I awoke and made a Nespresso for Edna -- it was her last day staying here at Villa Wifey, and I wanted to send her off properly. She had a 3 pm flight home to Atlanta, and Wifey, Edna, and I sat in D2's room talking for awhile.
I left around 11 and drove to Dadeland Mall, to meet Paul, Alex, and Alex's kids. We walked to the Disney store, and then to Cheesecake Factory for lunch. The kids are so lively and fun to be around -- we made another trip to the Disney store, so they could walk around and watch the enormous video screen showing Disney videos.
I watched Arielle, the Little Mermaid, sing a song I heard the Ds sing hundreds of times. It brought me a little tear...
I came home and Wifey was gone -- dropped Edna at MIA and then went out shopping. I napped to Axis TV interviewing old rock stars.
Kenny texted -- last minute double date? Yes, I responded, and he suggested we go to Wynwood before I reminded him that Ultra and Music Week were going on, and we ought to avoid any part of town north of the Gables. He agreed, and got us reservations at Ad Lib, and new place that used to be Swine barbecue, and before that, Les Halles, a great French place where we had a big birthday party for D1 when she was in college.
We went to Kenny and Joelle's, and they talked excitedly about their newly renovated lake house in Maine -- they want us to visit in July. The plan is to become classic snowbirds within a few years -- they love Maine, but want to stay in Miami during the winter, of course. They'll probably sell their house here and rent -- maybe the Grove, maybe Edgewater.
We pre-gamed, and then Wifey drove us to the Gables. We loved the restaurant right away -- beautiful decor, and nice vibe. The manager came over -- he had a Michelin star in NYC and wanted one for the Gables, and he was well on his way.
The food was delicious -- branzino, duck, and scallops -- we shared, family style. And we could hear each other -- something Wifey always looks for in a restaurant. It was a lovely night.
Today I got passes to see an old Mets hero of mine at Books and Books: Art Shamsky. He wrote a book about the magical '69 season. Wifey remembers it, too, as a girl in Canarsie. From there, we'll go visit the ancient suegra at the Palace.
Tomorrow am I have a right of passage that confirms I'm old as fuh, as the Ds say. Jeff and I scheduled PT sessions for our shoulders, back to back, so to speak, and we'll go out for breakfast afterwards. Really? We both need PT. We'll probably develop Yiddish accents as we get treated...
But, as the great Tony Soprano character always said "Yeah -- but what are ya gonna do?" The answer is, of course, just flow along with the river of time...
It could be worse.
Sunday, March 31, 2019
Friday, March 29, 2019
I Don't Care If I Ever Get Back
So yesterday was opening day in baseball, and Mike asked if I wanted to go with him and his boy Chris. I did.
Baseball is my first sports love. I started playing at 7, in Little League, though I wanted to quit after the first day. I was told to go warm up a pitcher, and the ball bounced on home plate and came up, giving me my first black eye. I wasn't the toughest of kids, and to me it was a sign to quit. But I didn't -- and truly fell in love with baseball -- playing Little League, and making my high school's team as a serviceable first baseman.
When I was 8, I was solidly a fan, and our team, as Long Islanders, was the Mets. They were new, and they were bad, but lightning struck, and they won the Series in '69. It was a high point of my childhood -- I remember racing home on my bike from third grade to watch the end of the final Series game -- Cleon Jones caught the last out, hit by Davey Johnstone, who would later manage the Mets, and the Miracle was clinched.
When the Marlins started, in '93, Mike and I bought tickets to the very first game. My brother in law Dennis came, along with Mike's father Ed, my mentor as a lawyer. We sat in the upper deck of Joe Robbie Stadium, being part of sports history. The Marlins won, with knuckleballer Charlie Hough pitching. He was a local -- from Hialeah.
Ed passed years ago, and yesterday his grandson Chris took his place. That's the beauty of baseball -- the history. Americans all share tales of relatives and games with their teams.
For us -- there's another connection: D1 is the team dietitian. So of course I love to support any organization that pays her -- and they are a fine client.
I got to the stadium first, and parked across from an old building that had been rehabbed, and sported a giant rooster mural painted across the front. It was actually a beautiful job -- the colors were magnificent, and I took a photo and sent it to my family -- the most Miami building I'd seen in a long while.
Chris got stuck in traffic, and so emailed the tix to Mike and me. We found our way to the Club Level, got some adult beverages, and found our seats, which were terrific. Chris made it just in time for the first pitch.
We three men caught up -- about our Canes, and Chris's budding legal career. It was a pitching duel until the Marlins made costly errors -- they gave up 4 runs. Although they hit 3 homers, they still lost.
But that's ok -- they're a young, rebuilding team. They've had a remarkable history -- two Series titles in their 26 year existence. Some teams have NEVER won.
I'll probably go to five more games over the season. The pace of baseball is terrific for socializing -- you can talk, leisurely, and always catch up with the action.
My drive home after the game was less than 30 minutes -- that's a nice plus, too.
So it was Play Ball, and a great way to start the season.
Baseball is my first sports love. I started playing at 7, in Little League, though I wanted to quit after the first day. I was told to go warm up a pitcher, and the ball bounced on home plate and came up, giving me my first black eye. I wasn't the toughest of kids, and to me it was a sign to quit. But I didn't -- and truly fell in love with baseball -- playing Little League, and making my high school's team as a serviceable first baseman.
When I was 8, I was solidly a fan, and our team, as Long Islanders, was the Mets. They were new, and they were bad, but lightning struck, and they won the Series in '69. It was a high point of my childhood -- I remember racing home on my bike from third grade to watch the end of the final Series game -- Cleon Jones caught the last out, hit by Davey Johnstone, who would later manage the Mets, and the Miracle was clinched.
When the Marlins started, in '93, Mike and I bought tickets to the very first game. My brother in law Dennis came, along with Mike's father Ed, my mentor as a lawyer. We sat in the upper deck of Joe Robbie Stadium, being part of sports history. The Marlins won, with knuckleballer Charlie Hough pitching. He was a local -- from Hialeah.
Ed passed years ago, and yesterday his grandson Chris took his place. That's the beauty of baseball -- the history. Americans all share tales of relatives and games with their teams.
For us -- there's another connection: D1 is the team dietitian. So of course I love to support any organization that pays her -- and they are a fine client.
I got to the stadium first, and parked across from an old building that had been rehabbed, and sported a giant rooster mural painted across the front. It was actually a beautiful job -- the colors were magnificent, and I took a photo and sent it to my family -- the most Miami building I'd seen in a long while.
Chris got stuck in traffic, and so emailed the tix to Mike and me. We found our way to the Club Level, got some adult beverages, and found our seats, which were terrific. Chris made it just in time for the first pitch.
We three men caught up -- about our Canes, and Chris's budding legal career. It was a pitching duel until the Marlins made costly errors -- they gave up 4 runs. Although they hit 3 homers, they still lost.
But that's ok -- they're a young, rebuilding team. They've had a remarkable history -- two Series titles in their 26 year existence. Some teams have NEVER won.
I'll probably go to five more games over the season. The pace of baseball is terrific for socializing -- you can talk, leisurely, and always catch up with the action.
My drive home after the game was less than 30 minutes -- that's a nice plus, too.
So it was Play Ball, and a great way to start the season.
Thursday, March 28, 2019
The Hypochondriac
So I don't go through life as a hypochondriac, but when I do get a real health condition, my mind goes to the blackest of outcomes. This week, that was literally true.
I saw an eye doc last week, who diagnosed a retinal tear, and zapped it closed via laser surgery. I went home, and the flashes of light I was seeing that caused me to check my eyes were gone, but the floaters had increased -- clear bubble looking things that appear in my vision and sort of sweep through the field.
That's it, I decided. The laser repair actually detached my retina, and did it so badly that I was going to lose the vision, and, when the eye died, the eyeball as well. I was already starting to consider whether I wanted a different color glass eye replacement, so at least in my disabled state I would look David Bowie-like...
So I went through my weekly routine, internalizing the anxiety of being a one eyed man. Each floater brought me closer to that dark end.
But then yesterday I saw the brilliant young Dr. Schimel. I greeted him with a hearty "Go Blue!" as he did his undergrad work at Michigan, and they are in the Sweet 16. He read over the scans, and examined me, and proclaimed I was doing great -- the laser repair was 80% healed, and would completely heal within a month. What about the floaters? They ought to go away, or diminish during the coming months, but as long as they didn't get MUCH worse, they were of no real concern. I see him again in July.
I was ecstatic for myself, but there was still sadness to the day. Edna's mother Miriam had died, and the funeral was taking place in Hollywood. I had explained to her about the eye doc, and she encouraged me to not miss it.
Wifey called, and said they were going to lunch at Anthony's Runway 84. I didn't know they were open for lunch -- they were. Edna, Marc, daughter Erica, Wifey, and I were next to the only ones there -- a scary looking older dude with a younger woman was hunkered down at a back table and looked wildly annoyed as we walked through the place, showing it to Edna and Marc.
After lunch, Wifey and Edna drove Marc and Erica to FLL -- Edna will stay a few days with us. I was driving in I-95 traffic, and felt like an adult beverage. I called Barry.
The tradition of my baiting him into playing hooky is now nearly 4 decades old. He'd have to study for Organic Chem, or something, and I would convince him to attend a Canes baseball game with me. From there, it was off to D'Pizza, and then Baskin Robbins -- in Spring they had our favorite flavor, Baseball Nut.
He was ultimately no worse for the wear -- he got into med school easily, and nothing much has changed.
We agreed to meet at Soyka, to avoid the Downtown traffic. I called Wifey -- she and Edna thought Soyka with two studly guys was better than the Jackson's Ice Cream they were headed for.
All 4 of us met. Barry and I had some cocktails. Edna and Wifey ordered dessert at the bar. We talked of life -- grown kids, and aging and passing parents. It was delightful.
On the way home, I spoke to D2. We're planning a visit to NYC mid April. I told D2 I was thrilled to be able to go with 2 good eyes. Why, she asked. I shared with her my hypochondriac thoughts.
I told her I must have gotten it from her -- she is exactly the same way. No, she corrected -- she got it from ME.
I apologized for passing down my family's various and sundry forms of anxiety. We don't drink that much, or smoke dope, like Hank Williams, Junior. Anxiety is our family tradition.
So I'm thrilled it was another worry for nothing. As I told Barry -- we HAD to have a toast -- I cheated blindness!
Not really. But the drinks were terrific, anyway.
I saw an eye doc last week, who diagnosed a retinal tear, and zapped it closed via laser surgery. I went home, and the flashes of light I was seeing that caused me to check my eyes were gone, but the floaters had increased -- clear bubble looking things that appear in my vision and sort of sweep through the field.
That's it, I decided. The laser repair actually detached my retina, and did it so badly that I was going to lose the vision, and, when the eye died, the eyeball as well. I was already starting to consider whether I wanted a different color glass eye replacement, so at least in my disabled state I would look David Bowie-like...
So I went through my weekly routine, internalizing the anxiety of being a one eyed man. Each floater brought me closer to that dark end.
But then yesterday I saw the brilliant young Dr. Schimel. I greeted him with a hearty "Go Blue!" as he did his undergrad work at Michigan, and they are in the Sweet 16. He read over the scans, and examined me, and proclaimed I was doing great -- the laser repair was 80% healed, and would completely heal within a month. What about the floaters? They ought to go away, or diminish during the coming months, but as long as they didn't get MUCH worse, they were of no real concern. I see him again in July.
I was ecstatic for myself, but there was still sadness to the day. Edna's mother Miriam had died, and the funeral was taking place in Hollywood. I had explained to her about the eye doc, and she encouraged me to not miss it.
Wifey called, and said they were going to lunch at Anthony's Runway 84. I didn't know they were open for lunch -- they were. Edna, Marc, daughter Erica, Wifey, and I were next to the only ones there -- a scary looking older dude with a younger woman was hunkered down at a back table and looked wildly annoyed as we walked through the place, showing it to Edna and Marc.
After lunch, Wifey and Edna drove Marc and Erica to FLL -- Edna will stay a few days with us. I was driving in I-95 traffic, and felt like an adult beverage. I called Barry.
The tradition of my baiting him into playing hooky is now nearly 4 decades old. He'd have to study for Organic Chem, or something, and I would convince him to attend a Canes baseball game with me. From there, it was off to D'Pizza, and then Baskin Robbins -- in Spring they had our favorite flavor, Baseball Nut.
He was ultimately no worse for the wear -- he got into med school easily, and nothing much has changed.
We agreed to meet at Soyka, to avoid the Downtown traffic. I called Wifey -- she and Edna thought Soyka with two studly guys was better than the Jackson's Ice Cream they were headed for.
All 4 of us met. Barry and I had some cocktails. Edna and Wifey ordered dessert at the bar. We talked of life -- grown kids, and aging and passing parents. It was delightful.
On the way home, I spoke to D2. We're planning a visit to NYC mid April. I told D2 I was thrilled to be able to go with 2 good eyes. Why, she asked. I shared with her my hypochondriac thoughts.
I told her I must have gotten it from her -- she is exactly the same way. No, she corrected -- she got it from ME.
I apologized for passing down my family's various and sundry forms of anxiety. We don't drink that much, or smoke dope, like Hank Williams, Junior. Anxiety is our family tradition.
So I'm thrilled it was another worry for nothing. As I told Barry -- we HAD to have a toast -- I cheated blindness!
Not really. But the drinks were terrific, anyway.
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Reflections on Graduating College in May of 1983
So today Wifey and I met Dr. Barry, Donna, and Scott, over at LOL. It was Scott's final day of his final college Spring Break, and he loves the place, as I do.
Sure enough, Laurie was our server, and she recalled well serving us the August before Scott left for Maryland. The 4 years have truly flown.
After breakfast, we came back here, and enjoyed the glorious weather. We shared a walk around Devonwood -- Scott is a terrific dog uncle -- he pushed the Special Needs Spaniel much of the way in his little dog stroller. Bo can only walk about 1/4 of the way.
We talked excitedly about the upcoming graduation. Wifey and I are due to fly to D.C on a Wednesday night, and attend the J School ceremony on Thursday. There's a brunch afterward, and on Friday the university -wide ceremony takes place, in Maryland Stadium. Wifey and I are going to pass on that -- we already attended three enormous graduation ceremonies in football stadia for the Ds -- we'll tour D.C. that day. And then Friday night Barry is taking us all to a great steakhouse to toast the new Journalism grad.
We're so proud of him . He already had a few full time job offers, but is taking his time to pick wisely. He's currently part time at a media company that owns several sports radio stations around the U.S., and hopes they offer him a full time gig.
And the family left, and Wifey retired upstairs to take a Sunday nap. I sat outside and went back in time -- nearly 36 years.
I finished my final, final exam, and returned to my beloved on campus apartment, 22Z. Barry, my roommate of 3 years, was already gone -- back to Davie for the Summer. Mike had already left, too -- back to Long Island, and Colin had left for Hong Kong.
I sat for a good hour on our ugly, baby poop yellow naugahyde couch, and let the feelings sink in. So much had happened over those past 4 years. I learned so much about who I was, intellectually. I fell in love with the Hurricanes, a love that remains strong today.
And, something that was most definitely NOT in the plans had happened -- I lost my beloved father, and was forced to become a man much faster than I otherwise would have.
A fellow graduating senior came by, and she and I shared the remaining beers in the fridge. Jean was a lovely girl, from Minnesota. She was starting law school at UCLA. I was going to remain at UM to start in the Fall -- after a summer working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital.
We were friends, but talked very deeply that evening -- comparing our childhoods in Minnesota versus Long Island, and our time at UM.
We reconnected years later. Jean married a federal agent, and moved back to South Florida -- she lives in Weston, and has high school aged kids. Years ago, my friend Edee convinced me to have an Honors Dorm reunion, and Jean and her husband attended. Since then we've been FaceBook (tm) friends.
After the summer, Barry and I were to move in with Eric -- Eric starting med school, me law, and Barry his senior year of college. Barry backed out at the last minute -- he was broke, and offered free room and board as a resident assistant. As a result, Eric and I scrambled to find alternative digs -- we moved into an apartment where I met my upstairs neighbor as she struggled to open the communal mailbox -- it was, of course, Wifey.
Scott and I had some time alone before Wifey, Barry, and Donna arrived at the house -- they stopped for coffee.
I shared with him the fact that time truly DOES fly by -- it seems to me I was where he was -- about to graduate college -- just a few years ago.
He gets it. He was always an old soul.
I look very forward to celebrating his great milestone. Sunrise; sunset...
Sure enough, Laurie was our server, and she recalled well serving us the August before Scott left for Maryland. The 4 years have truly flown.
After breakfast, we came back here, and enjoyed the glorious weather. We shared a walk around Devonwood -- Scott is a terrific dog uncle -- he pushed the Special Needs Spaniel much of the way in his little dog stroller. Bo can only walk about 1/4 of the way.
We talked excitedly about the upcoming graduation. Wifey and I are due to fly to D.C on a Wednesday night, and attend the J School ceremony on Thursday. There's a brunch afterward, and on Friday the university -wide ceremony takes place, in Maryland Stadium. Wifey and I are going to pass on that -- we already attended three enormous graduation ceremonies in football stadia for the Ds -- we'll tour D.C. that day. And then Friday night Barry is taking us all to a great steakhouse to toast the new Journalism grad.
We're so proud of him . He already had a few full time job offers, but is taking his time to pick wisely. He's currently part time at a media company that owns several sports radio stations around the U.S., and hopes they offer him a full time gig.
And the family left, and Wifey retired upstairs to take a Sunday nap. I sat outside and went back in time -- nearly 36 years.
I finished my final, final exam, and returned to my beloved on campus apartment, 22Z. Barry, my roommate of 3 years, was already gone -- back to Davie for the Summer. Mike had already left, too -- back to Long Island, and Colin had left for Hong Kong.
I sat for a good hour on our ugly, baby poop yellow naugahyde couch, and let the feelings sink in. So much had happened over those past 4 years. I learned so much about who I was, intellectually. I fell in love with the Hurricanes, a love that remains strong today.
And, something that was most definitely NOT in the plans had happened -- I lost my beloved father, and was forced to become a man much faster than I otherwise would have.
A fellow graduating senior came by, and she and I shared the remaining beers in the fridge. Jean was a lovely girl, from Minnesota. She was starting law school at UCLA. I was going to remain at UM to start in the Fall -- after a summer working as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital.
We were friends, but talked very deeply that evening -- comparing our childhoods in Minnesota versus Long Island, and our time at UM.
We reconnected years later. Jean married a federal agent, and moved back to South Florida -- she lives in Weston, and has high school aged kids. Years ago, my friend Edee convinced me to have an Honors Dorm reunion, and Jean and her husband attended. Since then we've been FaceBook (tm) friends.
After the summer, Barry and I were to move in with Eric -- Eric starting med school, me law, and Barry his senior year of college. Barry backed out at the last minute -- he was broke, and offered free room and board as a resident assistant. As a result, Eric and I scrambled to find alternative digs -- we moved into an apartment where I met my upstairs neighbor as she struggled to open the communal mailbox -- it was, of course, Wifey.
Scott and I had some time alone before Wifey, Barry, and Donna arrived at the house -- they stopped for coffee.
I shared with him the fact that time truly DOES fly by -- it seems to me I was where he was -- about to graduate college -- just a few years ago.
He gets it. He was always an old soul.
I look very forward to celebrating his great milestone. Sunrise; sunset...
Saturday, March 23, 2019
A Non Robert Kraft Happy Ending
So the big, shiny plumbing truck pulled up --Roberto, the plumber, who looked like the Dad from "Que Pasa, USA?" and his young son, Chris. I asked Chris if he was the apprentice to his Dad -- no, he was in high school and doing social media, and was along to film his father for upcoming social media ads. I liked them right away.
I showed Roberto the supply line, and where it comes into the house, and also that there's a no longer in use city water sprinkler system. Richard built two systems -- city water, near the house, so the house wouldn't get the rust stains from using well water irrigation, and a well water system for the rest of the property. I showed Ricardo that water also gushed from the sprinkler valves next to where the main supply enters the house.
He bent down and turned off a valve. He said, in accented English, "I think that was your problem -- not a leaking main." I wanted to kiss him.
We walked to the meter, and he turned the supply back on, and sure enough -- no more leak. What I thought was going to be a major repair was the simple twist of a valve.
Roberto said "I feel bad, but I still have to charge weekend rate for the visit -- $120." I replied that no -- I was paying $150, and I expected him to take his son to a great breakfast with the time they were saving. He knew I could have been looking at a $2K job, if he had to dig a trench, and had he done it and not told me, I never would have known.
Chris asked if he could interview me as a customer. He set up his camera, and asked about my experience. I gushed like the water that earlier was flowing out of the broken sprinkler line.
I now have a plumber for life. Water is flowing. Wifey is happy. We don't have to try to get a hotel during Spring Break, which would have been very pricey.
I feel like Robert Kraft must have felt when he first left the spa -- before his Bentley was pulled over by the publicity seeking Jupiter police.
There is happiness at Villa Wifey...
I showed Roberto the supply line, and where it comes into the house, and also that there's a no longer in use city water sprinkler system. Richard built two systems -- city water, near the house, so the house wouldn't get the rust stains from using well water irrigation, and a well water system for the rest of the property. I showed Ricardo that water also gushed from the sprinkler valves next to where the main supply enters the house.
He bent down and turned off a valve. He said, in accented English, "I think that was your problem -- not a leaking main." I wanted to kiss him.
We walked to the meter, and he turned the supply back on, and sure enough -- no more leak. What I thought was going to be a major repair was the simple twist of a valve.
Roberto said "I feel bad, but I still have to charge weekend rate for the visit -- $120." I replied that no -- I was paying $150, and I expected him to take his son to a great breakfast with the time they were saving. He knew I could have been looking at a $2K job, if he had to dig a trench, and had he done it and not told me, I never would have known.
Chris asked if he could interview me as a customer. He set up his camera, and asked about my experience. I gushed like the water that earlier was flowing out of the broken sprinkler line.
I now have a plumber for life. Water is flowing. Wifey is happy. We don't have to try to get a hotel during Spring Break, which would have been very pricey.
I feel like Robert Kraft must have felt when he first left the spa -- before his Bentley was pulled over by the publicity seeking Jupiter police.
There is happiness at Villa Wifey...
Plumb Annoying
When we moved into this house, it was only three years old -- finished in 1997. Everything was state of the art -- Richard, the owner/builder, even had every room pre WIRED for speakers. Imagine that -- now that most stuff is wireLESS.
Well, somehow the new house is now 22 years old -- the age where stuff starts to fail.
Last week, D2 heard a dripping. I can usually diagnose house problems, but not fix them. I found that the dripping was into an A/C closet -- coming from a bathroom directly above it. I turned off the toilet supply line, and the dripping stopped.
South End plumbing came out, re -sealed the toilet, and problem was solved.
And then, a few days later, I saw the bidet in another upstairs bathroom was spraying water. It was a leaking diverter -- the valve that lets you change the flow of water from into the bowl to the upward flow that cleans your stuff.
South End returned, found the problem, and left for the supply house. Bad news, Richard said -- the kohler stuff is 25 years old -- they no longer make the part. He ordered an entire new assembly -- and will install it this week.
I joked that we could "rough it" without a bidet for awhile. It turned out doing that tempted fate.
This am Wifey noticed low pressure from the faucets. I figured it was a system problem -- we had one last year and the county fixed it. I called their emergency number, and they sent out a fellow to check.
Just as his truck arrived, I went outside, and saw and heard a gusher from the side of our house -- the supply line was broken. The county guy told me indeed I had a big leak -- the meter was swirling. He shut down the water supply.
I asked him if he knew of any plumbers who would come out to put in a new main on a Saturday -- otherwise Wifey and I would have to decamp to a hotel.
He said he wasn't allowed to recommend anyone, but a card slipped out of his pocket - his cousin the plumber. I dug the guy immediately -- gotta break the rules to help each other out...
So the cousin plumber and his son are on their way here. Hopefully they can get us back to flushing, showering, and drinking.
The joys of homeowner's life.
Meanwhile, I've been waiting and waiting for that second cup of coffee. Oh -- that's right -- I had no water to put in the Keurig. We really DO need this H20...
Well, somehow the new house is now 22 years old -- the age where stuff starts to fail.
Last week, D2 heard a dripping. I can usually diagnose house problems, but not fix them. I found that the dripping was into an A/C closet -- coming from a bathroom directly above it. I turned off the toilet supply line, and the dripping stopped.
South End plumbing came out, re -sealed the toilet, and problem was solved.
And then, a few days later, I saw the bidet in another upstairs bathroom was spraying water. It was a leaking diverter -- the valve that lets you change the flow of water from into the bowl to the upward flow that cleans your stuff.
South End returned, found the problem, and left for the supply house. Bad news, Richard said -- the kohler stuff is 25 years old -- they no longer make the part. He ordered an entire new assembly -- and will install it this week.
I joked that we could "rough it" without a bidet for awhile. It turned out doing that tempted fate.
This am Wifey noticed low pressure from the faucets. I figured it was a system problem -- we had one last year and the county fixed it. I called their emergency number, and they sent out a fellow to check.
Just as his truck arrived, I went outside, and saw and heard a gusher from the side of our house -- the supply line was broken. The county guy told me indeed I had a big leak -- the meter was swirling. He shut down the water supply.
I asked him if he knew of any plumbers who would come out to put in a new main on a Saturday -- otherwise Wifey and I would have to decamp to a hotel.
He said he wasn't allowed to recommend anyone, but a card slipped out of his pocket - his cousin the plumber. I dug the guy immediately -- gotta break the rules to help each other out...
So the cousin plumber and his son are on their way here. Hopefully they can get us back to flushing, showering, and drinking.
The joys of homeowner's life.
Meanwhile, I've been waiting and waiting for that second cup of coffee. Oh -- that's right -- I had no water to put in the Keurig. We really DO need this H20...
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
Better Than A Stick In The Eye
So a few weeks ago, as I was driving at night, I tried repeatedly to turn off the car's dome light. I finally realized it WAS off -- the light was coming from my right eye. The flashes kept up, and I googled them -- seems that floaters and flashes are common among folks over 50 -- the gelatinous vitreous fluid thins, or hardens, and pulls on the retina causing these things. I wasn't too worried.
I mentioned it to Wifey, who reminded me SHE had cobweb floaters, and saw a great nice young specialist named Schimel. I ought to see him too, she said.
I called a few days later and was told that Schimel, a retina specialist, only sees patients AFTER they're diagnosed with retina problems -- recalling Jackie Mason's bit about his doctor is SO special -- you can never see him.
But they called back and said I COULD see Schimel -- and the appointment was this am.
I drove over to Baptist Medical Arts in my workout clothes -- figured I'd have a session at 11 after a routine visit.
They did all the scans, and I met the young doctor. We played Jewish Geography -- D1 had met his wife, and he knew about D1's Nutrition practice. I had seen he was a Michigan grad, and I asked if he knew Alex, my nephew of another mother. Very well -- he was a year behind Alex at the fraternity -- he and Alex got together in Miami.
And then he told me I was lucky I had come in. I had a hole that was leaking fluid. He could zap it shut with a laser -- he could do it this am, in fact. If I let it go, it would allow more fluid and cause a retinal detachment, which necessitates a much bigger surgery, and recovery involving having to lay face down for days...I shuddered.
So I waited about an hour, and then he took me into a room, held open my right eye, joking it WAS my right eye --right??? and zapped the hole with a yellow appearing laser. He told me it would hurt a bit and it did -- sort of like a headache you get from your eyes.
But it was completely tolerable -- and hopefully did the trick. I'll see him next week for a follow up -- hopefully I am cured.
And, he added -- I owe Wifey. She gave me the correct advice -- never ignore eye symptoms -- things happen fast there, and you can save yourself a lot of grief.
I drove myself home, as Wifey accompanied D1 to her drive to Jupiter to see a client. The vision is a bit blurry, but not too bad.
Miriam, our longtime housekeeper, was shocked to see me. I usually take off on Wednesdays so I don't get in her way, and I think Miriam feels the house is hers on that day. But I explained in my broken Spanish about the surgery. She's letting me stay home.
So another indignity of aging -- failing eyes. Dr. S asked about my parents history -- I told him Mom had cataracts, but no macular degeneration, and Dad died at 63 with no eye problems I knew of.
"Wow," he said. "Your Dad died young."
Eric called to check on me, and he had just returned from a national cardiology meeting in NOLA. I noticed he saw his great mentor, Dr. Braunwald, the father of modern internal medicine and cardiology. Dr. B was in good health at the meeting. Eric said he was 88.
I remembered when Eric trained in the late 80s -- Dr. B seemed an old man then. He was -- the age we are now!
So getting a laser is indeed better than a stick in the eye. Hope it did the trick..
I mentioned it to Wifey, who reminded me SHE had cobweb floaters, and saw a great nice young specialist named Schimel. I ought to see him too, she said.
I called a few days later and was told that Schimel, a retina specialist, only sees patients AFTER they're diagnosed with retina problems -- recalling Jackie Mason's bit about his doctor is SO special -- you can never see him.
But they called back and said I COULD see Schimel -- and the appointment was this am.
I drove over to Baptist Medical Arts in my workout clothes -- figured I'd have a session at 11 after a routine visit.
They did all the scans, and I met the young doctor. We played Jewish Geography -- D1 had met his wife, and he knew about D1's Nutrition practice. I had seen he was a Michigan grad, and I asked if he knew Alex, my nephew of another mother. Very well -- he was a year behind Alex at the fraternity -- he and Alex got together in Miami.
And then he told me I was lucky I had come in. I had a hole that was leaking fluid. He could zap it shut with a laser -- he could do it this am, in fact. If I let it go, it would allow more fluid and cause a retinal detachment, which necessitates a much bigger surgery, and recovery involving having to lay face down for days...I shuddered.
So I waited about an hour, and then he took me into a room, held open my right eye, joking it WAS my right eye --right??? and zapped the hole with a yellow appearing laser. He told me it would hurt a bit and it did -- sort of like a headache you get from your eyes.
But it was completely tolerable -- and hopefully did the trick. I'll see him next week for a follow up -- hopefully I am cured.
And, he added -- I owe Wifey. She gave me the correct advice -- never ignore eye symptoms -- things happen fast there, and you can save yourself a lot of grief.
I drove myself home, as Wifey accompanied D1 to her drive to Jupiter to see a client. The vision is a bit blurry, but not too bad.
Miriam, our longtime housekeeper, was shocked to see me. I usually take off on Wednesdays so I don't get in her way, and I think Miriam feels the house is hers on that day. But I explained in my broken Spanish about the surgery. She's letting me stay home.
So another indignity of aging -- failing eyes. Dr. S asked about my parents history -- I told him Mom had cataracts, but no macular degeneration, and Dad died at 63 with no eye problems I knew of.
"Wow," he said. "Your Dad died young."
Eric called to check on me, and he had just returned from a national cardiology meeting in NOLA. I noticed he saw his great mentor, Dr. Braunwald, the father of modern internal medicine and cardiology. Dr. B was in good health at the meeting. Eric said he was 88.
I remembered when Eric trained in the late 80s -- Dr. B seemed an old man then. He was -- the age we are now!
So getting a laser is indeed better than a stick in the eye. Hope it did the trick..
Saturday, March 16, 2019
One Of Those Banner Days
IF you're lucky or blessed by the Big Man, which I have been both, every once in awhile you get a truly banner day. Yesterday was one of those.
Wifey, D2, and I braved the traffic to South Beach, for a day of scouting wedding venues for D2 and Jonathan. First stop was the Betsy.
The Betsy used to be the Betsy Ross, a campy looking hotel that had colonial style columns and a red, white, and blue motif. It was built in the 40s, and back in its day, Meyer Lansky ran a bookmaking operation out of a store room. Well, like all of the Art Deco places, it fell into disrepair, to be renovated in the mid 80s.
I asked Wifey to marry me by the ocean in front of the hotel, and for our 10th anniversary, we stayed there for the weekend. That was 22 years ago.
Yesterday was the first time I had returned since then. Jonathan met us by Uber, and as we waited for Nicole, the event planner, a nice, balding fellow came up to us and introduced himself as Jonathan Plutzik, the owner. We dug him immediately. He led the tour of the place, which he bought in '04 and put TONS of money into. He also bought the hotel behind it, and had a now famous orb built to connect the two places. His wife curates the art and music. They have a writers in residence program -- Jonathan's father Hayam, who died when Jonathan was very young, was a Pulitzer nominated poet.
The place was stunning -- the ceremony would be on the rooftop pool, with gorgeous views of the ocean. The cocktails would be in a courtyard, and the party in the gallery, a newly constructed hall that supports the pool deck. The place is filled with libraries, and nooks for reading, and world class restaurants. Jonathan and I were ready to cancel the rest of the day's appointments.
It turned out that the owner had made a fortune as a principal of Credit Suisse, and followed his dream to become a nice, charming version of Basil Fawlty. I wanted to become his friend.
But the wedding planners had other places to see, so we walked to the 1800 block of Collins and saw the Nautilus, the Shelbourne, and the Delano. They each had nice spaces, but we had all already fallen for the first place.
After the Delano, which was THE place in the 80s, when Madonna hung there, we walked back to the Betsy for lunch. Sure enough, we saw Jonathan on his scooter, turning up Collins. I went over and told him that it appeared we would indeed be hosting our event there. He smiled and I could tell he knew he had us at hello.
Lunch was delicious, and as we were leaving, Jonathan spotted one of his favorite personalities at the bar. It was Dan LeBatard, the sportscaster who has a show from the Clevelander, a few blocks south. Jonathan was reluctant to meet him, but I insisted, and Dan was gracious -- posed for a FB photo that left Jonathan the envy of his fellow LeBatard loving fans, and Dan wished the young couple well.
There was one more venue to see -- in Wynwood. We drove over, and it was indeed pretty cool -- a warehouse space that hosts concerts and high level art events. We dug it, but it seems much less practical than a hotel where everything is in one place .
From there we drove to D1 and Joey's, and were electronically let in by D1, who was driving back from her consulting day at Ocean Reef. I poured myself some of their Tito's, and we relaxed and talked about the day. Joey and D1 came home, and we lit the shabbos candles before leaving for dinner, at a funky new place called Vista.
We laughed when we arrived -- it is literally one block south of Miami Jewish Home, the final home for my mom and Wifey's Dad. The area is rapidly gentrifying, and Vista is a complex of funky stores and the big Italian restaurant, which was packed. Jonathan's father David joined us, as his wife Lizbeth was in California.
We all toasted the upcoming wedding. Jonathan's family adores D2.
I drove Wifey and D2 home, one ecstatic and blessed Daddy in the USA. Choices like where to have a wedding are the best choices to have in life -- there are only great alternatives.
Later today, D2 and Jonathan are meeting at D1 and Joey's -- a Spring Break kind of day before D1 and Joey leave to see Elton John up at the hockey arena in Sunrise.
Wifey and I are seeing Bob Seger there tomorrow night, with Norman and Deb, and then Monday evening D2 and Jonathan return to NYC.
But yesterday was a truly golden day. I hope I'm lucky enough to have more like them.
Wifey, D2, and I braved the traffic to South Beach, for a day of scouting wedding venues for D2 and Jonathan. First stop was the Betsy.
The Betsy used to be the Betsy Ross, a campy looking hotel that had colonial style columns and a red, white, and blue motif. It was built in the 40s, and back in its day, Meyer Lansky ran a bookmaking operation out of a store room. Well, like all of the Art Deco places, it fell into disrepair, to be renovated in the mid 80s.
I asked Wifey to marry me by the ocean in front of the hotel, and for our 10th anniversary, we stayed there for the weekend. That was 22 years ago.
Yesterday was the first time I had returned since then. Jonathan met us by Uber, and as we waited for Nicole, the event planner, a nice, balding fellow came up to us and introduced himself as Jonathan Plutzik, the owner. We dug him immediately. He led the tour of the place, which he bought in '04 and put TONS of money into. He also bought the hotel behind it, and had a now famous orb built to connect the two places. His wife curates the art and music. They have a writers in residence program -- Jonathan's father Hayam, who died when Jonathan was very young, was a Pulitzer nominated poet.
The place was stunning -- the ceremony would be on the rooftop pool, with gorgeous views of the ocean. The cocktails would be in a courtyard, and the party in the gallery, a newly constructed hall that supports the pool deck. The place is filled with libraries, and nooks for reading, and world class restaurants. Jonathan and I were ready to cancel the rest of the day's appointments.
It turned out that the owner had made a fortune as a principal of Credit Suisse, and followed his dream to become a nice, charming version of Basil Fawlty. I wanted to become his friend.
But the wedding planners had other places to see, so we walked to the 1800 block of Collins and saw the Nautilus, the Shelbourne, and the Delano. They each had nice spaces, but we had all already fallen for the first place.
After the Delano, which was THE place in the 80s, when Madonna hung there, we walked back to the Betsy for lunch. Sure enough, we saw Jonathan on his scooter, turning up Collins. I went over and told him that it appeared we would indeed be hosting our event there. He smiled and I could tell he knew he had us at hello.
Lunch was delicious, and as we were leaving, Jonathan spotted one of his favorite personalities at the bar. It was Dan LeBatard, the sportscaster who has a show from the Clevelander, a few blocks south. Jonathan was reluctant to meet him, but I insisted, and Dan was gracious -- posed for a FB photo that left Jonathan the envy of his fellow LeBatard loving fans, and Dan wished the young couple well.
There was one more venue to see -- in Wynwood. We drove over, and it was indeed pretty cool -- a warehouse space that hosts concerts and high level art events. We dug it, but it seems much less practical than a hotel where everything is in one place .
From there we drove to D1 and Joey's, and were electronically let in by D1, who was driving back from her consulting day at Ocean Reef. I poured myself some of their Tito's, and we relaxed and talked about the day. Joey and D1 came home, and we lit the shabbos candles before leaving for dinner, at a funky new place called Vista.
We laughed when we arrived -- it is literally one block south of Miami Jewish Home, the final home for my mom and Wifey's Dad. The area is rapidly gentrifying, and Vista is a complex of funky stores and the big Italian restaurant, which was packed. Jonathan's father David joined us, as his wife Lizbeth was in California.
We all toasted the upcoming wedding. Jonathan's family adores D2.
I drove Wifey and D2 home, one ecstatic and blessed Daddy in the USA. Choices like where to have a wedding are the best choices to have in life -- there are only great alternatives.
Later today, D2 and Jonathan are meeting at D1 and Joey's -- a Spring Break kind of day before D1 and Joey leave to see Elton John up at the hockey arena in Sunrise.
Wifey and I are seeing Bob Seger there tomorrow night, with Norman and Deb, and then Monday evening D2 and Jonathan return to NYC.
But yesterday was a truly golden day. I hope I'm lucky enough to have more like them.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Admissions Shenanigans
So the news was dominated yesterday with tales of rich people who paid tons or money to a corrupt college consultant who bribed coaches and hired people to defraud the SAT and ACT in order to get their rich (but not REALLY rich) and not too smart kids into college.
It was quite a scheme. As the mastermind said, he told his clients there are three ways to get into college: the front door (your kid is actually qualified), the back door (you make at least a $1M donation to the school) or the side door (his way -- you pay less than $1M to game the system).
I'm proud to say my Ds got into the absurdly competitive UF via the front door. And, with Bright Futures, the program designed to keep top students from leaving the state, and the PrePaid Plan I had bought when they were in high school, college was a major bargain for us. Some years, the Ds actually got refunds from the two plans while attending -- it paid for their sorority dues and off campus rent.
We never fell into the whole prestigious college game. I'm too much of an empiricist: many of my friends are wildly successful in their careers, and attended UM or UF, or even, to pardon the expression, FSU. Those I know who attended Ivy League colleges didn't seem to fare much better at all.
We told the Ds, they had a choice. If they went to a private or out of state college, we'd pay, but they'd live like students. If they went to UF, we'd put the money into investment accounts, and they'd live "better than students." They both chose door number one, and are happy they did: D1 and Joey easily put a substantial down payment of their house using those funds.
I spoke to our old partner Brian the other day. He used to practice law with us, but his wife was unhappy in Miami. She was very status conscious, and was tired of being among the poorest members of Temple Judea -- she figured in Orlando, where they moved, they'd be bigger shots. So they indeed moved, but are now separated. Brian misses us. It's a lesson about always acting to make your wife happy -- sometimes it turns out to be the wrong life move.
But on the positive side: Brian's oldest, who the Ds used to babysit for, is now a high school senior. He got accepted to Emory, along with UF, and UM with a half tuition scholarship. Emory offered to scholarship.
It would cost Brian $70K of after tax dollars to send his oldest to Atlanta. UF would be very cheap, and UM, with the scholarship, would be in the $30s...
He has two sons to put through college after the oldest. It looks like the young man will be wearing orange in the Fall -- either with blue, or with green.
But back to the scandal...I hope each kid who was fraudulently admitted is kicked out of the college. It's the only way that the colleges can keep credibility. Let the rich kids go to Community College -- give them a dose of reality.
Also, the colleges should be forced to return any of the donations they received -- so the fraud parents will know their big bucks went to the US DOJ to help fight crime.
Probably none of the parents will do actual prison time, and that's fine. Just being financially spanked and suffering the horror of having their kids pay by getting booted from school is enough, in my opinion.
Wifey and I did plenty of dumb stuff as parents. Fortunately, trying to game the system, or paying too much for college wasn't in that column.
It was quite a scheme. As the mastermind said, he told his clients there are three ways to get into college: the front door (your kid is actually qualified), the back door (you make at least a $1M donation to the school) or the side door (his way -- you pay less than $1M to game the system).
I'm proud to say my Ds got into the absurdly competitive UF via the front door. And, with Bright Futures, the program designed to keep top students from leaving the state, and the PrePaid Plan I had bought when they were in high school, college was a major bargain for us. Some years, the Ds actually got refunds from the two plans while attending -- it paid for their sorority dues and off campus rent.
We never fell into the whole prestigious college game. I'm too much of an empiricist: many of my friends are wildly successful in their careers, and attended UM or UF, or even, to pardon the expression, FSU. Those I know who attended Ivy League colleges didn't seem to fare much better at all.
We told the Ds, they had a choice. If they went to a private or out of state college, we'd pay, but they'd live like students. If they went to UF, we'd put the money into investment accounts, and they'd live "better than students." They both chose door number one, and are happy they did: D1 and Joey easily put a substantial down payment of their house using those funds.
I spoke to our old partner Brian the other day. He used to practice law with us, but his wife was unhappy in Miami. She was very status conscious, and was tired of being among the poorest members of Temple Judea -- she figured in Orlando, where they moved, they'd be bigger shots. So they indeed moved, but are now separated. Brian misses us. It's a lesson about always acting to make your wife happy -- sometimes it turns out to be the wrong life move.
But on the positive side: Brian's oldest, who the Ds used to babysit for, is now a high school senior. He got accepted to Emory, along with UF, and UM with a half tuition scholarship. Emory offered to scholarship.
It would cost Brian $70K of after tax dollars to send his oldest to Atlanta. UF would be very cheap, and UM, with the scholarship, would be in the $30s...
He has two sons to put through college after the oldest. It looks like the young man will be wearing orange in the Fall -- either with blue, or with green.
But back to the scandal...I hope each kid who was fraudulently admitted is kicked out of the college. It's the only way that the colleges can keep credibility. Let the rich kids go to Community College -- give them a dose of reality.
Also, the colleges should be forced to return any of the donations they received -- so the fraud parents will know their big bucks went to the US DOJ to help fight crime.
Probably none of the parents will do actual prison time, and that's fine. Just being financially spanked and suffering the horror of having their kids pay by getting booted from school is enough, in my opinion.
Wifey and I did plenty of dumb stuff as parents. Fortunately, trying to game the system, or paying too much for college wasn't in that column.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
What A Drag It Is Getting Old...
So now I'm closer to 58 than just turning 57, which to me means my late 50s, which is getting very close to 60. Many of my friends like to make believe they're "still young." Not me -- I am the ultimate realist.
The Ds had an intervention with me last year, fearful that I was going to drop due to my inactivity and obesity. I took their concern and love to heart, so to speak, and started with a personal trainer. Indeed -- I'm in far better shape than I was -- I even walk up stairs like I did in my 30s. The weight loss has been slower in coming, due to the fact that I continue to overeat. Oh well...
The only by product of working out, given my age, has been a shoulder injury. When I was young and played softball, I would get a strained muscle, or other orthopedic issue, and it would go away in a week or so. Not no more.
After months of being awakened by pain in my shoulder when I turn over, I made an appointment to see an ortho I had met socially -- Keith Hechtman. Ha. As if you really get to see the Wizard of Oz-like specialists. I saw his P.A. -- a lovely young woman, who seemed to know her stuff. She diagnosed simple bursitis, and prescribed anti inflammatory drugs and PT. I ignored the NSAIDs -- the pain isn't that bad -- but I started the PT.
The PT I chose is a terrific young fellow -- a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High and UF -- D1 knows his wife through a charity they're both in. Jason has really been helping -- strong massage followed by shoulder muscle strengthening. I plan to go for another few weeks.
So I figured that was it for awhile. Yeah, right. Last Tuesday as Wifey and I were driving to dinner, I kept reaching to the roof of my car to shut off a dome light that I thought was left on. There was no light -- I was getting so called optical flashes.
I read all about them -- sure enough, they occur after age 50 when the eye jelly, called the vitreous fluid, starts to harden and dry out like the rest of your aging corpus, and causes the retina to bend in.
Usually they're harmless, but you have to see an eye doc to make sure you don't have a hole in your macula, which needs surgery to keep your vision.
Wifey had a cousin of flashes -- floaters -- where it looked to her she had cobwebs in her eye. She saw a young crackerjack doc over at Baptist named Schimel -- trained at Bascom Palmer -- and he said she was fine -- just normal eye aging.
I probably made fun of her -- as she is 4.5 years older than I am -- and now eye karma has come back to kick me in the head, so to speak.
I called the eye office and waited 30 minutes, and then was told that Schimel only sees patients with diagnosed retina problems -- I'd have to see a regular ophthamologist first.. Fine -- I had met a fellow named Buznego years ago -- he took care of a client of mine who was kicked in the head by a horse and developed cataracts. Buznego and I hit it off -- we were the same age -- and he was most helpful in my suing the horse. The horse, or its owners insurer, paid.
Anyway, they gave me an appointment in April to see him. But then the office called -- indeed I COULD see the retina guy, and there was an opening next week. So I plan to take my eye and go in.
Ah -- aging. Better than the alternative.
The Ds had an intervention with me last year, fearful that I was going to drop due to my inactivity and obesity. I took their concern and love to heart, so to speak, and started with a personal trainer. Indeed -- I'm in far better shape than I was -- I even walk up stairs like I did in my 30s. The weight loss has been slower in coming, due to the fact that I continue to overeat. Oh well...
The only by product of working out, given my age, has been a shoulder injury. When I was young and played softball, I would get a strained muscle, or other orthopedic issue, and it would go away in a week or so. Not no more.
After months of being awakened by pain in my shoulder when I turn over, I made an appointment to see an ortho I had met socially -- Keith Hechtman. Ha. As if you really get to see the Wizard of Oz-like specialists. I saw his P.A. -- a lovely young woman, who seemed to know her stuff. She diagnosed simple bursitis, and prescribed anti inflammatory drugs and PT. I ignored the NSAIDs -- the pain isn't that bad -- but I started the PT.
The PT I chose is a terrific young fellow -- a few years ahead of D1 at Palmetto High and UF -- D1 knows his wife through a charity they're both in. Jason has really been helping -- strong massage followed by shoulder muscle strengthening. I plan to go for another few weeks.
So I figured that was it for awhile. Yeah, right. Last Tuesday as Wifey and I were driving to dinner, I kept reaching to the roof of my car to shut off a dome light that I thought was left on. There was no light -- I was getting so called optical flashes.
I read all about them -- sure enough, they occur after age 50 when the eye jelly, called the vitreous fluid, starts to harden and dry out like the rest of your aging corpus, and causes the retina to bend in.
Usually they're harmless, but you have to see an eye doc to make sure you don't have a hole in your macula, which needs surgery to keep your vision.
Wifey had a cousin of flashes -- floaters -- where it looked to her she had cobwebs in her eye. She saw a young crackerjack doc over at Baptist named Schimel -- trained at Bascom Palmer -- and he said she was fine -- just normal eye aging.
I probably made fun of her -- as she is 4.5 years older than I am -- and now eye karma has come back to kick me in the head, so to speak.
I called the eye office and waited 30 minutes, and then was told that Schimel only sees patients with diagnosed retina problems -- I'd have to see a regular ophthamologist first.. Fine -- I had met a fellow named Buznego years ago -- he took care of a client of mine who was kicked in the head by a horse and developed cataracts. Buznego and I hit it off -- we were the same age -- and he was most helpful in my suing the horse. The horse, or its owners insurer, paid.
Anyway, they gave me an appointment in April to see him. But then the office called -- indeed I COULD see the retina guy, and there was an opening next week. So I plan to take my eye and go in.
Ah -- aging. Better than the alternative.
Saturday, March 9, 2019
Telephone Line
So today I got a new and inventive fraud attempt foisted upon my quiet Saturday. I received a text from "Chase Fraud" saying I needed to call their 800 number or my card would be inactive -- due to "suspicious activity." Well, we do have a Chase card, and usually these fraud texts are misspelled -- this one looked kosher. So I called the 800 number, which asked for my Debit Card number. Aha! We don't HAVE a debit card.
Like most folks, I get several of these calls daily. I'm on the Do Not Call list, which seems worthless. Wifey read that you're supposed to answer the bad call and hang up -- supposedly you then make some kind of algo list that says you're not a good fraud mark.
I've begun simply not answering unless I know the number -- legit ones, of course, leave a message.
Such is modern life.
We DID find a way to eliminate the annoying calls to our landline. We got rid of our landline. Those calls were worse -- watching TV, and then the loud house phone rings.
We had an electronic phone system in the house -- it came through our internet provider, and then some kind of amplifier sent it to the far flung extensions. It broke -- and the phones stopped ringing -- we only knew we got a call when we were watching TV and the incoming number came on the screen.
I took it as a sign -- no further need for the landline. I had our alarm company switch us to a fully cell system -- safer anyway, they said, since a master burglar would cut the phone lines anyway before attempting to breach our security. Ha. As if. Other than our dogs, we have nothing here of real value. A burglar to our house would be a benefit -- get rid, maybe, of some of the clutter.
Anyway, we canceled the landline, which was only a bit sad since it was a palindrome: 6693966. My friend Jim pointed that out -- he sees those patterns immediately -- he thinks it's due to psychelics he took at North Miami High during the 70s...
Someone at the office mentioned to me that landlines are safety measures -- they stay on in power outages. Wrong! After Irma in '17, some older parents of a friend of mine asked me to sue ATT. They had kept their landline for exactly that reason -- when the power was out following a storm, the landline would give them communication access.
So Irma came, their power was out, and they picked up their trusty old princess phone and...dead. Turns out ALL calls these days are VOIP -- some acronym meaning that there are no old fashioned phone systems -- when the power goes, ALL phones are out.
So it was adios landline...
Wifey and I were out with our sister of another mister Mirta, who is one of my more tech savvy friends. She has an Apple watch, and was showing it to us. Wifey and I both had the same reaction: Dick Tracy! We really do now have watch phones. I guess implanted ones are next -- maybe flash out the incoming number on glasses or contact lenses.
What a glorious world this is.
And I still don't have a debit card.
Like most folks, I get several of these calls daily. I'm on the Do Not Call list, which seems worthless. Wifey read that you're supposed to answer the bad call and hang up -- supposedly you then make some kind of algo list that says you're not a good fraud mark.
I've begun simply not answering unless I know the number -- legit ones, of course, leave a message.
Such is modern life.
We DID find a way to eliminate the annoying calls to our landline. We got rid of our landline. Those calls were worse -- watching TV, and then the loud house phone rings.
We had an electronic phone system in the house -- it came through our internet provider, and then some kind of amplifier sent it to the far flung extensions. It broke -- and the phones stopped ringing -- we only knew we got a call when we were watching TV and the incoming number came on the screen.
I took it as a sign -- no further need for the landline. I had our alarm company switch us to a fully cell system -- safer anyway, they said, since a master burglar would cut the phone lines anyway before attempting to breach our security. Ha. As if. Other than our dogs, we have nothing here of real value. A burglar to our house would be a benefit -- get rid, maybe, of some of the clutter.
Anyway, we canceled the landline, which was only a bit sad since it was a palindrome: 6693966. My friend Jim pointed that out -- he sees those patterns immediately -- he thinks it's due to psychelics he took at North Miami High during the 70s...
Someone at the office mentioned to me that landlines are safety measures -- they stay on in power outages. Wrong! After Irma in '17, some older parents of a friend of mine asked me to sue ATT. They had kept their landline for exactly that reason -- when the power was out following a storm, the landline would give them communication access.
So Irma came, their power was out, and they picked up their trusty old princess phone and...dead. Turns out ALL calls these days are VOIP -- some acronym meaning that there are no old fashioned phone systems -- when the power goes, ALL phones are out.
So it was adios landline...
Wifey and I were out with our sister of another mister Mirta, who is one of my more tech savvy friends. She has an Apple watch, and was showing it to us. Wifey and I both had the same reaction: Dick Tracy! We really do now have watch phones. I guess implanted ones are next -- maybe flash out the incoming number on glasses or contact lenses.
What a glorious world this is.
And I still don't have a debit card.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Food Safety Issues
So D1 is dietitian to the very exclusive Ocean Reef Club, and has to, during the "season," which is now, drive there weekly to give presentations to the residents. She doesn't like long, solo drives, and last week recruited her adoring suegra, Jacqui, to go with her. They had a lovely time.
Wifey, not one to be cast as second suegra, volunteered to go yesterday, and also had a great time. The two suegras both enjoyed the jaunt so much, they've agreed to split the remaining two trips. D2 is a lucky girl to be fought over by her mother and suegra...
Anyway, I got home and half hour later Wifey and D1 arrived -- D1 immediately headed for the dog laden couch to do some computer work.
Kenny had texted -- could he stop by to use my notary service for a medical license? He could, and the 4 of us ended up having a nice little getty -- Kenny and I with an adult beverage each.
I told him I never drink alone in my house. I'm not sure why -- I guess it's the last vestige of my father inspired very light drinking -- so I enjoy when a guest arrives and I can pour a few cocktails.
Kenny left, and we decided to go to a restaurant on D1's way home to Shorecrest. I suggested Hallal Guys, a newly opened outpost of a crowded NYC staple. We caravan drove to South Miami.
We walked into the place. No one else was there. The staff seemed to fumble around. D1's food safety antennae came up -- she noticed frozen chicken thawing in a counter next to hummus. Wifey had already ordered only a hummus -- she had scarfed down a tuna sandwich from the night before.
D1 said to me, quietly -- no way we were staying. Sure enough, I went to pay for Wifey's take out -- the counter guy couldn't figure out the register. The manager came out -- a comically annoyed woman from, I'm guessing, Andre Dawson's childhood neighborhood.
The signs all pointed to a place to be avoided.
Wifey and I had dinner at next door Root and Bone the night before, so we thought -- let's go again. It was packed, but if we didn't mind outside, we could have a table. Mind? The weather was perfect.
Old friends came in -- the younger brothers of one of D2's brother of another mother, Ben. Josh is finishing up at UF Law, and starting at the Miami Dade State Attorney's office. Ethan is a Gator undergrad. They were both in for Spring Break -- Josh's final one, as he reminded us.
Their Mom Julie, who we all adore, soon followed, with her BFF Meredith, who moved to California, but always seems to still be in the 305. Sure enough, Meredith announced they bought a second home in Sunny Isles -- the Bay Area was just a bit too chilly for her during much of the year.
We were seated, and I did not order friend chicken or ribs -- I followed D1's lead with a kale caesar salad with chicken. It was actually quite tasty.
We walked D1 to her car, and she was off for home. Wifey and I came back to Pinecrest, and I lit a roaring fire in the outdoor pit. Bo, the special needs Spaniel, sat in Wifey's lap. It was a delightful night.
Tonight, my sister of another mister Mirta is meeting us for dinner -- yesterday was her birthday. Her sons took her out -- Wifey and I get our turn tonight.
This is the time of the best Miami weather, and a nice time to enjoy being empty nesters.
D2 called on her trudge to work -- NYC is freezing. But, alas, she's coming home next week, for a long weekend. We'll warm her up. And D1 will insure she only eats safe food.
Wifey, not one to be cast as second suegra, volunteered to go yesterday, and also had a great time. The two suegras both enjoyed the jaunt so much, they've agreed to split the remaining two trips. D2 is a lucky girl to be fought over by her mother and suegra...
Anyway, I got home and half hour later Wifey and D1 arrived -- D1 immediately headed for the dog laden couch to do some computer work.
Kenny had texted -- could he stop by to use my notary service for a medical license? He could, and the 4 of us ended up having a nice little getty -- Kenny and I with an adult beverage each.
I told him I never drink alone in my house. I'm not sure why -- I guess it's the last vestige of my father inspired very light drinking -- so I enjoy when a guest arrives and I can pour a few cocktails.
Kenny left, and we decided to go to a restaurant on D1's way home to Shorecrest. I suggested Hallal Guys, a newly opened outpost of a crowded NYC staple. We caravan drove to South Miami.
We walked into the place. No one else was there. The staff seemed to fumble around. D1's food safety antennae came up -- she noticed frozen chicken thawing in a counter next to hummus. Wifey had already ordered only a hummus -- she had scarfed down a tuna sandwich from the night before.
D1 said to me, quietly -- no way we were staying. Sure enough, I went to pay for Wifey's take out -- the counter guy couldn't figure out the register. The manager came out -- a comically annoyed woman from, I'm guessing, Andre Dawson's childhood neighborhood.
The signs all pointed to a place to be avoided.
Wifey and I had dinner at next door Root and Bone the night before, so we thought -- let's go again. It was packed, but if we didn't mind outside, we could have a table. Mind? The weather was perfect.
Old friends came in -- the younger brothers of one of D2's brother of another mother, Ben. Josh is finishing up at UF Law, and starting at the Miami Dade State Attorney's office. Ethan is a Gator undergrad. They were both in for Spring Break -- Josh's final one, as he reminded us.
Their Mom Julie, who we all adore, soon followed, with her BFF Meredith, who moved to California, but always seems to still be in the 305. Sure enough, Meredith announced they bought a second home in Sunny Isles -- the Bay Area was just a bit too chilly for her during much of the year.
We were seated, and I did not order friend chicken or ribs -- I followed D1's lead with a kale caesar salad with chicken. It was actually quite tasty.
We walked D1 to her car, and she was off for home. Wifey and I came back to Pinecrest, and I lit a roaring fire in the outdoor pit. Bo, the special needs Spaniel, sat in Wifey's lap. It was a delightful night.
Tonight, my sister of another mister Mirta is meeting us for dinner -- yesterday was her birthday. Her sons took her out -- Wifey and I get our turn tonight.
This is the time of the best Miami weather, and a nice time to enjoy being empty nesters.
D2 called on her trudge to work -- NYC is freezing. But, alas, she's coming home next week, for a long weekend. We'll warm her up. And D1 will insure she only eats safe food.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
Know It Alls
One of my several pet peeves is people who think they know far more than they do. I encountered one last month.
I'm on a committee at UM, for reasons I really can't explain. I was originally asked to be on it by my friend Ross, in the 90s, and enjoyed meeting with a few fellow alums to tell a UM College what we thought they ought to do to improve.
Over the years, and now about 6 Deans later, the Committee has morphed into one where I am by far the poorest member, and we meet twice a year and don't really do anything except listen to the Dean tell us how great everything is. I think inertia prevents me from quitting, as well as the desire to at least have one thing to talk about when my friends in academia complain about the absurdity of their many committees...
Anyway, we were waiting for the meeting to begin, and one member was holding forth. She's apparently a big shot real estate macher in NYC -- about 70 -- and she was talking about Amazon's threat to back out of its plan to build a headquarters in the City. "Never going to happen," she said about the pullout. "I have inside contacts, and they're going full steam ahead."
Another committee member, an Indian fellow who was also from NYC and manages a hedge fun, said he wasn't so sure...it sounded to him like indeed Bezos might well wish to avoid the ultra lefty politics of NYC. "No," said the woman "Amazon is coming to NYC. I guarantee it."
Well, of course, the very next day, Amazon indeed announced they were NOT building a headquarters in NYC. I laughed to myself. So much for the know it all...
I have always, since college, been very careful about declaring what I know, and what I assume. I had several professors who drummed that into me -- nothing worse than a fool who gets exposed as a bullshit artist.
So many people these days just make stuff up. When you take the time to really question them, you easily expose them and their lack of true knowledge.
An acquaintance from the neighborhood recently told me something that may have been the stupidest thing I ever heard -- about a situation he was in regarding his marriage. The details aren't important, but he essentially said that a cute, harmless Spaniel was the equivalent of a man eating lion.
When I got home, and processed what had been said, I actually laughed out loud. It's rare that I get to laugh when I'm alone. But the sheer absurdity of what this person said caused that.
As far as I know, my former professor Harry P Schultz is still alive -- nearing or at 100 years old. He taught us that we are ALL students in the study of human nature.
I honor Professor Schultz by trying to learn more each day...
I'm on a committee at UM, for reasons I really can't explain. I was originally asked to be on it by my friend Ross, in the 90s, and enjoyed meeting with a few fellow alums to tell a UM College what we thought they ought to do to improve.
Over the years, and now about 6 Deans later, the Committee has morphed into one where I am by far the poorest member, and we meet twice a year and don't really do anything except listen to the Dean tell us how great everything is. I think inertia prevents me from quitting, as well as the desire to at least have one thing to talk about when my friends in academia complain about the absurdity of their many committees...
Anyway, we were waiting for the meeting to begin, and one member was holding forth. She's apparently a big shot real estate macher in NYC -- about 70 -- and she was talking about Amazon's threat to back out of its plan to build a headquarters in the City. "Never going to happen," she said about the pullout. "I have inside contacts, and they're going full steam ahead."
Another committee member, an Indian fellow who was also from NYC and manages a hedge fun, said he wasn't so sure...it sounded to him like indeed Bezos might well wish to avoid the ultra lefty politics of NYC. "No," said the woman "Amazon is coming to NYC. I guarantee it."
Well, of course, the very next day, Amazon indeed announced they were NOT building a headquarters in NYC. I laughed to myself. So much for the know it all...
I have always, since college, been very careful about declaring what I know, and what I assume. I had several professors who drummed that into me -- nothing worse than a fool who gets exposed as a bullshit artist.
So many people these days just make stuff up. When you take the time to really question them, you easily expose them and their lack of true knowledge.
An acquaintance from the neighborhood recently told me something that may have been the stupidest thing I ever heard -- about a situation he was in regarding his marriage. The details aren't important, but he essentially said that a cute, harmless Spaniel was the equivalent of a man eating lion.
When I got home, and processed what had been said, I actually laughed out loud. It's rare that I get to laugh when I'm alone. But the sheer absurdity of what this person said caused that.
As far as I know, my former professor Harry P Schultz is still alive -- nearing or at 100 years old. He taught us that we are ALL students in the study of human nature.
I honor Professor Schultz by trying to learn more each day...
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
That Is The End
So Barry sent over a well written essay from the current New Yorker, about the decline and death of the writer's father. It details how the man, an respected doc and scientist, changed from healer to patient, and then faded away.
It reminded me that in my experience, it was like Goldilocks, but without the final "just right..." My Dad died too early, and my Mom too late. Now, religious folks would say that's nonsense -- we all die at the correct time -- when the Big Man calls us home. I don't know.
Sunny began to hallucinate in her final months. She would report nightly visits from her mother and brother -- both long dead. She saw "fires on Miami Beach" and hoped everyone was fine.
I would placate her, and tell her all WAS fine, and indeed her departed people HAD visited her. Who knows -- maybe they had.
The saddest thing was her always asking me about her oldest grandchild -- always her favorite. He never visited her once during the final 11 months of her life. She was worried that she had somehow hurt his feelings, and he was angry at her. I would assure her that wasn't the case -- he was just exceptionally busy.
After a few months, I decided I was finished lying for him, and would just change the subject, which was never hard to do. All I had to do was suggest we go to Mom's favorite spot at Miami Jewish -- the gazebo built among the ancient oaks and ficus trees. They had an ice cream vending machine there, and watching Mom eat her chipwich was joyful.
Very few of my friends have both parents alive. My friend Kenny does -- his are in their 80s, and live now full time in Boynton Beach.
My friend Dana has both parents AND a grandmother -- about to turn 102. But those are the outliers -- typically the men die, and leave widows for years. Norman is an exception -- he lost his beloved mother, and his Dad lives on, wonderfully and vigorously -- next stop will be 92.
Wifey and I are down to the final parent -- my ancient Suegra, who also keeps putting along. She's 94 and my strong opinion is she'll make it to 100. I just read a report that found Holocaust Survivors indeed survive longer than their "normal" counterparts. I can easily see why.
So I plan to savor the days, as always. The small annoyances are demons to be defeated. And the exquisite moments must be celebrated.
Oh -- and I DO believe in ghosts. In the early morning gloaming, as Yeats called it, I go to fetch the newspaper. Sometimes I see shadows among the trees -- in the shape of humans. They're non threatening -- I just smile and nod, and they float away.
But for now, I'll focus on the living. They're there to be appreciated and loved -- maybe even after the end.
It reminded me that in my experience, it was like Goldilocks, but without the final "just right..." My Dad died too early, and my Mom too late. Now, religious folks would say that's nonsense -- we all die at the correct time -- when the Big Man calls us home. I don't know.
Sunny began to hallucinate in her final months. She would report nightly visits from her mother and brother -- both long dead. She saw "fires on Miami Beach" and hoped everyone was fine.
I would placate her, and tell her all WAS fine, and indeed her departed people HAD visited her. Who knows -- maybe they had.
The saddest thing was her always asking me about her oldest grandchild -- always her favorite. He never visited her once during the final 11 months of her life. She was worried that she had somehow hurt his feelings, and he was angry at her. I would assure her that wasn't the case -- he was just exceptionally busy.
After a few months, I decided I was finished lying for him, and would just change the subject, which was never hard to do. All I had to do was suggest we go to Mom's favorite spot at Miami Jewish -- the gazebo built among the ancient oaks and ficus trees. They had an ice cream vending machine there, and watching Mom eat her chipwich was joyful.
Very few of my friends have both parents alive. My friend Kenny does -- his are in their 80s, and live now full time in Boynton Beach.
My friend Dana has both parents AND a grandmother -- about to turn 102. But those are the outliers -- typically the men die, and leave widows for years. Norman is an exception -- he lost his beloved mother, and his Dad lives on, wonderfully and vigorously -- next stop will be 92.
Wifey and I are down to the final parent -- my ancient Suegra, who also keeps putting along. She's 94 and my strong opinion is she'll make it to 100. I just read a report that found Holocaust Survivors indeed survive longer than their "normal" counterparts. I can easily see why.
So I plan to savor the days, as always. The small annoyances are demons to be defeated. And the exquisite moments must be celebrated.
Oh -- and I DO believe in ghosts. In the early morning gloaming, as Yeats called it, I go to fetch the newspaper. Sometimes I see shadows among the trees -- in the shape of humans. They're non threatening -- I just smile and nod, and they float away.
But for now, I'll focus on the living. They're there to be appreciated and loved -- maybe even after the end.
Monday, March 4, 2019
Twenty One
So Josh is my nephew of another brother, and he turned 21 on Saturday. I thought about maybe taking him for some appropriate adult entertainment, but the Robert Kraft thing has cast a dark shadow, so then I figured politically incorrect humor might be the next best thing.
I fetched Kenny, and we were off to Doral City Place, and really well put together entertainment center off 36th Street. We parked and walked over to Cooper's Hawk, an upscale chain place. Barry and Josh arrived right after.
We had a men's dinner, and Josh ordered a legal beer. We went around the table comparing memories of turning 21. Kenny was at Wash U in St. Louis, a senior, applying to Med School and knowing he would also join the US Navy at the same time.
Barry was home for the Summer before starting Med School, up in Gainesville -- working at the Movies at Plantation, and getting ready for the next 4 years of study.
I told Josh he was already FAR ahead of me regarding turning 21. My 21st was the worst birthday of my life: 4 days before, my beloved Dad died in my arms. I know how to really spruce up a party...
But we walked to the Improv, and got seated right in front of the stage. The place was nicely packed -- it was the third night of Andrew Dice Clay's stand.
The opening act was a skinny Irish woman from Philly. She was very funny -- picked on our table as a "sausage party," of "old sausages at that."
She told some pretty blue tales, and when some of the audience groaned a bit, she reminded them that she was only the opener for the Dice man.
And then out he came -- the heavyweight of shock, dirty comedy. And he delivered -- we all laughed very heartily.
None of his tales can be repeated in a family blog, but I was especially happy for Barry. He works in academics -- the height of political correctness. He was once criticized for referring to some colleagues as "ladies."
Dice didn't use the term "ladies" either.
So after much laughter, we deemed the night a success. Josh is 21. He can legally drink. He can do anything, really, except rent a car.
We had a blast -- and he wrote me to thank me and say it was truly a night to remember. Indeed it was.
I fetched Kenny, and we were off to Doral City Place, and really well put together entertainment center off 36th Street. We parked and walked over to Cooper's Hawk, an upscale chain place. Barry and Josh arrived right after.
We had a men's dinner, and Josh ordered a legal beer. We went around the table comparing memories of turning 21. Kenny was at Wash U in St. Louis, a senior, applying to Med School and knowing he would also join the US Navy at the same time.
Barry was home for the Summer before starting Med School, up in Gainesville -- working at the Movies at Plantation, and getting ready for the next 4 years of study.
I told Josh he was already FAR ahead of me regarding turning 21. My 21st was the worst birthday of my life: 4 days before, my beloved Dad died in my arms. I know how to really spruce up a party...
But we walked to the Improv, and got seated right in front of the stage. The place was nicely packed -- it was the third night of Andrew Dice Clay's stand.
The opening act was a skinny Irish woman from Philly. She was very funny -- picked on our table as a "sausage party," of "old sausages at that."
She told some pretty blue tales, and when some of the audience groaned a bit, she reminded them that she was only the opener for the Dice man.
And then out he came -- the heavyweight of shock, dirty comedy. And he delivered -- we all laughed very heartily.
None of his tales can be repeated in a family blog, but I was especially happy for Barry. He works in academics -- the height of political correctness. He was once criticized for referring to some colleagues as "ladies."
Dice didn't use the term "ladies" either.
So after much laughter, we deemed the night a success. Josh is 21. He can legally drink. He can do anything, really, except rent a car.
We had a blast -- and he wrote me to thank me and say it was truly a night to remember. Indeed it was.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
The Very Social Weekend
So Friday Wifey and I drove up to Shorecrest, and met Patricia and Paul at Ferraro's, and Italian place on 79 Street that D1 and Joey had recommended. It is really great to see a 'hood where you used to have to lock your car doors evolve into a lovely, gentrified one. We truly feasted -- the food was terrific.
Afterwards, we drove to D1's house -- Paul wanted to see it for the first time. D1 was hosting 9 of her friends, all women, as Joey was in Colombia with his brothers and close friends playing golf. We showed off the new digs, had some dessert, and left the ladies to their millennial talk...
Saturday had more Italian -- we drove up to Oakland Park to meet Dana and Eric at Il Pasano, my favorite restaurant from the Check Please show. Eric had taken his whole family after the show, and the lovely South African and Mozambique -Italian owners knew us well.
I was a celebrity because of the show. No fewer than 4 diners came up to me, with some saying they had come to the restaurant after seeing Check Please. Paola, the owner, said that they were doing well before, but after the show, things had gotten crazy. They had a 50 person wait list for last night. They were going to remove tables because, she said, the place had gotten to be something other than what they wished -- a small and chill intimate place.
An older fellow waved our way. I waved back, but alas, I wasn't the celebrity -- the man was a patient of Eric's! He wanted Eric to know he was eating heart healthy. Eric told the fellow he was off duty.
A fit, well dressed man with an accent out of the Soprano's came by, also to tell me he had come because of seeing me. His accent was pure Brooklyn/Staten Island. He lived in Boca and told Dana and Eric about a hidden pizza place there. They will try it out.
Even with the glow of celebrity, we had a normal time -- catching up about our kids. Their boy Josh just got engaged, and we joked about making sure we coordinated dates -- D2 and Jonathan will marry around the same time.
I had joked on the show that I had become that cranky old guy who rarely drove north of the Miami Dade-Broward line. It's actually true. But last night, like our first time at Il Paesano, was worth the hour drive.
And the fun continues...yesterday Barry's boy Josh, my nephew of another brother, turned 21. We're having a men's night for him -- Kenny and I are meeting him and his Dad for dinner, and then a politically incorrect comedy night -- we're seeing Andrew Dice Clay at the Doral Improv.
Barry needs this the most. He works in academe, the most politically correct milieu there is. A night of hearing the opposite will give him some needed release...
It's rare to have three events in a single weekend, but nice to still do. Oh, and Paola and her husband Virgilio comped our wine, beer, and a dessert last night. Celebrity has its perks...
Afterwards, we drove to D1's house -- Paul wanted to see it for the first time. D1 was hosting 9 of her friends, all women, as Joey was in Colombia with his brothers and close friends playing golf. We showed off the new digs, had some dessert, and left the ladies to their millennial talk...
Saturday had more Italian -- we drove up to Oakland Park to meet Dana and Eric at Il Pasano, my favorite restaurant from the Check Please show. Eric had taken his whole family after the show, and the lovely South African and Mozambique -Italian owners knew us well.
I was a celebrity because of the show. No fewer than 4 diners came up to me, with some saying they had come to the restaurant after seeing Check Please. Paola, the owner, said that they were doing well before, but after the show, things had gotten crazy. They had a 50 person wait list for last night. They were going to remove tables because, she said, the place had gotten to be something other than what they wished -- a small and chill intimate place.
An older fellow waved our way. I waved back, but alas, I wasn't the celebrity -- the man was a patient of Eric's! He wanted Eric to know he was eating heart healthy. Eric told the fellow he was off duty.
A fit, well dressed man with an accent out of the Soprano's came by, also to tell me he had come because of seeing me. His accent was pure Brooklyn/Staten Island. He lived in Boca and told Dana and Eric about a hidden pizza place there. They will try it out.
Even with the glow of celebrity, we had a normal time -- catching up about our kids. Their boy Josh just got engaged, and we joked about making sure we coordinated dates -- D2 and Jonathan will marry around the same time.
I had joked on the show that I had become that cranky old guy who rarely drove north of the Miami Dade-Broward line. It's actually true. But last night, like our first time at Il Paesano, was worth the hour drive.
And the fun continues...yesterday Barry's boy Josh, my nephew of another brother, turned 21. We're having a men's night for him -- Kenny and I are meeting him and his Dad for dinner, and then a politically incorrect comedy night -- we're seeing Andrew Dice Clay at the Doral Improv.
Barry needs this the most. He works in academe, the most politically correct milieu there is. A night of hearing the opposite will give him some needed release...
It's rare to have three events in a single weekend, but nice to still do. Oh, and Paola and her husband Virgilio comped our wine, beer, and a dessert last night. Celebrity has its perks...
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