Having the Ds Both Here

So we fetched D2 on Memorial Day, and have been enjoying a great week with her here. On Tuesday I took her to Brickell, and lunch at Casa Tua, the excellent new food court across from my office. She took my car and met her sister for the mandatory sister mani/pedis, followed by dinner with her sister and brother in law.  I hitched a ride home with John, and it was a nice opportunity to catch up with him.

Yesterday D2 implored me to put on workout clothes, and I complied, and we took off on a lovely 6.5 mile bike ride. We went south, to the Deering Estate property, over the Chinese bridge. We stopped at the Starbucks near Deering, and had a lovely how's life? talk.  Then we came home, changed, and were off to the Health District, to watch D1 give a nutrition talk in the newly opened Jackson Food Hall (these things are popping up all over Miami).

D1 was fighting a cold, but was a trooper -- went on like she was fine. Dr. Barry joined us, and I forced him to have a cocktail with me. D1's longtime friend Brian was there -- he's finishing up Internal Medicine residency, and wants to become a GI doc. He loved chatting with Barry -- Brian's program director is Barry'd dear friend, and we had a delightful evening surrounded by accomplished young people.

Today is a rainy day, again, and D2 and I are simply hanging about, as the Brits say. She's leaving later for a dinner on Brickell with some old friends. Tomorrow D2 and I are actually taking an exercise class together -- a novel activity for us. We're then meeting D1 and Joey in the Gables for our secular Shabbat dinner.

I absolutely love having both Ds home. We're blessed with our closeness.  She's here until Sunday, and I plan to savor the remaining days. We're then headed to NYC in July -- D2's man Jonathan's sister is getting married in Jersey.

And as a great bonus, Eric and Dana will be there the same weekend, as will Barry and his crew. Barry's boy Scott is interning in NYC this summer.  We plan to have a great reunion the Saturday we all have free.

So maybe there's something better for an empty nester than having the baby birds back in the nest, but if there  is, I don't know what it is...

Everything's Quiet on Memorial Day

So I arose early and met Norman for a fine catch up with life breakfast at LOL. He was headed into the office afterwards -- I headed home, to spend a quiet morning awaiting the arrival of D2.  Big Man and AA willing, she's due in around 2:30, and I plan to fetch her with the special needs Spaniel Bo in tow.  We get her for an entire week, and that makes me happy.

But it's Memorial Day, and I'm reflecting on all of those who died so we can have this amazing life. Fortunately, no one in my family or close circle merits mention today. My Dad served over four years during WW II, but thankfully emerged very much alive, to start our family in The Bronx. My brother in law Dennis served in the USAF during Vietnam, but was always safely away from the line of fire. These two are honored on Veteran's Day -- Memorial Day is for the war dead.

I vaguely remember, during the 60s, a neighborhood family mourning the loss of a Vietnam vet son who was shipped home. It was a big deal -- a friend of my parents' friend, I think.

My only close connection to the military are my friends John and Kenny -- John was a USAF fighter pilot during peace time, and Kenny a flight surgeon in the Navy. Kenny actually was, technically, in battle -- he served on the USS Saratoga during the Gulf War. His patients included the fellow shot down during the war.  But, thankfully, Kenny's closest calls came during leave in Majorca and Cartegena, and were not military related...

I still think of what it must be like to lose someone.  It'll become more personal in less than two weeks -- we land in Paris, and then rent a car to drive to Normandy. We have some tours arranged -- Band of Brothers-type things, and will walk upon the hallowed ground of the D Day Invasion.  But for the grace of the Big Man, my Dad could have been there. He had a closer call late in the War  --due to be shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where he almost certainly wouldn't have returned. Thankfully, the intervention of a Landsman colonel sent him back to California instead.

I find I can no longer tolerate listening to the president at all. If I'm channel surfing, and he's on, I change the channel as quickly as I used to as a kid when I came upon a soap opera. He's a draft dodger, and stands on a podium talking about leading the military. It's insulting. Sadly, many in the military seem to be ok with him. I don't get it at all.

So I'm most thankful today for the sacrifices of those who died for us. A catchy FaceBook (tm) post said "You may not know them all, but you owe them all."  It's true.

I never forget I'm just a few generations removed from a people living in Eastern Europe, scared of the pogroms of the Czar.  I never knew my great grandparents, but I know they had a dream -- someday their kids' kids' kids might live as we do now.  And I'm thankful for the sacrifice of those who allowed it to be.

And I Wonder...Still I Wonder

It's been raining -- a lot, lately.  Apparently there's a subtropical storm passing over the Gulf named Alberto, and it's washed out the Memorial Day weekend. For Miami Beach, that's probably a good thing, as each year all the "Urban Beach Weekend" tourists seem to kill at least one of their number -- maybe the rain is keeping them inside and safer...

We had no weather dependent plans. Friday we drove to D1's in laws for a wonderful shabbat dinner.  We fetched D1 and her spoiled Spaniel, and as we were early, stopped to check the progress of her and Joey's new house under construction.  The 18 houses are nearly complete, and I pointed out to D1 where her new mailbox would be. She freaked.  What -- no door to door delivery? I explained that about 10 years ago, the US Postal Service came up with a new rule -- all new developments got communal mailboxes, to make delivery more efficient.  D1 was pissed -- she looked forward, after years of dealing with apartment personnel messing up her mail -- to the simplicity of at home delivery.  Not going to happen, I explained -- major, major first world problem. She will endure...

Her in laws live 6 blocks away, in a 'hood I never visited. I've passed by on the 79th Street Causeway, and they live north of that road, before you get to Biscayne Blvd. It's a lovely enclave, and they found a fully renovated house there. We toasted -- Joey tossed each of us our challah as is Sephardic tradition, and we enjoyed the evening fully. D1 won the in law lottery...

Wifey and I headed home, in the rain.  Saturday we were invited to visit old friends Lili and Jeff. Their eldest Melinda, in grad school at Yale, had gotten engaged to a camp friend, Tom, an Israeli guy. We had met him before, but never really got to know him. Yesterday we toasted their engagement -- the wedding is set for January -- and spent a lovely few hours sipping some Middleton whisky I brought over.

Wifey and I then headed to Shorty's, the venerable barbecue place, and enjoyed dinner before the crowd came. From there, we figured we'd dispose of our suegra visiting duties, and we did. I wheeled the old woman outside under a patio roof, and D2 and Jonathan joined us on FaceTime (tm). Rachel's dementia is increasing -- her short term memory is about gone -- she asked over and over the same questions, and told stories 10 times -- but she was in a happy mood. A Jamaican nurse named Grace came outside to give her some pain meds, and the two shared some cookies. Grace really digs my mother in law -- her very strong spirit.

We came home, also in the rain, and it continues today. It is a fine Sunday to stay in, and read, and watch old movies -- Wifey always lures me in with stuff she knows I enjoy -- earlier it was a biopic about J.D. Salinger.

And tomorrow D2 is coming home! I'll fetch her, weather permitting, around two, and we get her for an entire week. Jonathan comes Wednesday, and the two are checking into a  mid Beach hotel Saturday to attend a friend's wedding.

I look forward to spoiling my girl -- there'll be Daddy eggs in bed, accompanied by the Special Needs Spaniel and strange rescue mutt.

I think D1 and Joey are coming by tomorrow, too, to help welcome the Greenwich Villager back to the 305.

So let it rain, let it rain.  With D2 coming home, I got sunshine on a cloudy day...

Oh, I Hear Sirens in the Rain

So I went out for my morning constitutional, even though the skies were threatening.  Apparently I'm supposed to, at the minimum, walk multiple miles each day.  So I took a plastic bag for my phone, and off I went, into the happily not sweltering morning.

I caught up with Paul, and then D1 clicked in, telling me horror stories about the stupid new Brightline train that runs right outside her apartment. The thing sounds its, um, train horn beginning at 630 each morning, not only waking her but shaking her apartment so forcefully it wakes you with anxiety. 

I'm smelling some major litigation -- as this train boondoggle depresses property values all up and down the S Fla corridor, especially to the gentrifying areas near the FEC tracks.  Happily, D1 and Joey should be moving by late Summer, and their new house seems to be far enough East of the tracks that their torturer won't have an effect -- though their in laws, living in Morningside, indeed do hear the whistles...

I was ambling down 131 Street, and a light rain began. All of a sudden, I heard a very rare sound in my 'hood -- a police siren. I looked around, and sure enough, a Pinecrest patrol car was speeding -- right towards me. It pulled in front.  I made sure to hold my cellphone very visibly.  The officer jumped out -- no gun drawn.  "Sir -- did you call in a medical emergency?"  I answered that I did not -- but apparently the house right where I was standing did.  He wished me good day, and right behind him there was a MDC firetruck.  They were going inside a house where I thought the people had moved. I hope it's not too serious.

I continued my walk.  All of a sudden, the skies opened.  I put the phone into the baggie, and rambled on.  It wasn't torrential, like a summer storm, but rather pissing down, as the Brits say. I true soaking rain.

It felt delightful.  I passed a neighbor, under his overhang, and he yelled "Hey --it's raining you know!"  We both laughed.  I was totally soaked -- but the temperature was perfect, and I felt like I was taking a vigorous, public shower.

I neared my house.  Neighbors Monica and Steve were outside on their porch, enjoying the shower.  "Hey Dave -- you do know it's raining, right?"  Yes, I responded, another neighbor informed me a block past.  We laughed, too.

I got to my door and stripped off all my clothes, walking inside totally naked to Wifey's laughter. I pre-empted her -- yes, I know, it was raining.

It occurred to me that getting caught in the rain, especially when you're wearing workout clothes, is a true pleasure.  You feel like you're a king of the world, and the Big Man is washing you, surrounded by glorious nature.

I need to start walks under threatening skies more often.

Home Sweet Office

I don't enjoy moving too much. After Andrew forced us to move from our "mistroyed" house, as D1 called it, to an apartment on Brickell Key, then to my in law's house, and back to the rebuilt house all in less than 2 years, I had it with moving. We've lived in Villa Wifey nearly 18 years.

The same goes for my office. We started out in the then named CenTrust Building, with its pretty night colors, but then Quantum, the office service company, went bankrupt. We were told to get out, but my master negotiator partner Paul told the company no way, and we ended up as squatters there for about 5 months, along with our new found friend Mark Seiden, and stayed rent free.

From there, we were asked to come become tenants of our bank, SunTrust, and moved into first floor space on Brickell. It was Spring of 1996. We signed a long term lease, and we had to write them every three years to exercise an option. I blew past that, and they booted us in '08 in order to put in Trulucks, which is a far better use of the space anyway. And SunTrust moved us to the 4th floor, paid all expenses, and we signed a new lease then --'08.

In 2010 our friend Stuart took over the daily operations, and his Dad Bill was charged with keeping track of the lease. He did so, especially after I cautioned him about remembering to send in those every three year option letters.  The last of those was sent in last summer -- telling SunTrust we would exercise our final option, to stay from '18 through '21.  At that point, the lease ends, and the sweetheart rent deal Paul negotiated (we currently pay about 60% of the going Brickell rate) will end.

Not so fast.  Within the past few months, we started getting calls from brokers, asking what our future plans would be. Nothing for three years, we'd respond. But they were onto something.

I learned yesterday that our sublease with the bank is contingent on their master lease with the building's owner. When we moved, the owner was Met Life, I think, but a few years ago they sold to some mysterious Brazilian consortium.  Turns out that SunTrust is getting out of dodge -- they're ditching as much of their South Florida real estate holdings as they can, as they now corporately reside in Richmond, Virginia.  In our building, I'm told, they currently hold 100K feet. They want to keep less than 20K of that, and the new owners are happy to comply.

Our building is on the water on Brickell, and on a huge parcel. When it was built, in the 80s, it made sense. But now with the Manhattanization of Miami, a 12 story building on such a big lot is a waste -- apparently the Brazilians are looking to raze the thing and put up 60 stories.

Nothing is set yet, but I spoke to my friend Alex, whose health care consulting company shares our 4th floor -- they have 75% of the space. He told me yesterday they believe we're being booted sometime in '19 -- his company is already looking to move to Dadeland or Doral, where rents are much cheaper. His company read the tea leaves months ago -- they have a contact inside the building's leasing company.

We've been in the building for 22 years. The memories have been mostly wonderful. Laughter, drama, and making some serious shekels.  We took working class Cubanas, greatly in debt, and sent them out with enough money to start their own businesses.  We made and cemented great friendships. We discovered traitorous people, and swept them from our lives.  And, like Marvin Hamlisch wrote, it is the laughter we will remember...

So for now, we'll soldier on. We have some major cases coming up, including a med mal one where the insurer for the hospital is stupidly offering only $1M. Stuart and John are set to try it in July, with our behind the scenes help, and I truly believe it will result in an EIGHT figure verdict. It will be the biggest of John and Stuart's career, and be a fitting swan song to our time in the building.

I guess in '19, we'll figure out what is next. Just yesterday, a long time consultant and friend named John visited me. I introduced him to our newest sub/sub/sub tenant Victor, who is the former head of ICE's legal department, and now handling white collar crimes. Joel brought him in , and the two of them are working together on some kind of international money laundering case -- somehow linked to El Chapo.

But Victor and Joel and Vince came in, along with John. We all busted balls for awhile -- very politically incorrectly making fun of our Irish, Italian, Mexican, and Jewish ethnicities.  Many of the jokes centered around cliches about the endowments, financial and otherwise, of our various peoples.  High level stuff...

As John and I walked to lunch, he told me he was jealous -- he was still a cop, and many of his colleagues were assholes. Wow, I thought, when you think of a true fraternity of grown men, you think a police force was the epitome of one.  No, John said -- he lacked a group of really smart and still funny "good guys" to interact with daily.

So when our leasehold ends, that's what I'll miss the most. But who knows? Maybe life holds even better stuff down the road...

The Wisdom of Uncle Abe

My favorite uncle died years ago -- Abe. He was my Mom's sister Lorraine's husband, and like my Dad, a WWII veteran who came back from the "big one" and made a wonderful life for himself and his family.  He and Lorraine moved from the Bronx to Spring Valley, in Rockland County, and Abe and his brother started a prosperous business -- coin laundries all over the place, which they installed, serviced, and most importantly, collected the money.

Abe and Lorraine raised 4 kids, all classic Boomers. The oldest became a hippie and never left the life -- married to a former college professor who dropped out of regular life and started a farm. I think they still live in rural North Carolina.  The husband, Marty, was actually on FaceBook, and we became friends, but I realized something -- his posts were increasingly anti Israel -- to the point I unfriended him.

That made me recall the words of Uncle Abe, who told me that in his experience, some of the worst anti Semites are Jews. Lately, his words resound with me quite a lot.

Trump moved the US embassy to Jerusalem. I really can't care less about that. But coincidental to that, the Arabs celebrate Nakba, or their day of catastrophe, marking their stunning loss to Israel for control of a New Jersey-sized lump of land. And in Gaza, controlled by Hamas, they sent thousands to try to breach the fence and enter Israel -- including 25 known terrorists. The IDF, badasses they are, killed 50 of them. And so the FaceBook posts began, about awful Israel.

It's funny -- neighboring Lebanon, a Muslim county abutting Israel, has 500k Palestinians. They have no rights -- can't own land, go to college, etc...And yet we never hear about that -- only how the mean Israelis treat the Palis in Gaza -- land Israel gave back to them 9 years ago.

I almost don't mind when I read about non Jews criticizing Israel. They often come up with the line "I'm not anti Semitic, just anti Zionist." Bullshit. You can't be one without the other -- if you really care about international rights -- there are plenty of places to place your sympathy other than the Jewish state. But that's ok.

What puts my briefs in a twist is Jews who ought to know better who criticize the Jewish homeland.  Debate whether Bibi is a bad actor inside the family -- fine. But when they publicly add fuel to the anti semitic/anti Israel fire?

My in laws knew first hand what genocide is about -- they lost most of their families to the death camps -- just for being Jews.

But my mother in law's one lingering physical injury came from a fellow Jew -- a kapo, or collaborator, in a camp. This bastard smacked her so hard when she refused a double kitchen shift that she lost her hearing in one ear -- later to become fully deaf.

Years ago, she was his picture in a national Survivor picture -- he was living in Australia. She asked Wifey to call the Melbourne, or Sidney police about him. We placated her, but realized it would be pointless.

But that cut was the cruelest -- and has a lot to do with my detesting tribe members who are anti Israel.

My DNA testing, done at D1's request, showed I have more than the usual amount of Italian blood than the average American Ashkenazi. Maybe that informs my philosophy -- you don't speak ill of the "family."

There's plenty of hate from outside. We don't need to feed it from within.

Everything's Quiet on Mother's Day

So MD for me actually lasted the weekend. Saturday Mirta and I biked 5 miles to South Miami, and secured a table at the newly opened deli Hank and Harry's. We were joined by Paul and Alex and the two grandkids, and Wifey made a surprise appearance.

After lunch, Wifey left for errands, Mirta and I biked back, and later Paul and Alex and the kids came by -- for some more fun and a bath in our enormous tub, which has gotten more use in the last year than it has in the 18 years prior.

All left, and I took my favorite kind of nap -- the one surrounded by dogs, as baseball drones on the TV.  Wifey left for the Grove, where she was volunteering for a big fundraiser for her charity Paws4You, which runs a no kill shelter for hard to adopt dogs.  The guest was some "Real Housewives of NY" Italian woman, who spent time in prison, thereby earning real street cred. The event apparently raised a good amount of money.

At 9 I got a call from young Vince, who was hosting his mother Pat for MD weekend. They had attended a graduation party for Vince's nephew/Pat's grandson who just got his law degree from the U, and were already in Coral Gables.

They came over, I poured some martinis, and we chatted. Pat's a beautiful septuagenarian, originally from the Bronx, who met her husband in Queens, and he rose up the music world, moving to LA in the early 70s.  Pat was lovely company -- we shared tales of NYC, and LA, where my parents got married. Vince is the youngest of 7 kids, and Pat's clear favorite.  She now lives in South Carolina near one of her sisters, and has another sister in NYC.  Vince is the only S Fla kid, but she loves to come here to visit.

Sunday I woke up and made breakfast in bed for Wifey, my babymama.  She appreciated it, and I checked the status of the watch I bought her -- making its way from a dealer in NYC.

Later, D1 and Joey came over, and we just hung about and talked. We had planned to drive to Matheson Hammock to visit my Mom, but the rain kept us away.  The young folks left, and Wifey and I drove to the Palace -- to visit my ancient suegra.

She was strong as ever. Her short term memory is gone, but other than that  - she's on the upswing. I'm pretty sure yesterday was NOT her last MD.

So the day passed, and all was well. The summer rains have come.  D2 and Jonathan booked their next trip home -- coming around Memorial Day for a week. They have a wedding to attend, and D2 needs some down time surrounded by her puppies, the strange rescue and special needs Spaniel.  Oh, and a late greeting to Wifey for MD...

Joining a Board

So no sooner did I recall an old anecdote involving my rabbi friend Yossi than he called me.  I told him we must have ESP.  No, he said, he prefers Sports Channel...

He was calling to ask some advice about his coming major expansion of his shul.  He has enormous plans, including a major expansion of a program that pairs special needs kids with teen mentors.  I think it's an awesome thing for the community.

He was told that, contrary to the way he's always handled things, he ought to form a Board. What were my thoughts?

I told him that I currently sit on one board -- a committee that meets twice per year to advise my former College at the U. I then told him I planned to quit that board, because it came clear to me over the years that I have less and less patience for being in a room filled with people who truly love the sound of their own voices.  In other words, I was telling him that before he even asked me that there was ZERO chance I would sit on any Board he created.

My dear friend never gives up without a fight.  What if I just joined and didn't have to commit money?  I could be a voice of reason among huge egos...

No, no, no...and if he asked, the answer would be no.

My brother Barry has a job where a good portion of his time must be spent in committee meetings, and in an academic setting, where the famous joke goes that the fights are so bitter because the stakes are so small.

I really have no idea how he stomachs it.  I have a fantasy for him, involving one extremely opinionated, small stature woman, who has acquired a less than flattering nickname. My fantasy is that while she is saying something particularly self aggrandizing and offensive, Barry calmly walks up to her, lifts her onto the coat hook on the back of the meeting room door, and leaves her dangling there, Three Stooges-like, as she prattles on and on.

Of course, this would never happen in real life, but I like to imagine it does, for Barry's sanity's sake.

As I age, I do become more like my Dad. He never was a part of any groups. I asked him why, and he'd answer simply: "Dave -- I'm just not a joiner."

I know a large part of that was his experience in the US Army, during WW II, where he often took orders from those he knew were much dumber than he was.  I'm pretty sure as soon as he got out, he made an internal pledge to avoid joining any groups, and took orders only from his 4 company bosses, who provided him with a very nice living, and, of course, the occasional orders from my Mom.

This year, we bumped up our contribution to FIU's College of Public Health -- D1's alma mater.  I really appreciate the work they do, and their new Dean is a way impressive guy. But when I was invited to a ceremony following their graduation, I declined.  I realized, in the words of John Fogerty, that ain't me...that ain't me.

So I told my rabbi friend I was happy to be his behind the scenes consigliere.  Since he grew up without watching classic movies, or with Italian friends, I had to explain that to him.

But as for serving on any board?  No way. I told him I would sooner volunteer with toilet cleaning skills.  He asked if that was an actual commitment...

True Friendship

I try to glean wisdom from those I meet, and my rabbi friend Yossi has been a prime source.  It's just not in my cards to become more observant, but I enjoy Yossi's lessons from the Torah and other holy books.

Years ago we discussed the true meaning of friendship -- I think it was at a "lunch and learn" session.  We used to host them at our office -- Paul would fetch some glatt kosher food, usually from Sara's in North Miami, and Yossi would lead discussions among our office friends.  Joel, the lapsed Catholic whose best childhood friends were all Jews, particularly enjoyed these sessions. His Jesuit training made him a natural skeptic (the old joke is that Jesuits were better at explaining why there is no God than any Atheist), and he would prod Yossi on his explanations.  I miss those sessions.

Anyway, we were all asked to state our definitions of friendship, and we all came up with a derivation of "a friend is someone there for you when you're down."  Yossi explained we were wrong -- a good person is someone there for you in times of distress. And, he added, never forget that when one visits someone in the hospital, human nature says that the healthy person always keeps a bit of "I'm glad it isn't ME lying there suffering."

No, the sage Rabbi went on, true friendship is when you truly exult in your friend's triumphs, the way a loving parent exults in the accomplishments of his children. That is true friendship.

And it's hard to do. When we hear that a friend did well, it's so easy to allow our evil inclination to say "Why him?  I worked harder at that ---how come that lucky son of a bitch gets the gold?"

But I pride myself on being a good friend to those I treasure. Yesterday I got to put it in practice.

My friend Stuart got a great settlement on one of his cases.  He took a case where there was only $10K of insurance coverage, worked hard at it, and received a $1.5M settlement. The money will be paid very quickly.

I sort of held his hand through the final stages, even though it wasn't my case, and my firm will receive nothing monetarily out of it.  His clients threatened to put the kibbosh on the deal, even though it would have been the height of stupidity for them to do so. They just didn't understand at all -- they listened to the settlement demands and thought they were reality. They weren't.

I returned to my office after a lovely lunch with three older ladies in my life, and found Stuart in the office. I made him go to Trulucks, along with young Vince, our up and coming legal eagle.

Stuart was self effacing about the result. I had none of it -- I bragged long and loud to Victor, our longtime bartender.  And deep in my heart, I was thrilled for him.

Of course, being wise ass Ashkenazi Jews from the Northeast, there had to be some busting of balls to go along with the celebration, and there was. I announced to Victor that Stuart would be picking up my bar tab for the rest of the year -- and I mean it. Happy hour cocktails are only $7.50 at Trulucks, so I don't feel guilty about the pronouncement.

So I got to soar yesterday, along with my dear friend.  It was terrific.  I hope there are many more of these days.

Boys at the Book Club

So Wifey has been in a local book club for years now, and it's infamous as a book club because the ladies rarely read the book that's assigned.  Rather, they take turns hosting lunches for each other --typically at local restaurants like Ghee, or Blackpoint Marina.  They really enjoy each other's company -- the number of the members range up to 7, and one, Jodi, is a snow bird now who summers in Maine.

Last month, one of the members turned 70, and the book club members and we, their husbands, were invited to a surprise party.  We all had a nice time together  -- Bob, Larry, Mark, and I are all retired or nearly so lawyers, and we had lots in common.

It was Ann's turn to host, and she asked whether instead of a lunch, she could host a dinner, and would the boys come?  We would.

I left Brickell early, to fetch Dr. Barry at the Lowe Museum at UM -- he was hosting a residents' retreat.  I pulled up to watch them take the photos -- the young docs looked to me like they were in high school -- Barry assured me they were at least 26.  We drove past the location of the apartment building we lived in together for nearly 3 years. Alas, Building 22 is now a high rise parking lot. What are ya gonna do?

We parked outside Titanic, which was KC Cagney's fern bar when we were in college, and had a few adult beverages. Barry didn't know the place was originally the Flick Coffeehouse, a legendary venue where Joni Mitchell was "discovered" by David Crosby (he took her back to his sailboat moored in the Grove, and they hung together before heading to LA), and Jimmy Buffet was lured from Mississippi to play there, was delayed, and then went to Key West where the rest is musical history.

We caught up on matters children -- his boy Scott, my non blood nephew, is starting an awesome internship at 30 Rock, and they found a great NIT dorm on the Upper West Side for him. And then he'll be a senior, and ready to graduate next year at this time.

Younger brother Josh has been traveling and posting his own version of Diners, Dives, and Drive -ins on FaceBook -- T bone steaks at 10 am, hot dogs also early, and wee hour Chick Filet -- all around Atlanta.  I told Barry many FaceBook readers comment that they wish to be Josh when they grow up -- but my new healthy diet, ordered by my Ds, prevents me from being in that number.

I dropped Barry at MetroRail, for his trip back to JMH and then home, and I came home, calling Wifey, who was upstairs, and telling her I was caught in traffic and would need to meet her at the dinner.  She came downstairs and shrieked -- she thought I was being serious -- and then we left for Mark and Ann's.

They were lovely hosts -- a big iced bucket of wine, beer, and Tito's -- to keep and enhance my Friday afternoon buzz.  The ladies gathered, and we 4 dudes caught up -- talking about crucial things like sports.

Ann is a gourmet cook, and the meal was delicious.  We shared tales of meeting -- two of the couples met in the 60s, but Mark and Ann started dating in their 50s -- second marriages for both. I was by FAR the youngest one there -- most of the folks had me by 15 years or so, but I'm used to that role -- my siblings are 13 and 16 years older than I, and I spent my childhood listening to the talk of those of an older generation.

A lot of the talk was about grandkids -- they're all VERY involved -- picking up the kids while the busy parents are focused on careers -- and loving the role intensely.  I thought how lucky those kids are -- having grandparents so involved in their lives.

That wasn't in the cards for me -- nor for Wifey, but for tragic reasons -- all her grandparents were killed by the Nazis.

At around 10:30, we headed for home.  I think the Book Club enjoyed the Boys. We may even reprise the event -- after the Summer travel season passes.  And who knows -- the presence of the Y chromosomes might even actually share a book.

Politicians

My friend Kenny, probably my smartest friend in terms of pure brain power, has begun a mission.  He is more appalled by Trump and company than anyone I know, and he's putting his money there. He received a very handsome payout recently from the sale of his medical practice, and is putting a lot of money into Democratic races nationwide.  He has come to believe that there is no longer such a thing as an ok Republican -- by supporting The Donald, he feels, you essentially lose any moral authority. So he's sending checks all around, strategically, to try to return some normalcy to our country. I applaud him.

I'm far more skeptical of politics.  I donate, or have, but much prefer to give money directly to charities. Part of the problem is that I have a major problem with many extreme liberals -- they tend to be fervently anti Zionist, which to me means anti Semitic.  The DNC nearly elected Keith Ellison as its Chair -- he's a buddy of Louis Farrakkan, and always pictured with Palestinian leaders. Had that happened -- it would have been an easy call for me -- no more money for them. But a more moderate guy won, so the door remains open.

I typically donate for personal, friendly reasons. Our neighbor Annette ran for Congress, and hit us up for money. We donated, even though she took on the one GOP-er I like -- Ileana Ros. Annette was beaten, badly. Money wasted -- next cycle, to atone, I actually contributed to Ileana.  As a result, I now get mail from all manner of wacky GOP folk -- asking me for money for nutcases all over the country. I toss them.

Well, as it happens, Ileana is retiring, and her seat will probably go to a Democrat.  My buddy Joel was pressed into service to support Mary, a former judge and competent, though unexciting, candidate. Out of friendship to Joel, I contributed -- first at the beginning of her campaign, and again a few weeks past, at a fundraiser.  Problem is, in the primary, Mary faces Donna Shalala, former UM pres, and a way better known and better funded candidate.  I figured she'd lose, but maybe give the ancient Shalala a run. Now I KNOW Mary is going to lose.

Last night she announced she was switching races, to take on an incumbent GOPer named Mario Diaz Balart. His district is mostly Hialeah -- which is solidly Cuban, and solidly Republican.  Mary announced she wasn't giving Mario an "easy pass" to election, and she figures the anti Trump sentiments will help her and hurt Mario.

Not going to happen -- not remotely. Mario can campaign wearing a Che Guevara hat and posters showing him hugging Fidel, and he'll win. He's a favorite son of that district. Mary will lose by historical numbers.

So I wasted money that should have gone to charity -- UM, FIU, our local Rabbi, JCS, or, when Wifey makes the call, to dog causes.

In a way, I guess I should be thankful. The wasted money was relatively small -- sort of like the guy who decided to be a pro horse gambling dude, and loses and gets out before it wrecks his life.

I have a friend who years ago told him that a friend who borrowed money and didn't pay it back was a fine thing -- for small money, the deadbeat taught who he really was.

So now I'll get to watch the elections, and just shake my head. Anyone with sense knows politics is a pendulum -- it will swing away, naturally, away from Trump and his posse. It'll do so without my wasting any more of my money.

D1 on the Panel

So yesterday I drove up to NMB to the FIU Bay campus. I met Paul there -- D1 was on a community health care panel, and we went to watch.

It was a lovely event, at the Cal Kovens Center. There were academics, like Dr. Joe Greer, who is poised to become next FIU Med School Dean, and community leaders from the Parks Department, as well as corporate types.

We sat through the discussion before D1's, about getting health care resources to poor folks, and then D1's turn came.  She sparkled. She was the youngest one there, so when talk turned to dealing with Millennials, she was the focus. She talked about how her generation was told that everything they did was to be awarded, and that everyone gets a trophy. The panel laughed in agreement --D1 was a hit.

After the discussion, we chatted with some of the folks there. A woman came up to me -- I looked familiar. Sure enough, she was a former employee of Dr. Barry's Peds Department -- she did "development," corporate speak for asking donors for money. She was now working for a different non profit -- and her parents live at Ocean Reef, where D1 consults.

We then retired to Houston's for a terrific lunch, where I made D1 proud by ordering the fish and vegetables. The man at the next table was eating a baked potato laden with sour cream, bacon, and scallions.  Ha -- I'm no longer one of THOSE people.

This am I chatted with D2, doing the NYC corporate thing, making her way up that ladder.

I am so wildly proud of my Ds.

And Wifey took full advantage of that -- reminding me that Mother's Day is coming up, and she wants an expensive watch.  I protested that she's not MY mother -- so why do I have to get her anything.  That argument went over like a lead balloon -- giving me my life's greatest gifts, loving and raising them right, goes a long way.

So now I'm watch shopping.  I called the man I bought a used Rolex from, but he's out of the biz -- the margins, he said, were too small. He referred me to an old time dealer in the Seybold Building, and I chatted with the owner's daughter on Monday. She said she'd call -- so far, nothing.

But there are many online dealers, and I found one in NYC that seems to have an acceptable Cartier. So it ought to be a happy MD for Wifey.

So rock on, my Ds. I am one proud and happy Daddy in the USA.

At Least Read My Statement

Like many professionals who have been lucky enough to make a few extra shekels, I have turned over the years to "financial advisers, " who are brokers charging a fee to do what you can do yourself. This is particularly true today, when financial information is instantly available to anyone with a computer.

I winnowed my use of managers to two -- one who has actually done very well, and takes the time to really research stuff before recommending it to me, and another, the ex wife of a college friend who inherited my accounts at her investment bank when a former broker left.

I'm too skeptical to trust any one person with my hard earned money.  I guess folks who love what they do always figure they can keep on doing it if their investments tank. Not me.  I always had a plan as a lawyer -- make as much as I could, stash it away, and give myself freedom from having to do it full time as I aged. I figured by now, I'd have been out of the gig for several years -- but I'm still at it for lack of anything else productive to do.  But protecting the savings is paramount to me.

So my main guy handles about 20% of our funds. The only problem with him is that he's the classic cobbler with shoe-less kids -- he's personally broke.  He had a few setbacks, and never took a firm hand with his family -- allowing his kids to stay in expensive private schools, keeping up country club memberships, dealing with extended family issues -- so now when we go to lunch, he pays cash -- his credit card company sued him for nearly $40K, and I assume he no longer has a card.  So why would I let him still manage my money?

I made sure I was doing business with a larger house -- his employer -- and have in writing guarantees from them that they'll stand by any losses. So if my man decided it's time to hi-tail it out of here, as my friend Paul said, that would be a boon to me -- I could bring a claim against the bank and probably collect damages on top of the principal taken.  So for now I keep doing business with him -- but under a very watchful eye -- I check my account daily.

My other "F/A" manages very little of my money.  I keep paying her bank really out of inertia and friendship more than anything else. But yesterday I got an email that annoyed me.  She writes every so often to give me "heads up" about things in my account -- like bonds that are maturing.  I know which bonds are maturing. So the cheerful email said that a particular issue was coming due today. The problem is, another part of that issue was coming due as well -- my crack FA clearly only glanced at my account instead of really reading it.

I emailed back and corrected her. I know she was a bit shamed -- she should be. It's one thing to charge me for a service I no longer need -- at least do it accurately! 

I'm trimming the account with her bank, little by little, and probably by year's end will be done -- no one takes the time to handle one's own money better than its owner -- or ought to, anyway.

I joked to D2 yesterday that I had become a money manager -- since I manage the Ds' accounts, and most of Wifey and my portfolios. I need to figure out a way to charge myself for my efforts.

Of course, I never for a moment cease to be grateful for these classic "first world problems." I realize how lucky I am that these are the issues I have to deal with. And I never forget that things can change in a NY minute.

My Dad retired in 1979 -- after carefully planning his future non working finances. He bought his Delray condo for cash, and got a lump sum profit sharing benefit. In those days, bank savings rates were near 20% (I think he actually got one CD for nearly that amount), and living well but modestly, including Social Security, he was confident about his  and Mom's financial future.

But then he got scared -- thinking he'd have to fully financially support a grandson whose father was allergic to work. I remember coming home late from college years partying, in 1982, and finding him pacing -- telling me he was probably going to have to work again.  I asked why he was responsible for the life choices of a then 34 year old daughter, and he scoffed -- he was responsible for his family, he said -- that was that.

Well, he dropped dead a few months later -- leaving financial, and all worries, behind.  And his widow, my Mom, did just fine -- she was generous but not of the belief she had to fully support anyone but herself -- and there was enough money left from Dad's profit sharing check, in '79, that we had to open a special needs trust for Mom to handle her final 11 months in a nursing home.  My siblings and I inherited her condo -- bought for $39K and sold 34 years later for $45K, and Medicaid liens took the remaining cash.

So you never know -- but as my father's son, I plan as much as I can. Wifey says this is all way over her head, so I have to stay alive. Fortunately, one son in law is a CPA, and our hopefully future other son in law is a financial analyst -- they can worry about all this.

But for now -- I run the money. I just wish the people I have helping me would actually take more care in their jobs.