user name with AOL, and paid a new monthly fee for it. The new name is unwieldy. I sounds like a gmail name. I already dislike it, and it has so many letters I know giving it to non native English speakers is going to be a chore.
I had to use it last night to keep my IPhone working. Even that new-ish technology was linked to DSA61. No more.
I'm pretty OCD -- much more than most people realize. I'd like to at least get started on repairing this electronic murder, to the extent I can, but of course the cyber crime happened two days before Christmas. The helpful but limited tech woman from Bangalore told me "Call on Monday." I asked whether they weren't closed for Christmas. "Praise Vishnu --you're correct!" She didn't actually say that, but I could tell the bubble above her headset said precisely that.
Some people are naturally angry. I'm not. I'm not comfortable being an angry guy -- and yet this has made me so livid I barely slept last night. I can't recall the last time anger has robbed me of sleep -- typically it's worry of some sort.
Oh well -- as Tony S said, what are ya gonna do? His fellow Jersey man said that everything dies -- that's a fact; but maybe everything that dies someday comes back.
I fear that will NOT be the case for DSA61. He seems terminated, along with all his user names, old emails from dear friends, and password reminders. I guess the positive thing is that he died as a 56 year old man, and will be spared the indignity of further aging and decay.
I'll miss him. He was so much a part of my identity for the past quarter of a century. But now he's gone -- dead -- in the virtual ether.
So long, electronic me.
Friday, December 22, 2017
Temporary Bachelorhood Winding Down
It's been a nice week here in pre Wifey's Birthday 305. Wifey is ensconced in Atlanta, and I've been going it alone...except for the strange rescue dog, who indeed is fine company.
Wednesday night I met Norman, whose wife was off with her daughter, for a great dinner at Shula's. We sat and discussed crucial things, like the Hurricanes, and the nice young waiter came over, to tell us about the fish specials. Norman said "Do we look like the kind of guys who'd order fish?" The waiter laughed -- and we did NOT order fish. We had the French Onion burgers, which we agree may be best in the city.
I had Ubered over to the restaurant, and Norman dropped me off. On the way, we listened to what I think may be the best sports interview of recent memory -- Dan LeBatard's skewering of Rob Manfred, Commissioner of Baseball. It was memorable.
Yesterday I hit the office to move a few papers around, and then retired to Trulucks, where I met Rob and Mike. Rob's boy Matt is getting married in January, and he's here from LA for the party. Matt is a talented artist, and making a very nice living at it -- a rarity. We talked about how lucky he is. The three of us also discussed topics of crucial importance -- the Hurricanes. We'll all be attending the Orange Bowl on New Year's Eve, Eve.
From there, I Ubered to meet D1 and Joey. And I tried something new -- Uber Pool. The estimate was $5 versus $20 for UberX, and I had plenty of time. The cordial Cuban driver fetched me, and then swung Downtown where he picked up a most affable black fellow -- he was the marketing guy for Greenberg Traurig. We chatted the entire trip to his Edgewater condo -- he went to Cal Berkley for law school and practiced in California, but he wanted a change -- and came to Miami to market instead of lawyer. He was in his 30s and seemed to be impressed that the head of litigation at his firm was a friend of mine. It made me feel very old.
I met my kids at a small Argentinian place on Biscayne and 70th -- near the house they just bought. We chatted about crucial things -- not the Hurricanes. After dinner, we drove to the development, and saw they had dug some trenches and put down rebar. Joey was very, very excited.
It made me remember how I felt when Wifey and I bought our first place. That led to a funny tale, however. We hosted my suegra's cousing Dobka -- like my mother in law, a woman not exactly, um, reserved or taciturn. Our house had open beam ceilings, which Wifey and I loved.
Dobka looked up at them, and smirked. She said, in her Yiddish accent "So -- you a law-ya -right?" I I said I was. "Den good -- mebbe someday you make some more money and buy a house with finished ceilings."
Wifey and I were crestfallen. This woman besmirched our proudest possession. Of course, we laughed at her crassness. I'll always remember it.
Anyway -- Joey and D1 drove me back to my office, and I got in my car for the drive home. D1 made me promise to text when I made it. How the worm has turned...
Today the painter has promised to finish our house, and wants to take me around to show his handiwork, and, of course, get paid.
I have no plans yet for the final days of bachelorhood, but something will come up. It always does.
In the mean time, strange rescue dog awaits her walk...
Wednesday night I met Norman, whose wife was off with her daughter, for a great dinner at Shula's. We sat and discussed crucial things, like the Hurricanes, and the nice young waiter came over, to tell us about the fish specials. Norman said "Do we look like the kind of guys who'd order fish?" The waiter laughed -- and we did NOT order fish. We had the French Onion burgers, which we agree may be best in the city.
I had Ubered over to the restaurant, and Norman dropped me off. On the way, we listened to what I think may be the best sports interview of recent memory -- Dan LeBatard's skewering of Rob Manfred, Commissioner of Baseball. It was memorable.
Yesterday I hit the office to move a few papers around, and then retired to Trulucks, where I met Rob and Mike. Rob's boy Matt is getting married in January, and he's here from LA for the party. Matt is a talented artist, and making a very nice living at it -- a rarity. We talked about how lucky he is. The three of us also discussed topics of crucial importance -- the Hurricanes. We'll all be attending the Orange Bowl on New Year's Eve, Eve.
From there, I Ubered to meet D1 and Joey. And I tried something new -- Uber Pool. The estimate was $5 versus $20 for UberX, and I had plenty of time. The cordial Cuban driver fetched me, and then swung Downtown where he picked up a most affable black fellow -- he was the marketing guy for Greenberg Traurig. We chatted the entire trip to his Edgewater condo -- he went to Cal Berkley for law school and practiced in California, but he wanted a change -- and came to Miami to market instead of lawyer. He was in his 30s and seemed to be impressed that the head of litigation at his firm was a friend of mine. It made me feel very old.
I met my kids at a small Argentinian place on Biscayne and 70th -- near the house they just bought. We chatted about crucial things -- not the Hurricanes. After dinner, we drove to the development, and saw they had dug some trenches and put down rebar. Joey was very, very excited.
It made me remember how I felt when Wifey and I bought our first place. That led to a funny tale, however. We hosted my suegra's cousing Dobka -- like my mother in law, a woman not exactly, um, reserved or taciturn. Our house had open beam ceilings, which Wifey and I loved.
Dobka looked up at them, and smirked. She said, in her Yiddish accent "So -- you a law-ya -right?" I I said I was. "Den good -- mebbe someday you make some more money and buy a house with finished ceilings."
Wifey and I were crestfallen. This woman besmirched our proudest possession. Of course, we laughed at her crassness. I'll always remember it.
Anyway -- Joey and D1 drove me back to my office, and I got in my car for the drive home. D1 made me promise to text when I made it. How the worm has turned...
Today the painter has promised to finish our house, and wants to take me around to show his handiwork, and, of course, get paid.
I have no plans yet for the final days of bachelorhood, but something will come up. It always does.
In the mean time, strange rescue dog awaits her walk...
Wednesday, December 20, 2017
Green Team Keeps Winning
For years, when we'd go to lunch during the business day, my partner Paul would always look at the TV, and see whether the stock market was up or down. Of course, the down graphics would show red, while the rising markets would show green. If the day was an uptick, he'd happily say "The green team is winning."
I paid far less attention back then. We were making very nice money, and though I had some investments, I figured they'd take care of themselves. I learned a harsh lesson when I first hired a "money manager" in about '00 or '01. I had a chunk of money, and Paul suggested I give it to "professionals" to handle.
I decided to go with Northern Trust -- they seemed the very essence of conservative, WASPy investment banking. At the time, they were on a marketing blitz to bring in clients of a certain level. I bit. Wifey and I met with the manager, who I'll call Diane Dansky, since that was her name, and were impressed. They took us to their skybox at the AAA. They had sponsored lunches with local academics.
And my money grew for several months -- like 5% each month. I was happy, I stopped looking at the statements. And then the tech crash came. I looked. My account value was one half what it had been. I sat down with Diane, and learned the harsh truth -- she had over 500 clients, and really didn't "manage" the accounts at all -- just bought and hold, like I could have done without paying the substantial yearly cost.
I closed the account, and actually thought about suing them, but then figured if my clients learned that I was careless with my own money, could I really be trusted to advise them about settlements and such.
So the experience taught me I'd better damn well watch investments, and closely. I have ever since.
The election of The Donald is, to me, the greatest national embarrassment of my adult life. I don't blame him at all -- he's a fake populist huckster, who took advantage of a highly flawed opponent, and won. And the GOP Congress will, today, pass sweeping "tax reform" that all real experts agree is a future disaster for the country.
But -- for me -- there's been a huge upside -- enormous gains in the stock market. I've been harvesting some, and just watching the continued rise.
Comedian Dave Chappelle had a similar take, when his liberal friends asked whether he was moving to Canada, following Trump's election. "Nah -- I figure I'll stick around and see how these tax cuts work out for me."
Our voters were stupid enough to vote against most of their self interests, to help the rich get richer. Who am I to disagree?
So for now, I enjoy the anti Trump FaceBook (tm) screeds. I refrain from them. He, too, shall pass.
But at least for now, it's nice to see the Green Team keep winning.
I paid far less attention back then. We were making very nice money, and though I had some investments, I figured they'd take care of themselves. I learned a harsh lesson when I first hired a "money manager" in about '00 or '01. I had a chunk of money, and Paul suggested I give it to "professionals" to handle.
I decided to go with Northern Trust -- they seemed the very essence of conservative, WASPy investment banking. At the time, they were on a marketing blitz to bring in clients of a certain level. I bit. Wifey and I met with the manager, who I'll call Diane Dansky, since that was her name, and were impressed. They took us to their skybox at the AAA. They had sponsored lunches with local academics.
And my money grew for several months -- like 5% each month. I was happy, I stopped looking at the statements. And then the tech crash came. I looked. My account value was one half what it had been. I sat down with Diane, and learned the harsh truth -- she had over 500 clients, and really didn't "manage" the accounts at all -- just bought and hold, like I could have done without paying the substantial yearly cost.
I closed the account, and actually thought about suing them, but then figured if my clients learned that I was careless with my own money, could I really be trusted to advise them about settlements and such.
So the experience taught me I'd better damn well watch investments, and closely. I have ever since.
The election of The Donald is, to me, the greatest national embarrassment of my adult life. I don't blame him at all -- he's a fake populist huckster, who took advantage of a highly flawed opponent, and won. And the GOP Congress will, today, pass sweeping "tax reform" that all real experts agree is a future disaster for the country.
But -- for me -- there's been a huge upside -- enormous gains in the stock market. I've been harvesting some, and just watching the continued rise.
Comedian Dave Chappelle had a similar take, when his liberal friends asked whether he was moving to Canada, following Trump's election. "Nah -- I figure I'll stick around and see how these tax cuts work out for me."
Our voters were stupid enough to vote against most of their self interests, to help the rich get richer. Who am I to disagree?
So for now, I enjoy the anti Trump FaceBook (tm) screeds. I refrain from them. He, too, shall pass.
But at least for now, it's nice to see the Green Team keep winning.
Tuesday, December 19, 2017
Overcoming Inertia
So in Wifey's absence, the house has been quiet, except for the sound of the three painters working busily on their task. It's kind of funny to have them here. Yesterday I stepped out of the shower to see a fellow painting around a window. He feigned not seeing me, but I know he thought to himself: "Wow -- the owner of this big house could stand to lose some pounds." Actually, he probably thought to himself: "Que gordo!"
I've been reflecting on the talks I've had with friends who are unhappy in their jobs. We're all empty nesters, most with at least some degree of financial security, and yet toil on and on, complaining about the lack of challenge or excitement in our careers.
It's just so damn easy to keep the status quo.
I guess the same holds true for marriages that have long ago gone stale. Divorce is hard work. I have to think that, especially in the minds of wives whose hearts tell them it's time to move on, they simply say, essentially, screw it -- could be worse.
I've been a lawyer now over 31 years. From about the first month into the career, I didn't like it. I got very lucky, of course, and the job has brought our family amazing things -- not the least of which is freedom from worry where our next meals come from. But I think back to college, when I met the folks who were "pre law." I didn't like them, for the most part. And, go figure, they ended up my colleagues in the Bar!
I think back over those I have met. I always found far more interesting folks who have done several things over their lives. Now they have interesting tales to tell.
I think about my old friend Roger Howard. He was a Music professor, neuroscientist, and then, finally, lawyer. I would love to spend time with him, and have him share his life's experiences. Roger became a partner at my second law firm -- and after a few years walked away from representing airlines and Lloyds of London to open a small practice in South Miami . He would refer the bigger cases to me at my then practice. Roger was so cool -- I remember one afternoon, following a meeting about a case, he explained to me a theory of tonality.
Sadly -- he died young, of leukemia. But he was a mentor to me.
And inertia holds me back, too. I still feel young enough to do something other than lawyering. Maybe 2018 will be the year.
I had dinner with my friend Mirta Sunday night. We talked a lot about this. I told Mirta that, if I was at a party, and there were two folks I could spend time with: one a wildly successful lawyer, the other a former lawyer who now ran a coffee shop -- I would have a clear choice to make -- NOT the full time lawyer.
My firm turns 24 next November. When my partner/brother and I started out, we pledged to give the business our all for 10 years. We'd make it, whatever it took. That was our motto. Well, 2004 came and went, and we kept on plugging. By the 20 year mark, 2014, we had ceded the daily operations to our buddy Stuart. And now three years in that incarnation have come and gone.
I miss the heady times of our early years. We worked hours without watching the clock. We were in early and stayed late. If there was a new case to sign up, we'd suit up any day, and any hour, lest we lose the case to other ravenous firms.
We undertook huge responsibility -- for burned children, children with spinal cord injuries, families who lost fathers and mothers. We very rarely lost.
We took our staff under our wings like they were family. We paid them most handsomely -- they came in drowning in credit card debt and left with the ability to start their own businesses.
We supported judges, and Congresspeople, and School Board candidates. We gave freely to charity -- a $200K, interest free mortgage allowed our Rabbi to build his Center.
And we had FUN. Lots of it. We threw parties. We took groups on vacations -- all expenses paid -- Vegas, sailboats, Chalet Suzanne, LA, NYC, Philly...
Maybe there's still a new career in me. Maybe not. I just need to set about moving that big rock called inertia...
I've been reflecting on the talks I've had with friends who are unhappy in their jobs. We're all empty nesters, most with at least some degree of financial security, and yet toil on and on, complaining about the lack of challenge or excitement in our careers.
It's just so damn easy to keep the status quo.
I guess the same holds true for marriages that have long ago gone stale. Divorce is hard work. I have to think that, especially in the minds of wives whose hearts tell them it's time to move on, they simply say, essentially, screw it -- could be worse.
I've been a lawyer now over 31 years. From about the first month into the career, I didn't like it. I got very lucky, of course, and the job has brought our family amazing things -- not the least of which is freedom from worry where our next meals come from. But I think back to college, when I met the folks who were "pre law." I didn't like them, for the most part. And, go figure, they ended up my colleagues in the Bar!
I think back over those I have met. I always found far more interesting folks who have done several things over their lives. Now they have interesting tales to tell.
I think about my old friend Roger Howard. He was a Music professor, neuroscientist, and then, finally, lawyer. I would love to spend time with him, and have him share his life's experiences. Roger became a partner at my second law firm -- and after a few years walked away from representing airlines and Lloyds of London to open a small practice in South Miami . He would refer the bigger cases to me at my then practice. Roger was so cool -- I remember one afternoon, following a meeting about a case, he explained to me a theory of tonality.
Sadly -- he died young, of leukemia. But he was a mentor to me.
And inertia holds me back, too. I still feel young enough to do something other than lawyering. Maybe 2018 will be the year.
I had dinner with my friend Mirta Sunday night. We talked a lot about this. I told Mirta that, if I was at a party, and there were two folks I could spend time with: one a wildly successful lawyer, the other a former lawyer who now ran a coffee shop -- I would have a clear choice to make -- NOT the full time lawyer.
My firm turns 24 next November. When my partner/brother and I started out, we pledged to give the business our all for 10 years. We'd make it, whatever it took. That was our motto. Well, 2004 came and went, and we kept on plugging. By the 20 year mark, 2014, we had ceded the daily operations to our buddy Stuart. And now three years in that incarnation have come and gone.
I miss the heady times of our early years. We worked hours without watching the clock. We were in early and stayed late. If there was a new case to sign up, we'd suit up any day, and any hour, lest we lose the case to other ravenous firms.
We undertook huge responsibility -- for burned children, children with spinal cord injuries, families who lost fathers and mothers. We very rarely lost.
We took our staff under our wings like they were family. We paid them most handsomely -- they came in drowning in credit card debt and left with the ability to start their own businesses.
We supported judges, and Congresspeople, and School Board candidates. We gave freely to charity -- a $200K, interest free mortgage allowed our Rabbi to build his Center.
And we had FUN. Lots of it. We threw parties. We took groups on vacations -- all expenses paid -- Vegas, sailboats, Chalet Suzanne, LA, NYC, Philly...
Maybe there's still a new career in me. Maybe not. I just need to set about moving that big rock called inertia...
Sunday, December 17, 2017
Oh What A Night -- Mid December Here in '17
So yesterday was my first one as el solo toro, the lonely bull. I walked the strange sausage dog, and came home to full on painting by the crew. D1 called -- we were going to share a mitzvah -- visiting her ancient grandmother.
I met D1 at the Palace -- the old woman is now in the nursing home section, at least temporarily. Gloria, her former caretaker was there -- Wifey still pays her to check in. Rachel was back in full throat, and pretty unsure of what was going on, but VERY sure she wanted us to "go have lunch and put it on my tab." As my buddy Paul says, she's going down swinging...
D1 and I then drove to the Kendall Mall, and met at a bagel place, where she ordered healthy salads for us and we caught up. Mads, the spoiled Spaniel, was happy to be along. D1 left for a date night with her husband Joey, and I headed back home, listening on the radio to the Canes win again. But the radio sounded tinny, and I stopped at the dealership, where the "tech girl" diagnosed a blown speaker. I made an appointment to leave the car for service Monday am -- I have Wifey's SUV to drive until Noche Buena...
Deb and Norman fetched me -- they invited me along on their date night. We went to Wynwood Yard, and a cool place called Charcoal, situated among old steel shipping containers. The food and drink were excellent, and the company better.
After dinner, we walked a bit, admiring some dogs of Wynwood, and passing a big party at the Puerto Rican place Jimmy's Kitchen. The folks were dancing and singing into the cool night air.
Wynwood is a really special place -- artists and hipsters, great restaurants and bars. It'll probably eventually gentrify, like Lincoln Road, and be boring upper scale stores, but for now it's still way cool.
We walked back to Wynwood Yard, which is a big expanse of food trucks around an outdoor bar, and a great young band was playing. They covered "You're Just Too Good To Be True," and the hipsters moshed to the song's famous chorus.
Behind them, we noticed a large, art menorah -- covered in multi colored fabric. Some young Hasids waited by it, watching the moshing and un orthodox dressed young girls.
When the song finished, the band's leader announced it was their last song, and hoped he pronounced "menorah" correctly -- he did -- and then the Chabadniks lit it. Folks walked around -- laughing and eating and drinking.
I had the same feeling I typically get -- I really never want to live anywhere else.
Today I'll meet Paul and we'll have lunch with his old law school friend Alan -- who is battling cancer -- a recurrence of a rare type of small intestinal lesions. I haven't seen Alan in months, and look forward to helping cheer him up.
But for now, the strange rescue dog awaits -- she enjoys her bachelor owner, and roughing it for a few days.
I met D1 at the Palace -- the old woman is now in the nursing home section, at least temporarily. Gloria, her former caretaker was there -- Wifey still pays her to check in. Rachel was back in full throat, and pretty unsure of what was going on, but VERY sure she wanted us to "go have lunch and put it on my tab." As my buddy Paul says, she's going down swinging...
D1 and I then drove to the Kendall Mall, and met at a bagel place, where she ordered healthy salads for us and we caught up. Mads, the spoiled Spaniel, was happy to be along. D1 left for a date night with her husband Joey, and I headed back home, listening on the radio to the Canes win again. But the radio sounded tinny, and I stopped at the dealership, where the "tech girl" diagnosed a blown speaker. I made an appointment to leave the car for service Monday am -- I have Wifey's SUV to drive until Noche Buena...
Deb and Norman fetched me -- they invited me along on their date night. We went to Wynwood Yard, and a cool place called Charcoal, situated among old steel shipping containers. The food and drink were excellent, and the company better.
After dinner, we walked a bit, admiring some dogs of Wynwood, and passing a big party at the Puerto Rican place Jimmy's Kitchen. The folks were dancing and singing into the cool night air.
Wynwood is a really special place -- artists and hipsters, great restaurants and bars. It'll probably eventually gentrify, like Lincoln Road, and be boring upper scale stores, but for now it's still way cool.
We walked back to Wynwood Yard, which is a big expanse of food trucks around an outdoor bar, and a great young band was playing. They covered "You're Just Too Good To Be True," and the hipsters moshed to the song's famous chorus.
Behind them, we noticed a large, art menorah -- covered in multi colored fabric. Some young Hasids waited by it, watching the moshing and un orthodox dressed young girls.
When the song finished, the band's leader announced it was their last song, and hoped he pronounced "menorah" correctly -- he did -- and then the Chabadniks lit it. Folks walked around -- laughing and eating and drinking.
I had the same feeling I typically get -- I really never want to live anywhere else.
Today I'll meet Paul and we'll have lunch with his old law school friend Alan -- who is battling cancer -- a recurrence of a rare type of small intestinal lesions. I haven't seen Alan in months, and look forward to helping cheer him up.
But for now, the strange rescue dog awaits -- she enjoys her bachelor owner, and roughing it for a few days.
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Thelma and Louise Ride Again
So Wifey's BFF Edna drove to SoFla herself a few weeks ago -- 12 hours from Atlanta. Last time she visited, she got annoyed at the airlines for their change restrictions, realized she liked long drives, and came on down. Her husband Marc flew up and back, and Wednesday night she came to spend a final night here at Villa Wifey before heading back home.
Thursday we had breakfast together, and then Wifey started talking and talking about new home projects she thought we should do, and then I hit upon a great idea: maybe Wifey would like to accompany Edna on her drive back to Atlanta! Wifey couldn't do long car trips on account of her bad back, but that has passed back Ha! into history, and she made a long schlep to Atlanta fleeing Hurricane Irma, so she knew she could do it.
She went to AA.com and learned that a one way flight home was only $200, and decided to book it for 12/24, the same day D2 flies in. And Edna and Wifey both adore Bo, the special needs Spaniel, and they decided he should come along, too. Bo costs $120 to bring on the plane -- well worth it.
So it was set -- they'd leave Friday, and be northbound. Not so fast. There were too many things to do first -- Wifey had to visit her Mom, for her 93rd birthday, and Edna needed a final visit to HER parents at Miami Jewish Home. So Friday was too aspirational --it would be Saturday.
I attended Stu's holiday lunch on Brickell, and then John and I decided to retire to Town, for some more revelry. I called Wifey, and she was flitting around, and Edna was already annoyed, so I invited Edna to meet us, which she did. We got home around 7, to a still flitting Wifey, but the two did get out the door around 8 -- with a visit to Miami Jewish planned, followed by a night at Edna's condo in Hallandale, and then a departure this am.
Their plan is to stop for the night in O Town, with friend Elizabeth, and then leave Sunday for the long leg of the trip back to Atl.
Meanwhile, I get 8 days of bachelorhood, which I really enjoy. It's just me and Vienna, the strange rescue dog, who seemed to enjoy some only dog time. We already took a long walk together this am.
The house is being painted -- the crew started Tuesday, and we're told it's a full two week affair. It was time -- Villa Wifey is now 20, and has never been painted. We're keeping the same colors -- yellow, and beige, and gray. I fell in love with the place in those shades -- no need to change.
Deb called yesterday to invite Wifey and I to see Cirqu du Soleil with them. I told her I was Wifey-less, but she said that was fine. I was honest with her, though -- I appreciate their talent, but after seeing them once in Vegas, I realized I can't watch an entire performance again. I totally related to Seth Rogen's character in "Knocked Up," who watched them perform under the influence of magic mushrooms, and was totally freaked out.
But Deb said I was still invited to dinner tonight, and I'm looking forward to that. First, I'll meet D1 over at the Palace, to see the ancient suegra. Then, the second half of a Canes basketball game on TV at Mike's house is in the mix.
I love Wifey and our life together, but separations indeed make the heart grow fonder. My signature bachelor move is dinner alone, at the bar of either Trulucks or Shula's in South Miami. I drink a martini or two, eat dinner, and either chat with the bartender or watch whatever they have on ESPN. Then I return to let out the strange rescue dog. It ought to be a pleasant week.
12/24 my friend crazy Joel is having his annual Christmas Eve get together. He invited us all last year, and this year as well -- he and his wife Courtney have a gorgeous house in the Grove and do a traditional Italian Xmas eve -- all fish and cold cuts and Joel grills a tenderloin.
It'll be a bit tough logistically this year -- Wifey and Bo arrive at 6, and D2 at 7, assuming all are on time, but I think we can pull it off.
And Xmas Day, for us known as Wifey's birthday, I think we might break Chinese food tradition and instead have a meal at SoHo House, where D1 is a member.
But first thing's first: I'm a bachelor for the next 8 days. I put away all women's magazines, and put up, temporarily, a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker.
It's nice, but really only because it's temporary. The Boss sang it best: don't make no difference what nobody says...ain't nobody wants to be alone.
Thursday we had breakfast together, and then Wifey started talking and talking about new home projects she thought we should do, and then I hit upon a great idea: maybe Wifey would like to accompany Edna on her drive back to Atlanta! Wifey couldn't do long car trips on account of her bad back, but that has passed back Ha! into history, and she made a long schlep to Atlanta fleeing Hurricane Irma, so she knew she could do it.
She went to AA.com and learned that a one way flight home was only $200, and decided to book it for 12/24, the same day D2 flies in. And Edna and Wifey both adore Bo, the special needs Spaniel, and they decided he should come along, too. Bo costs $120 to bring on the plane -- well worth it.
So it was set -- they'd leave Friday, and be northbound. Not so fast. There were too many things to do first -- Wifey had to visit her Mom, for her 93rd birthday, and Edna needed a final visit to HER parents at Miami Jewish Home. So Friday was too aspirational --it would be Saturday.
I attended Stu's holiday lunch on Brickell, and then John and I decided to retire to Town, for some more revelry. I called Wifey, and she was flitting around, and Edna was already annoyed, so I invited Edna to meet us, which she did. We got home around 7, to a still flitting Wifey, but the two did get out the door around 8 -- with a visit to Miami Jewish planned, followed by a night at Edna's condo in Hallandale, and then a departure this am.
Their plan is to stop for the night in O Town, with friend Elizabeth, and then leave Sunday for the long leg of the trip back to Atl.
Meanwhile, I get 8 days of bachelorhood, which I really enjoy. It's just me and Vienna, the strange rescue dog, who seemed to enjoy some only dog time. We already took a long walk together this am.
The house is being painted -- the crew started Tuesday, and we're told it's a full two week affair. It was time -- Villa Wifey is now 20, and has never been painted. We're keeping the same colors -- yellow, and beige, and gray. I fell in love with the place in those shades -- no need to change.
Deb called yesterday to invite Wifey and I to see Cirqu du Soleil with them. I told her I was Wifey-less, but she said that was fine. I was honest with her, though -- I appreciate their talent, but after seeing them once in Vegas, I realized I can't watch an entire performance again. I totally related to Seth Rogen's character in "Knocked Up," who watched them perform under the influence of magic mushrooms, and was totally freaked out.
But Deb said I was still invited to dinner tonight, and I'm looking forward to that. First, I'll meet D1 over at the Palace, to see the ancient suegra. Then, the second half of a Canes basketball game on TV at Mike's house is in the mix.
I love Wifey and our life together, but separations indeed make the heart grow fonder. My signature bachelor move is dinner alone, at the bar of either Trulucks or Shula's in South Miami. I drink a martini or two, eat dinner, and either chat with the bartender or watch whatever they have on ESPN. Then I return to let out the strange rescue dog. It ought to be a pleasant week.
12/24 my friend crazy Joel is having his annual Christmas Eve get together. He invited us all last year, and this year as well -- he and his wife Courtney have a gorgeous house in the Grove and do a traditional Italian Xmas eve -- all fish and cold cuts and Joel grills a tenderloin.
It'll be a bit tough logistically this year -- Wifey and Bo arrive at 6, and D2 at 7, assuming all are on time, but I think we can pull it off.
And Xmas Day, for us known as Wifey's birthday, I think we might break Chinese food tradition and instead have a meal at SoHo House, where D1 is a member.
But first thing's first: I'm a bachelor for the next 8 days. I put away all women's magazines, and put up, temporarily, a black velvet painting of dogs playing poker.
It's nice, but really only because it's temporary. The Boss sang it best: don't make no difference what nobody says...ain't nobody wants to be alone.
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Dad's Restaurant Rule
Wifey and the Ds know my rule when it comes to restaurants: if you're not greeted well, or there's a big delay in getting service -- it's time to turn around and walk out. I 've learned that a bad experience never improves with time -- it goes from bad to worse.
So last night, Wifey and I decided to celebrate the first night of Chanukah by seeking some Jewish soul food. She visited her mother -- transferred from Baptist Hospital back to the Palace, but not the ALF -- rehab. This may be the beginning of her sad "graduation" from ALF to nursing home.
We decided to meet at the Roasters and Toasters on 128 Street. I tend to rank Roasters as my #3 local deli, behind Lots of Lox and Bagel Emporium -- the prices at Roasters offend me. But, it's closest, and since R and T took over the former Mitch's West side, it IS better...
I arrived first and learned that a large number of our fellow tribemen had the same idea -- there were about 40 people there. It appeared there were only 2 servers. The 70 something lady manager came out, and asked if she could bring me something. Yes, I said, I was waiting for my wife, but an iced tea please, and an order of latkes. 20 minutes passed. Nothing.
A couple across from me had a tea and seemed angry. Wifey arrived -- I told her "it ain't happening here tonight." The older couple got up to leave. I told Wifey we needed to do the same.
The couple waited at the counter to pay for the tea, but no one was there. I leaned in, and said "I think they at least owe you a free tea for this -- take off." The woman said "I like the way you think" and walked out. So we stole an iced tea and hot tea from the incompetent deli...
Wifey wanted to go to LOL, but then we saw Ana Capri was open. It's an ok Italian place -- we hadn't been in 3 years. We walked across the lot, and were greeted by a most effete man -- dismissive as well. He asked for our reservation.
What? A place in a strip center in Pinecrest on a Tuesday night? No, I said -- no reservations. It was 7:15. "I can get you in at 8 -- maybe earlier if you're lucky." No thanks, I said -- I was last there three years ago -- I'd try back in 2021. He rolled his eyes. I reminded him there were 20 Italian restaurants in a 3 mile radius. "But we're the best," he lisped. No, I countered -- Salvatore D is.
We then got in the car and drove to LOL. It was great. I ordered latkes, The American waitress asked why so many were ordering them. I explained that on Chanukah, Jews are supposed to eat oily foods -- to reflect the oil that kept the menorah burning.
We ate, and reflected on Chanukahs past -- when the Ds were little. It was a big deal. As empty nesters, it no longer is.
But Wifey got the present she wanted -- the wacko judge lost the senate race in Alabama.
And I think I will no longer vote to go to Roasters...
So last night, Wifey and I decided to celebrate the first night of Chanukah by seeking some Jewish soul food. She visited her mother -- transferred from Baptist Hospital back to the Palace, but not the ALF -- rehab. This may be the beginning of her sad "graduation" from ALF to nursing home.
We decided to meet at the Roasters and Toasters on 128 Street. I tend to rank Roasters as my #3 local deli, behind Lots of Lox and Bagel Emporium -- the prices at Roasters offend me. But, it's closest, and since R and T took over the former Mitch's West side, it IS better...
I arrived first and learned that a large number of our fellow tribemen had the same idea -- there were about 40 people there. It appeared there were only 2 servers. The 70 something lady manager came out, and asked if she could bring me something. Yes, I said, I was waiting for my wife, but an iced tea please, and an order of latkes. 20 minutes passed. Nothing.
A couple across from me had a tea and seemed angry. Wifey arrived -- I told her "it ain't happening here tonight." The older couple got up to leave. I told Wifey we needed to do the same.
The couple waited at the counter to pay for the tea, but no one was there. I leaned in, and said "I think they at least owe you a free tea for this -- take off." The woman said "I like the way you think" and walked out. So we stole an iced tea and hot tea from the incompetent deli...
Wifey wanted to go to LOL, but then we saw Ana Capri was open. It's an ok Italian place -- we hadn't been in 3 years. We walked across the lot, and were greeted by a most effete man -- dismissive as well. He asked for our reservation.
What? A place in a strip center in Pinecrest on a Tuesday night? No, I said -- no reservations. It was 7:15. "I can get you in at 8 -- maybe earlier if you're lucky." No thanks, I said -- I was last there three years ago -- I'd try back in 2021. He rolled his eyes. I reminded him there were 20 Italian restaurants in a 3 mile radius. "But we're the best," he lisped. No, I countered -- Salvatore D is.
We then got in the car and drove to LOL. It was great. I ordered latkes, The American waitress asked why so many were ordering them. I explained that on Chanukah, Jews are supposed to eat oily foods -- to reflect the oil that kept the menorah burning.
We ate, and reflected on Chanukahs past -- when the Ds were little. It was a big deal. As empty nesters, it no longer is.
But Wifey got the present she wanted -- the wacko judge lost the senate race in Alabama.
And I think I will no longer vote to go to Roasters...
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
And They Seemed Old to Me Then
It's funny how our point of view changes as we age. FaceBook (tm) just reminded me of a photo I think Wifey had posted -- my parents and I back in Winter of '79. It shows us standing in my parents' condo, in Delray, before we left for dinner. It may have been New Year's Eve.
I was a dweeby college freshman home from UM for the Xmas break. My girlfriend Alison, then still a high school senior, flew down from LI. I think she took the picture. I was wearing a spiffy suede tie, quite narrow, with a beige blazer, and my Dad had a green plaid blazer. The photo was in front of the new china cabinet Mom bought when she moved to South Florida -- I hope it's now in the Laminate Museum somewhere...
The photo is 37 years in the past. First, of course, it reminds me how much I miss my parents, especially my Dad. I adored and worshiped him. What he found funny, I found hilarious. He was a Greatest Generation guy, and I a late Baby Boomer, but we always saw eye to eye. In many ways, he was more Liberal than I was -- even though he worked three jobs when he returned from WW II, to support his family. He was still delightfully politically incorrect, with a Liberal heart. I remember once, when he was still working, Mom asked him to take the day off -- it was lovely Spring weather. "Sunny -- I can't," he said. "I work to support at least 9 Puerto Ricans who won't work, you know. They depend on me too." Dad never ran for office.
Anyway, I also remember thinking, at the time, my parents were OLD. They were 60 and 59, but to the college freshman, that was senior citizen. Wifey's about to be older than my Dad was in the photo. Caramba!
Wifey and I certainly don't consider ourselves old, even though I hear noises when I bend over to pick something I dropped. Hell -- we went to a Little Haiti bar a few weeks ago, to hear an awesome blues musician.
Dr. Barry gets in a new crop of pediatricians in training each summer. Sometimes I meet them. They're typically 26 or so. When we meet, my mind still tells me I'm their contemporary -- hey -- I lived with Eric, a med student, so I get them, right? The problem is Eric and I lived together 34 years ago.
The young docs in training look at Barry and me as fathers. Pretty soon it'll be like GRANDfathers...
The other night, friends Stu and Vince and I were at Captain's Tavern -- they had attended a judicial fundraiser in Datran. Stu recognized an older PI lawyer he knew. I'll call him Gary, since that's his name. He was with a younger, attractive woman. I assumed it was his daughter. It was his wife.
Turns out Gary married late, like Stu did. He's 25 years his wife's senior. They have, I think, high school aged kids. Gary looks his age -- late 60s or early 70s. I wonder if his kids think they have an ancient Dad.
Still, it's nice to see the point of view change. The kid in the FB photo was a kid. He thought he knew a lot, at 19 or so. As "Rug Rats'" Angela used to say -- "you babies don't know nothin'!"
So at least this 56.5 year old man can look back on his 19 year old self with more wisdom. And the memories are warm from this point of view.
I was a dweeby college freshman home from UM for the Xmas break. My girlfriend Alison, then still a high school senior, flew down from LI. I think she took the picture. I was wearing a spiffy suede tie, quite narrow, with a beige blazer, and my Dad had a green plaid blazer. The photo was in front of the new china cabinet Mom bought when she moved to South Florida -- I hope it's now in the Laminate Museum somewhere...
The photo is 37 years in the past. First, of course, it reminds me how much I miss my parents, especially my Dad. I adored and worshiped him. What he found funny, I found hilarious. He was a Greatest Generation guy, and I a late Baby Boomer, but we always saw eye to eye. In many ways, he was more Liberal than I was -- even though he worked three jobs when he returned from WW II, to support his family. He was still delightfully politically incorrect, with a Liberal heart. I remember once, when he was still working, Mom asked him to take the day off -- it was lovely Spring weather. "Sunny -- I can't," he said. "I work to support at least 9 Puerto Ricans who won't work, you know. They depend on me too." Dad never ran for office.
Anyway, I also remember thinking, at the time, my parents were OLD. They were 60 and 59, but to the college freshman, that was senior citizen. Wifey's about to be older than my Dad was in the photo. Caramba!
Wifey and I certainly don't consider ourselves old, even though I hear noises when I bend over to pick something I dropped. Hell -- we went to a Little Haiti bar a few weeks ago, to hear an awesome blues musician.
Dr. Barry gets in a new crop of pediatricians in training each summer. Sometimes I meet them. They're typically 26 or so. When we meet, my mind still tells me I'm their contemporary -- hey -- I lived with Eric, a med student, so I get them, right? The problem is Eric and I lived together 34 years ago.
The young docs in training look at Barry and me as fathers. Pretty soon it'll be like GRANDfathers...
The other night, friends Stu and Vince and I were at Captain's Tavern -- they had attended a judicial fundraiser in Datran. Stu recognized an older PI lawyer he knew. I'll call him Gary, since that's his name. He was with a younger, attractive woman. I assumed it was his daughter. It was his wife.
Turns out Gary married late, like Stu did. He's 25 years his wife's senior. They have, I think, high school aged kids. Gary looks his age -- late 60s or early 70s. I wonder if his kids think they have an ancient Dad.
Still, it's nice to see the point of view change. The kid in the FB photo was a kid. He thought he knew a lot, at 19 or so. As "Rug Rats'" Angela used to say -- "you babies don't know nothin'!"
So at least this 56.5 year old man can look back on his 19 year old self with more wisdom. And the memories are warm from this point of view.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Money, Money, Money
So Wifey and I had an unusually expensive couple of events this weekend. First, we had dinner at Il Gabbianno, which is great, but very expensive. Saturday we met Edna and Marc again at Gulfstream, my partner and brother Paul's favorite hangout, where there was another quite expensive meal. Plus, we gambled and lost $200!
All said, we spent nearly $1000 on the weekend's entertainment. We enjoyed ourselves. We didn't need it. It got me to thinking about money, and its role in our lives.
I grew up nicely middle class -- maybe on the upper side, at least among my more blue collar friends. By the time I came along, my Dad was already in his 40s, and was enjoying the fruits of his very hard, post WW II labor. When I was 8, we took a family trip to Israel. I was the first of my friends to be on a jet plane, except for Mark, whose Dad was a weather guy for TWA, and got to fly for free.
Wifey's childhood was more economically challenged. Her father, may he rest in peace, continued to try various businesses, and never made it. His ego led him to choices that left him behind his Survivor peers. The clearest example is when they were back in Miami, in the early 70s, and part of a group of "card players" who were all War refugees.
The group pooled their money, and each invested $10K in real estate -- they decided on what is now West Kendall. Not my father in law. He had decided that Miami was already "done" -- no -- the future was Cocoa Beach. So he put his money in two housing lots there.
In the late 80s, the other card players sold their holdings -- for the high six figures each. Their land became a major shopping center. My father in law asked me to help in selling his Cocoa lots. Since the Space Program never reached its promise, the lots sold for, and I remember this distinctly, $12K.
I joke with Wifey that I could have married a rich girl. She replies I AM married to a rich girl...
I was extremely lucky when it came to making money, and I never forget that. Wifey likes to bring up an incident from 1990. D1 was 2, and Wifey and my sister went shopping for curtains and bedclothes for the adorable toddler. I was the sole support for my family -- Wifey was going to return to work after D1 was three months old, but simply couldn't.
The purchase was, I think, $150, and I hit the roof. We couldn't afford luxuries like that! I was already under major pressure -- this made it worse. Take the stuff back!
It was too late -- my sister had already hung the curtains, and D1 loved her Little Mermaid comforter. I figured I better step it up, if I was going to live with such a spendthrift wife.
And now, just over 25 years later, we toss away more money to a betting clerk at Gulfstream.
It's nice to have the freedom some money brings. Wifey suffered from years of back pain. She sought expensive treatments -- two separate stays in Orlando with every day PT. None of it was covered by insurance. But it brought her relief -- and was worth every penny.
About 10 years ago, Paul brought his college buddy Andy to the office. Andy has led a renaissance man life -- coaching, teaching, leading seminars. At the time, he was a "money coach," who consulted with people about their feelings with, and dealing with, money. To help out his buddy, our firm paid for Andy to give a mini-seminar, including a test that showed how healthy and realistic one's views were about money.
Nilda, Stuart's always broke secretary (just last week she emailed to ask for a loan, even though she hasn't worked for Stu for years), scored the lowest. She believed, in essence, that she would someday win the Lottery, but until then, it was fine to be broke.
I scored the highest. I understood that having money was nice, but didn't define who I was. I enjoyed pizza and beer with friends as much as martinis and NY Strips at the Palm.
So I'm lucky in this regard, I guess. As long as the S and P keeps rising...
All said, we spent nearly $1000 on the weekend's entertainment. We enjoyed ourselves. We didn't need it. It got me to thinking about money, and its role in our lives.
I grew up nicely middle class -- maybe on the upper side, at least among my more blue collar friends. By the time I came along, my Dad was already in his 40s, and was enjoying the fruits of his very hard, post WW II labor. When I was 8, we took a family trip to Israel. I was the first of my friends to be on a jet plane, except for Mark, whose Dad was a weather guy for TWA, and got to fly for free.
Wifey's childhood was more economically challenged. Her father, may he rest in peace, continued to try various businesses, and never made it. His ego led him to choices that left him behind his Survivor peers. The clearest example is when they were back in Miami, in the early 70s, and part of a group of "card players" who were all War refugees.
The group pooled their money, and each invested $10K in real estate -- they decided on what is now West Kendall. Not my father in law. He had decided that Miami was already "done" -- no -- the future was Cocoa Beach. So he put his money in two housing lots there.
In the late 80s, the other card players sold their holdings -- for the high six figures each. Their land became a major shopping center. My father in law asked me to help in selling his Cocoa lots. Since the Space Program never reached its promise, the lots sold for, and I remember this distinctly, $12K.
I joke with Wifey that I could have married a rich girl. She replies I AM married to a rich girl...
I was extremely lucky when it came to making money, and I never forget that. Wifey likes to bring up an incident from 1990. D1 was 2, and Wifey and my sister went shopping for curtains and bedclothes for the adorable toddler. I was the sole support for my family -- Wifey was going to return to work after D1 was three months old, but simply couldn't.
The purchase was, I think, $150, and I hit the roof. We couldn't afford luxuries like that! I was already under major pressure -- this made it worse. Take the stuff back!
It was too late -- my sister had already hung the curtains, and D1 loved her Little Mermaid comforter. I figured I better step it up, if I was going to live with such a spendthrift wife.
And now, just over 25 years later, we toss away more money to a betting clerk at Gulfstream.
It's nice to have the freedom some money brings. Wifey suffered from years of back pain. She sought expensive treatments -- two separate stays in Orlando with every day PT. None of it was covered by insurance. But it brought her relief -- and was worth every penny.
About 10 years ago, Paul brought his college buddy Andy to the office. Andy has led a renaissance man life -- coaching, teaching, leading seminars. At the time, he was a "money coach," who consulted with people about their feelings with, and dealing with, money. To help out his buddy, our firm paid for Andy to give a mini-seminar, including a test that showed how healthy and realistic one's views were about money.
Nilda, Stuart's always broke secretary (just last week she emailed to ask for a loan, even though she hasn't worked for Stu for years), scored the lowest. She believed, in essence, that she would someday win the Lottery, but until then, it was fine to be broke.
I scored the highest. I understood that having money was nice, but didn't define who I was. I enjoyed pizza and beer with friends as much as martinis and NY Strips at the Palm.
So I'm lucky in this regard, I guess. As long as the S and P keeps rising...
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Traffic-geddon
So Wifey's BFF Edna is in town, and her man Marc joined her, and wanted to go to Salvatore D for dinner. SD is our local fancy Italian place, and I always love it, but I asked Edna if she were coming back to stay at hour house after dinner. She was not. Well, then -- it hardly made sense for them to schlep all the way from Hallandale -- let's meet at the TOP Italian place in Florida -- which is Downtown. Edna made the reservations.
Alas - I made a strategic mistake. Miami's always tough traffic is worse this week -- all the rich and wannabee rich folks are here for Art Basel. And, I also forgot, the stretch of Biscayne Boulevard in front of the place, Il Gabbiano, is under construction.
Wifey and I stopped off at Baptist to visit her ancient Mom. My suegra is living out the typical health care deal -- uses most of the resources in the last part of life. She's been in Baptist all week with a raging UTI. I thought it might have signaled the end, but the tough old crocodile is improving -- she was mostly coherent during our visit, and is set to be moved to rehab on Monday. I think it's time for the awful graduation from ALF to Nursing Home, but I guess the layers of administrators, doctors, therapists, social workers, and others will make the call.
We left Baptist for Downtown -- going against traffic, it should have been a 25-30 minute drive. Ha. As if. Even with Waze taking me off the Dolphin and along the Miami River -- it took 1.5 hours. The worst was when I tried to get from Flagler and Biscayne to the restaurant -- total gridlock. I sneaked in to the Intercontinental Hotel lot, north of the restaurant, and slipped into a free space. Valet cost $20 -- my parking ticket $18. So at least that was a small win.
Wifey and I walked the block to the restaurant. The City was truly buzzing. Bright, colored lights were everywhere. The contrast to staid, boring Charlotte, where I was last weekend, was stark.
You either can't stand Miami or love it. I was talking with Mike's sister Jeannine, who was born and raised here, about it. She now lives up in Stuart, and asks when I plan to make the move. I told her if I couldn't live in Miami Dade, I wouldn't live in Florida. The rest of the state for me -- blah. Ok, maybe Key West...
Anyway, we found a place at the bar, and watched the crowd flow in -- very international, and very colorful. An Asian man next to me was wearing a powder blue suit painted with flowers. He was clearly either an art gallery owner, or Basel customer.
Edna and Marc were likewise traffic stumped. We were to meet at 7 -- they arrived at 745. Wifey left our table and went outside to traffic controller them into the restaurant. We sat outside, right where the Miami River meets the Bay. A cool breeze blew. It was magical.
The food was, as usual, outstanding. Edna and Marc loved it. Edna leaned back, closed her eyes, and drank in the breeze. No one minded the traffic then.
We left, and Wifey wanted to walk up the Brickell Bridge, to show the awesome view, but Edna had the wrong shoes, so we all just walked back to the Intercontinental. They had used the valet, so I waited -- we had to transfer some furnishings Edna had bought to their car - and it was lovely -- watching the young, beautiful people walk by, seeing the Centrust Building change its colors...
The traffic home was light -- ain't no one fighting to get to Pinecrest at 11 pm. We got home, and I made Wifey and I some nigh time tea -- we sat on our porch and drank, and talked of life, and love and family -- how lucky we are.
Yes -- traffic can clog your life, but often the destination is worth the hassle --especially if there's a martini or two waiting at journey's end.
Alas - I made a strategic mistake. Miami's always tough traffic is worse this week -- all the rich and wannabee rich folks are here for Art Basel. And, I also forgot, the stretch of Biscayne Boulevard in front of the place, Il Gabbiano, is under construction.
Wifey and I stopped off at Baptist to visit her ancient Mom. My suegra is living out the typical health care deal -- uses most of the resources in the last part of life. She's been in Baptist all week with a raging UTI. I thought it might have signaled the end, but the tough old crocodile is improving -- she was mostly coherent during our visit, and is set to be moved to rehab on Monday. I think it's time for the awful graduation from ALF to Nursing Home, but I guess the layers of administrators, doctors, therapists, social workers, and others will make the call.
We left Baptist for Downtown -- going against traffic, it should have been a 25-30 minute drive. Ha. As if. Even with Waze taking me off the Dolphin and along the Miami River -- it took 1.5 hours. The worst was when I tried to get from Flagler and Biscayne to the restaurant -- total gridlock. I sneaked in to the Intercontinental Hotel lot, north of the restaurant, and slipped into a free space. Valet cost $20 -- my parking ticket $18. So at least that was a small win.
Wifey and I walked the block to the restaurant. The City was truly buzzing. Bright, colored lights were everywhere. The contrast to staid, boring Charlotte, where I was last weekend, was stark.
You either can't stand Miami or love it. I was talking with Mike's sister Jeannine, who was born and raised here, about it. She now lives up in Stuart, and asks when I plan to make the move. I told her if I couldn't live in Miami Dade, I wouldn't live in Florida. The rest of the state for me -- blah. Ok, maybe Key West...
Anyway, we found a place at the bar, and watched the crowd flow in -- very international, and very colorful. An Asian man next to me was wearing a powder blue suit painted with flowers. He was clearly either an art gallery owner, or Basel customer.
Edna and Marc were likewise traffic stumped. We were to meet at 7 -- they arrived at 745. Wifey left our table and went outside to traffic controller them into the restaurant. We sat outside, right where the Miami River meets the Bay. A cool breeze blew. It was magical.
The food was, as usual, outstanding. Edna and Marc loved it. Edna leaned back, closed her eyes, and drank in the breeze. No one minded the traffic then.
We left, and Wifey wanted to walk up the Brickell Bridge, to show the awesome view, but Edna had the wrong shoes, so we all just walked back to the Intercontinental. They had used the valet, so I waited -- we had to transfer some furnishings Edna had bought to their car - and it was lovely -- watching the young, beautiful people walk by, seeing the Centrust Building change its colors...
The traffic home was light -- ain't no one fighting to get to Pinecrest at 11 pm. We got home, and I made Wifey and I some nigh time tea -- we sat on our porch and drank, and talked of life, and love and family -- how lucky we are.
Yes -- traffic can clog your life, but often the destination is worth the hassle --especially if there's a martini or two waiting at journey's end.
Friday, December 8, 2017
Living in the Tropical Jungle
Now that the debris from Irma is gone, and the temperatures are mercifully cooler, I have resumed my daily constitutionals around the 'hood. Regarding temperatures -- it's supposed to get mercifully cooler this weekend, but this am belied that -- the walk was hot and sweaty.
The peafowl have really taken over. We would see them occasionally, but now they're everywhere. And, as Wifey pointed out, they have no fear of humans. Flocks of them stroll around, like, well, peacocks. They let the leashed dogs get to within a foot or so before they squawk off. We're lucky -- they still avoid our yard on account of our infestation of dogs, but I see another neighbor uprising coming.
They're non native but somehow protected by law. I'm guessing self help will prevail -- and we'll soon smell backyard grills cooking these pavos royales (royal turkeys). I bet they taste like, well, turkey...
Today Wifey decided to come along, and she broke out the comical dog stroller she bought. Our special needs Spaniel Bo can't walk long distances, so every 1/8 mile or so Wifey puts him into a stroller. After he rests, he whines to get out, and then join us like a real dog.
As we turned a corner, Bo darted for something. We saw it was a land crab -- critters that walk about a few times per year. The crab tried to snap at Bo's nose, but thankfully he pulled back in time, avoiding Spaniel injury. I swear the crab gave us a middle claw as he scampered away...
The walks never get boring for me. We've lived here now nearly 17 years, so often the memories keep me company as I walk around.
Today we passed the original Devonwood house -- called the Warwick Estate, after the fellow who built the first house, in 1923. I remember taking my Mom around, in a scooter I rented for her, and pointing that house to her. "Big deal, " she said , "I was born in 1920, so I'm more historic." She was, of course, correct.
Meanwhile, D1 flew out of town yesterday, to Orlaaaaaaado, as we call it, after the great "Book of Mormon" song. She was invited to the MLB Winter Meetings, as team dietitian for the Marlins. Joey and their dear couple friends Alyssa and Freddy are driving up today, to attend Harry Potter World, and then all come home together.
D2 is at the corporate wheel -- due back home two weeks from this Sunday. It'll be great to have her and Jonathan here -- I'm told NYC is getting its first snow today, and by late December my tropical daughter will be ready for a warm up...
Tonight Wifey and I are meeting her BFF Edna and her man Marc at Il Gabbiano. The name is Italian for "Very expensive but worth every penny Italian restaurant." It truly is -- may be the best restaurant in the state.
And tomorrow, we're meeting them again, along with Paul and Patricia, at Gulfstream, for lunch. Edna has never been -- we'll hopefully win enough money for her next vacation.
But in the mean time, I'll keep walking. I'll see what new fauna awaits.
The peafowl have really taken over. We would see them occasionally, but now they're everywhere. And, as Wifey pointed out, they have no fear of humans. Flocks of them stroll around, like, well, peacocks. They let the leashed dogs get to within a foot or so before they squawk off. We're lucky -- they still avoid our yard on account of our infestation of dogs, but I see another neighbor uprising coming.
They're non native but somehow protected by law. I'm guessing self help will prevail -- and we'll soon smell backyard grills cooking these pavos royales (royal turkeys). I bet they taste like, well, turkey...
Today Wifey decided to come along, and she broke out the comical dog stroller she bought. Our special needs Spaniel Bo can't walk long distances, so every 1/8 mile or so Wifey puts him into a stroller. After he rests, he whines to get out, and then join us like a real dog.
As we turned a corner, Bo darted for something. We saw it was a land crab -- critters that walk about a few times per year. The crab tried to snap at Bo's nose, but thankfully he pulled back in time, avoiding Spaniel injury. I swear the crab gave us a middle claw as he scampered away...
The walks never get boring for me. We've lived here now nearly 17 years, so often the memories keep me company as I walk around.
Today we passed the original Devonwood house -- called the Warwick Estate, after the fellow who built the first house, in 1923. I remember taking my Mom around, in a scooter I rented for her, and pointing that house to her. "Big deal, " she said , "I was born in 1920, so I'm more historic." She was, of course, correct.
Meanwhile, D1 flew out of town yesterday, to Orlaaaaaaado, as we call it, after the great "Book of Mormon" song. She was invited to the MLB Winter Meetings, as team dietitian for the Marlins. Joey and their dear couple friends Alyssa and Freddy are driving up today, to attend Harry Potter World, and then all come home together.
D2 is at the corporate wheel -- due back home two weeks from this Sunday. It'll be great to have her and Jonathan here -- I'm told NYC is getting its first snow today, and by late December my tropical daughter will be ready for a warm up...
Tonight Wifey and I are meeting her BFF Edna and her man Marc at Il Gabbiano. The name is Italian for "Very expensive but worth every penny Italian restaurant." It truly is -- may be the best restaurant in the state.
And tomorrow, we're meeting them again, along with Paul and Patricia, at Gulfstream, for lunch. Edna has never been -- we'll hopefully win enough money for her next vacation.
But in the mean time, I'll keep walking. I'll see what new fauna awaits.
Wednesday, December 6, 2017
Other Sports
My friend and office roommate Joel calls me the "blue collar Jew." He grew up pretty well off, in Pinecrest, with many Jewish friends (he's Italian) and most of his buddies were the sons of professionals or business owners. His Dad was a well known criminal defense lawyer -- still is -- but a divorce put a crimp in the family finances, and he was always one of the poorer kids in his group.
I grew up on LI with some Jewish friends, but most were either Italian or Irish, or a mixture of the two. And my friends' fathers were NYC firemen, or teachers, or insurance agents with poorer clients. My beloved father was a salesman who did well, but not doctor or lawyer level.
I guess most of my sensibilities from an early age are therefore more "blue collar." It's certainly true of sports. At heart, I believe there are four -- baseball, football, basketball, and hockey. Soccer and tennis, well --- not so much.
Of course, I realize I'm in the minority. Most of the world thinks soccer is a huge deal. During our last football trip, one of our number, Peter, who grew up in Buffalo but married a Dutch woman, dragged Mike and me to a pub to watch an Arsenal match. Mike and I spent most of the games making fun of it -- and Peter was down, as the Arsenal lost.
Today, I see in the Herald that there is "grave danger" that a major tennis tournament, which used to be called the Lipton, after the tea company, may leave Miami Dade. It was played for years at a stadium on Key Biscayne, and voters decided in '12 to make it bigger and better. The problem was, there is still a dude in town named Mathison, whose family gifted the land to the County, but kept provisions intact -- namely, that the land remain a park. I guess Mathison was cool with the initial stadium, but not the bigger one, and he sued to prevent it and won. Good for him.
So then, the tournament announced it was moving to the former Joe Robbie Stadium -- the Fins' owner Steve Ross wants it there. Well -- again not so fast. The mayor said the tournament still owes the County fees from years past, and maybe they ought to settle up. The tournament said no, and now may leave. I say -- don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.
Again -- my prejudice comes from my childhood. I played Little League, and one of my coaches was a Mr. Siefert. His boys Jimmy and Tommy were on the team. Jimmy was a gifted athlete, but really preferred tennis to the National Pastime. I still remember his father chiding him when he dogged a play -- "So Jimmy -- you'd rather play TENNIS?" He said the sport name like it was gay sex. It stuck with me.
The news also gins up controversy about the great Beckham's problems in building his stadium for a pro soccer team. Again -- I couldn't care less.
My views are provincial and simplistic -- blue collar, in effect. Joel is right.
I grew up on LI with some Jewish friends, but most were either Italian or Irish, or a mixture of the two. And my friends' fathers were NYC firemen, or teachers, or insurance agents with poorer clients. My beloved father was a salesman who did well, but not doctor or lawyer level.
I guess most of my sensibilities from an early age are therefore more "blue collar." It's certainly true of sports. At heart, I believe there are four -- baseball, football, basketball, and hockey. Soccer and tennis, well --- not so much.
Of course, I realize I'm in the minority. Most of the world thinks soccer is a huge deal. During our last football trip, one of our number, Peter, who grew up in Buffalo but married a Dutch woman, dragged Mike and me to a pub to watch an Arsenal match. Mike and I spent most of the games making fun of it -- and Peter was down, as the Arsenal lost.
Today, I see in the Herald that there is "grave danger" that a major tennis tournament, which used to be called the Lipton, after the tea company, may leave Miami Dade. It was played for years at a stadium on Key Biscayne, and voters decided in '12 to make it bigger and better. The problem was, there is still a dude in town named Mathison, whose family gifted the land to the County, but kept provisions intact -- namely, that the land remain a park. I guess Mathison was cool with the initial stadium, but not the bigger one, and he sued to prevent it and won. Good for him.
So then, the tournament announced it was moving to the former Joe Robbie Stadium -- the Fins' owner Steve Ross wants it there. Well -- again not so fast. The mayor said the tournament still owes the County fees from years past, and maybe they ought to settle up. The tournament said no, and now may leave. I say -- don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.
Again -- my prejudice comes from my childhood. I played Little League, and one of my coaches was a Mr. Siefert. His boys Jimmy and Tommy were on the team. Jimmy was a gifted athlete, but really preferred tennis to the National Pastime. I still remember his father chiding him when he dogged a play -- "So Jimmy -- you'd rather play TENNIS?" He said the sport name like it was gay sex. It stuck with me.
The news also gins up controversy about the great Beckham's problems in building his stadium for a pro soccer team. Again -- I couldn't care less.
My views are provincial and simplistic -- blue collar, in effect. Joel is right.
Monday, December 4, 2017
Other Than THAT, Mrs. Lincoln...
So Friday I left Wifey to deal with a missing car key, for my car, and I called Uber for a ride to MIA. That was an initial fail -- the driver, Marta, just couldn't figure out how to get in my 'hood, and in violation of Uber's agreement with Miami Dade, spoke ZERO English. I tried and tried to guide her in, and finally gave up. Uber charged me $5 for the canceled trip, just small enough that I didn't bother to try to contact them to give them hell. Jose came, two minutes later, and got the job done with his spotless Honda...
My flight was packed with Canes -- probably 80% of the passengers. When we landed a large fellow led a spirited "We got some Canes over here..." I Ubered from CLT, with a very nice Croatian fellow who told me about his troubled native country. Mike and Jeannine were waiting in the lobby of the South Park (Ha!) hotel. We retired to the bar, and had the first of many toasts.
The hotel was in a very nice section of Charlotte -- offices, and a mall, and apartments. We strolled around,and I coined the neologism neutron bomb-y. There seemed to be zero people! It was a bit spooky, and we returned to our rooms for an afternoon nap.
At 8 we walked to Del Frisco's, and there were plenty of people. It's an enormous restaurant, and it was buzzing. We were seated, and had martinis and apps, and waited for Peter, our law school classmate who was on a later, delayed flight. He joined us, we ate good but not outstanding steaks, and had a lovely evening, capped by a night cap at the hotel bar.
Saturday am Mike and I took a brisk walk around the area. Again -- very neutron bomb-y. But it was cool and gray, as Carolina is in the Fall and winter, and we found a Xmas display outside the Coca Cola building. Mike kneeled to ask for help for our Canes that night.
Peter, in some strange twist, also loves soccer, and is a big Arsenal fan, which is apparently a team from England. He got into the boring game when he lived there. He found an Irish pub called Ri Ra on the internet, and we drove there sans Jeanine, to watch the match. Sure enough, the place was packed, both with Arsenal and their opponent Man U fans. We had a Guinness and watched -- turned out to be a pretty good game, though Arsenal had no arsenal, and lost.
But, we realized we had found a great place to park for the nights main activity, and we returned to the hotel, to leave a few hours later. It was time for the big event.
We parked, and had a pregame at Ri Ra, and then walked the mile to the stadium. Canes fans and Clemson fans were everywhere. The city had a street blocked off with music and food trucks. It was nice, but showed that most towns are truly minor league compared to Miami when it comes to hosting a big party.
We got to the stadium, and folks were lining up to get in. Mike had a ticket issue, and had to see the office to get a replacement. We went up to the Club, which is like Joe Robbie's Club but not as plush, and chatted with our fellow Canes.
Then the game happened and we lost 38-0. There were no Canes, anywhere.
We walked back to the car after the 3rd quarter. An evangelist was preaching on a street corner, about the coming End Times. Mike suggested we kick his ass. That brought a big laugh.
Back to the hotel, and somber Canes fans. Hey -- still a great season -- we knew we'd get the Orange Bowl. Clemson is just who our team was -- big and fast -- and who we are trying to become again. What are ya gonna do?
Sunday am we met for excellent coffee at part of the neutron bomb-y street, near Del Frisco's. Jeanine had an earlier flight, and Peter wanted to do work.
Mike and I left, and headed to the Levine Museum of the New South. It turned out to be a very well put together small museum. Turns out that James Duke was America's second richest person in 1900.
They had lunch counters, and busses, and all sorts of inventive civil rights displays, along with writings about music and how the New Deal really sparked the South's rise -- presaging the booming Sun Belt revival of the 80s.
We enjoyed it, and then asked the lady at the front where we might get lunch and watch NFL football -- she pointed us to Duckworth's two blocks up. It turned out to be an excellent sports bar, with TVs showing every game. We told the host "Dolphins" and he plopped us beneath a tv showing our team.
They played great -- beating the Broncos.
After the game, we returned Mike's rental Kia van and returned to CLT. Pete is a member of the Admiral's Club, and got we non members in..
The flight home was fine.
All in all, a fun weekend. Except for one thing...
My flight was packed with Canes -- probably 80% of the passengers. When we landed a large fellow led a spirited "We got some Canes over here..." I Ubered from CLT, with a very nice Croatian fellow who told me about his troubled native country. Mike and Jeannine were waiting in the lobby of the South Park (Ha!) hotel. We retired to the bar, and had the first of many toasts.
The hotel was in a very nice section of Charlotte -- offices, and a mall, and apartments. We strolled around,and I coined the neologism neutron bomb-y. There seemed to be zero people! It was a bit spooky, and we returned to our rooms for an afternoon nap.
At 8 we walked to Del Frisco's, and there were plenty of people. It's an enormous restaurant, and it was buzzing. We were seated, and had martinis and apps, and waited for Peter, our law school classmate who was on a later, delayed flight. He joined us, we ate good but not outstanding steaks, and had a lovely evening, capped by a night cap at the hotel bar.
Saturday am Mike and I took a brisk walk around the area. Again -- very neutron bomb-y. But it was cool and gray, as Carolina is in the Fall and winter, and we found a Xmas display outside the Coca Cola building. Mike kneeled to ask for help for our Canes that night.
Peter, in some strange twist, also loves soccer, and is a big Arsenal fan, which is apparently a team from England. He got into the boring game when he lived there. He found an Irish pub called Ri Ra on the internet, and we drove there sans Jeanine, to watch the match. Sure enough, the place was packed, both with Arsenal and their opponent Man U fans. We had a Guinness and watched -- turned out to be a pretty good game, though Arsenal had no arsenal, and lost.
But, we realized we had found a great place to park for the nights main activity, and we returned to the hotel, to leave a few hours later. It was time for the big event.
We parked, and had a pregame at Ri Ra, and then walked the mile to the stadium. Canes fans and Clemson fans were everywhere. The city had a street blocked off with music and food trucks. It was nice, but showed that most towns are truly minor league compared to Miami when it comes to hosting a big party.
We got to the stadium, and folks were lining up to get in. Mike had a ticket issue, and had to see the office to get a replacement. We went up to the Club, which is like Joe Robbie's Club but not as plush, and chatted with our fellow Canes.
Then the game happened and we lost 38-0. There were no Canes, anywhere.
We walked back to the car after the 3rd quarter. An evangelist was preaching on a street corner, about the coming End Times. Mike suggested we kick his ass. That brought a big laugh.
Back to the hotel, and somber Canes fans. Hey -- still a great season -- we knew we'd get the Orange Bowl. Clemson is just who our team was -- big and fast -- and who we are trying to become again. What are ya gonna do?
Sunday am we met for excellent coffee at part of the neutron bomb-y street, near Del Frisco's. Jeanine had an earlier flight, and Peter wanted to do work.
Mike and I left, and headed to the Levine Museum of the New South. It turned out to be a very well put together small museum. Turns out that James Duke was America's second richest person in 1900.
They had lunch counters, and busses, and all sorts of inventive civil rights displays, along with writings about music and how the New Deal really sparked the South's rise -- presaging the booming Sun Belt revival of the 80s.
We enjoyed it, and then asked the lady at the front where we might get lunch and watch NFL football -- she pointed us to Duckworth's two blocks up. It turned out to be an excellent sports bar, with TVs showing every game. We told the host "Dolphins" and he plopped us beneath a tv showing our team.
They played great -- beating the Broncos.
After the game, we returned Mike's rental Kia van and returned to CLT. Pete is a member of the Admiral's Club, and got we non members in..
The flight home was fine.
All in all, a fun weekend. Except for one thing...
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