My ancient suegra Rachel just keeps going and going. While I was in DC, Wifey visited her at Baptist Hospital -- she was taken there for pneumonia and an eye infection. I know that, when a person is 94.5 years old, pneumonia is often the final condition, and thought I might be coming home to Miami to a funeral.
Not even close. She was discharged from the hospital back to the Palace -- to their rehab unit - and yesterday we visited. She was no worse for the wear -- demanding that we bring chairs from the next bed over to sit -- and telling us loudly how her roommate "must have been very beautiful when she was younger."
I return to my prediction that my mother in law makes it to 100.
Wifey walked over to the ALF part of the Palace and got some of her mother's things. My mother in law looks at Wifey with total love -- always had, and always will. She treated us to the tale of how difficult it was to have Wifey -- after a miscarriage ("de dead boy") and how she and my father in law scraped together shekels to see the "professor in Jerusalem" (the infertility specialist in the new nation of Israel) and how, when Wifey was born, all of my mother in law's past horrors, the Holocaust, the privations of post War Germany -- all of it -- were worth it for the gift of her precious baby girl.
Yeah -- Wifey has never suffered from self esteem issues...
So after I heard the tales for the 1000th time, it was time to go. They're giving her PT, and will then wheel her back across the parking lot to her regular room. All of this costs a ton of money, but since Rachel is now on both Medicare AND Medicaid -- it's all paid for by the US.
Medicaid planning was truly critical -- as it now stands, we only have to come up with about $300 per month to keep her in the plush Palace. The balance is paid by her Social Security, German Reparations Payments, and a Medicaid Supplement. The last program is pretty new -- Medicaid pays some of the cost of an ALF in hopes of saving money on the more expensive nursing home, which was always covered by Medicaid.
My mother in law's current monthly cost is close to $4000 -- not a small amount.
As I was telling Barry and Donna in DC -- elder care ain't cheap. You don't have to plan if you're very poor or very rich -- but for all in the middle, planning makes decent care possible. I'm glad we got it done before my father in law went into Miami Jewish -- and the plan extended to Rachel's care, too.
We came home, and I sat on the front porch for awhile -- reflecting about Memorial Day. There was a great old movie on PBS, about the WW II writer Ernie Pyle, and Wifey and I watched.
The action was about the Battle of Monte Cassino, in Italy, and Wifey and I had visited the town with friends we made on a a cruise -- the Fouche family, from Midland, Texas.
Phil was injured during the battle, and spent the rest of the War selling bonds for the government. He had been told a monument was erected in the town of Cassino, and wanted to visit. We tagged along, and it remains one of the most memorable times of any trip I've taken.
We walked through the dusty town, and found the square. Phil saw the placque, and the tall, tough Texan fell to his knees, crying -- thinking about the friends he had lost -- then 50 years in the past. We all hugged -- and Phil told me my Dad, a WW II Vet, would have been proud that I accompanied him.
So it was appropriate for Memorial Day -- I actually had a few vodkas as we watched -- and toasted the heroes of that time.
And my mother in law, also of that era -- is still among us -- 74 years after the War ended.
Rock on, Rachel...
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Monday, May 27, 2019
Memorial Day Stroll
So since I have started going to the gym, with stern but wonderful encouragement by my guru, Enrique, I have walked much less in my 'hood. I put in miles and miles on the treadmill, uphill for better cardiac conditioning, and the local walks have greatly diminished. But today I was to meet Enrique for a session at 7, and he texted last night.
Today is his birthday, and he was going to to "exceed the shoes." "Shoes" is a term I learned and taught him, which holds that martinis are like shoes: one is not enough, and you don't need more than two. But for special occasions, one exceeds the shoes, and that was my guru's plan last night, which would impact an early meeting. I wished him a happy birthday and will see him later in the week. But meanwhile, I had some activity to make up.
I left at 7 am, before the sun was too strong, and sure enough, there was a delightful breeze. I got two houses down, and saw our neighbor Judy, who I call the rich widow Judy, as that is what she is. I stopped and chatted -- I haven't seen her in over a year. She told me she's lost 40 pounds on a regimen of exercise and strict diet -- no meat, dairy, or sugar. Judy has no kids or grandkids, and I wanted to ask her why she was bothering. I think if I got to near 70 and no kids or grandkids depended on me -- I might start eating everything, and maybe even take up heroin. But I guess self preservation is a strong force...
I then started my stroll in earnest -- no more stops. I enjoyed the foliage -- the Royal Poincianas are in bloom, and their impossible colors are really a sight to behold. Plant lovers come to Miami to see them in May and June, apparently -- especially a block of South Miami Avenue, West of Brickell, where the colors are truly riotous.
As I turned a corner, two peacocks were showing off to each other -- full plumage. I tipped my Canes baseball hat to them. They had zero fear of me. The sun made the trees and lovely houses even prettier. There is truly no light like we have in Miami -- clear and stark.
My Lyft driver just said the same thing. The fellow who drove me to Reagan was a black guy about my age -- he had visited Florida for the first time, and said while he never needs sunglasses in DC -- he needed them in Florida -- the light was so strong.
I passed a few nice, post menopausal walker women -- I vaguely recognized them. I turned past our neighbor Gloria's house, and wondered how she was getting on as a widow -- Ben had dropped dead while running several months ago.
Barry reminded me of him during one of our talks in DC -- a classic "Dave loves to tell horrible tales of death of our contemporaries" moment.
But no death today! In fact, as I walked our Full Squad was texting happily about Jonathan's grandmother Judy. Joey gave us that name -- Full Squad -- meaning Wifey, the Ds, both of their men, and me.
Jonathan's grandmother Judy, the true queen of the family, was on a panel yesterday, at a local black church yesterday, speaking of her experiences of survival in the Holocaust. She told about being hidden by a kindly, gentile friend of her mother's, in a convent. The Mother Superior was an elegant woman right out of a movie -- and Judy learned a critical life lesson, which she shared -- the only way to really survive is through the love and help of others.
The funny part of the presentation is that Debbie Wasserman Schultz, the whiny Congresswoman from Broward, was also on the stage, and tried to be the alpha woman -- cutting Judy off as she told her tale. Judy put her in her place -- charmingly but sternly ignoring DWS, as she is called . Clearly the audience wanted to hear Judy, and not DWS. It was masterful.
We all really love and admire Judy. She knew her grandson Jonathan was destined to marry D2 -- she used to introduce D2 as "my future granddaughter." And what Judy deems so seems to always become -- she is a powerful woman, who gives love freely like she does the Venezuelan chocolates she always carries. D2 is marrying into royalty...
So I finished my 2.2 miles and again remembered why I love living where I do. I get to walk in a tropical garden -- with lovely privacy. It's completely safe for my family when they visit. It's a charmed neighborhood.
I need to remember to keep the outside walks on my itinerary. They're good for the soul as well as the body...
Today is his birthday, and he was going to to "exceed the shoes." "Shoes" is a term I learned and taught him, which holds that martinis are like shoes: one is not enough, and you don't need more than two. But for special occasions, one exceeds the shoes, and that was my guru's plan last night, which would impact an early meeting. I wished him a happy birthday and will see him later in the week. But meanwhile, I had some activity to make up.
I left at 7 am, before the sun was too strong, and sure enough, there was a delightful breeze. I got two houses down, and saw our neighbor Judy, who I call the rich widow Judy, as that is what she is. I stopped and chatted -- I haven't seen her in over a year. She told me she's lost 40 pounds on a regimen of exercise and strict diet -- no meat, dairy, or sugar. Judy has no kids or grandkids, and I wanted to ask her why she was bothering. I think if I got to near 70 and no kids or grandkids depended on me -- I might start eating everything, and maybe even take up heroin. But I guess self preservation is a strong force...
I then started my stroll in earnest -- no more stops. I enjoyed the foliage -- the Royal Poincianas are in bloom, and their impossible colors are really a sight to behold. Plant lovers come to Miami to see them in May and June, apparently -- especially a block of South Miami Avenue, West of Brickell, where the colors are truly riotous.
As I turned a corner, two peacocks were showing off to each other -- full plumage. I tipped my Canes baseball hat to them. They had zero fear of me. The sun made the trees and lovely houses even prettier. There is truly no light like we have in Miami -- clear and stark.
My Lyft driver just said the same thing. The fellow who drove me to Reagan was a black guy about my age -- he had visited Florida for the first time, and said while he never needs sunglasses in DC -- he needed them in Florida -- the light was so strong.
I passed a few nice, post menopausal walker women -- I vaguely recognized them. I turned past our neighbor Gloria's house, and wondered how she was getting on as a widow -- Ben had dropped dead while running several months ago.
Barry reminded me of him during one of our talks in DC -- a classic "Dave loves to tell horrible tales of death of our contemporaries" moment.
But no death today! In fact, as I walked our Full Squad was texting happily about Jonathan's grandmother Judy. Joey gave us that name -- Full Squad -- meaning Wifey, the Ds, both of their men, and me.
Jonathan's grandmother Judy, the true queen of the family, was on a panel yesterday, at a local black church yesterday, speaking of her experiences of survival in the Holocaust. She told about being hidden by a kindly, gentile friend of her mother's, in a convent. The Mother Superior was an elegant woman right out of a movie -- and Judy learned a critical life lesson, which she shared -- the only way to really survive is through the love and help of others.
The funny part of the presentation is that Debbie Wasserman Schultz, the whiny Congresswoman from Broward, was also on the stage, and tried to be the alpha woman -- cutting Judy off as she told her tale. Judy put her in her place -- charmingly but sternly ignoring DWS, as she is called . Clearly the audience wanted to hear Judy, and not DWS. It was masterful.
We all really love and admire Judy. She knew her grandson Jonathan was destined to marry D2 -- she used to introduce D2 as "my future granddaughter." And what Judy deems so seems to always become -- she is a powerful woman, who gives love freely like she does the Venezuelan chocolates she always carries. D2 is marrying into royalty...
So I finished my 2.2 miles and again remembered why I love living where I do. I get to walk in a tropical garden -- with lovely privacy. It's completely safe for my family when they visit. It's a charmed neighborhood.
I need to remember to keep the outside walks on my itinerary. They're good for the soul as well as the body...
Sunday, May 26, 2019
Graduation...All I Ever Wanted
So I Lyfted over to MIA and had a light breakfast in the Centurion, and then boarded a non-Max 737 for Reagan National.
Barry and Donna had arrived earlier at Thurgood Marshall, and Barry insisted on fetching me, which he did, and then we were off to lunch at a neat place called Busboys and Poets. We walked around the 'hood a bit, and then checked into our hotel, the Grand Hyatt, which lived up to its name, with an enormous covered courtyard in the style of the big corporate hotels of the 80s...
After some nice naps, we reconvened at the hotel's Club -- Josh, a skilled lay travel agent, had booked us rooms on the concierge floor, which came with some free drinks, which we enjoyed. We were joined by Scott, the man of the weekend, and made our way to the 'hood where Obama lives, and a great Middle Eastern place called Mama Ayeesha's, where we met Scott's lady, Samantha, and feasted on shish kabob and other like foods.
The young couple were beaming. Sam graduated Maryland last year, and works for CNN. She has become the chief assistant to Wolf Blitzer, their superstar reporter. Scott has a job, too -- working for a company that owns sports radio stations across the nation, including the top ones here in Miami. It was great to be among their enthusiasm. Young folks are where its at for me -- I'm over the complaints and pains and annoyances of the old. Ageist, I know, but too bad...
The next am we met with the balance of our party, staying at a hotel up the street: Barry's mom Beverly, and sister Phyllis, and brother in law Marty. Marty's mother also came along -- a testament to the closeness of their family. Josh, ever the organizer, led the way.
We went inside the older auditorium, where the Journalism School held their ceremony. We all beamed. Scott was the only male to be among the J School honors grads, and we heard inspirational talks about how important writers are.
Outside, during pictures, Scott pointed out a Miami family I knew -- my GI's partner Seth, who I watched the Presidential returns with at Kenny and Joelle's house, was there with his graduation daughter, also Samantha, and I congratulated them as well.
We then drove to Georgetown, and a place called Bakers, Farmers, and I forget the last name -- but it had terrific pub food and great drinks. We toasted and laughed, and stayed a bit longer due to a tornado warning -- I brought the restaurant's own vodka, which was excellent, and made folks share some shots...
Sam said goodbye -- she had family duties to attend to, and later Barry, Donna, and Scott and I wandered to DC's small Chinatown for a lovely dinner. Josh was with his aunt and grandmother.
We talked of days to come for Barry's family. In the immediate future there is a cruise to the Maritimes, followed by a NYC trip. They have an anniversary and Donna's 60th to celebrate. I told Barry it's not too scary. He asked what. I told him sleeping with a 60 year old woman -- it's a little shocking at first, but you get very used to it. Donna graciously refrained from pouring her won ton soup in my lap...
Friday the gang headed off the the general Maryland graduation, and I begged off. I had plans to meet my friend John, a retired CIA agent and writer, who I had last seen in '11. We almost missed our meeting -- he wrote to me the details on FB messenger, which I don't get on my phone, but I texted him and jumped into a Lyft to Arlington, and a terrific reunion.
We met in kindergarten, and John took a circuitous route to an ultimately heroic job -- law librarian in LA, grad school , and then the Company, as they call it. We both realized that 1992 was a highlight year for us -- he knew he was going to Georgetown for a Master's degree, and D2 joined our band, and I made my first big money in the law biz...
The 2 hours flew by. The same team that made the RBG movie, "On the Basis of Sex," is making a movie of John's book, and he'll be a major consultant. They'll film in LA, DC, and Morocco, which will fill in for Iraq. I can't wait to see it.
I left saying I hoped it would be far less then 8 years until we met again. John said his long term plans include a move to South Florida -- so hopefully that will be so.
Then came the final celebration -- a dinner for 9 at BLT Steak in DC. The martinis flowed, the steaks sizzled, and we truly feasted. We also celebrated Beverly's birthday, which was the next day, and it was wonderful to see how proud she was and thrilled to be included.
Barry and Donna and I said our goodbyes in the hotel lobby. They had to be up early for a three hour drive to Port Liberty in Jersey for their cruise. I had a later flight home.
Saturday I said goodbye to the Club, and Lyfted to Reagan, and flew home uneventfully. Wifey was there, dogs in tow, and we came home to a quiet and clean house. It was terrific.
I had missed a concert I really wanted to see -- Joe Jackson at the Gusman Theater Downtown. But, alas, Norman had attended, and posted some highlights, so even that miss wasn't a miss.
And more importantly, I was privileged to share in a major milestone for an awesome young man. Scott is now equipped and on his way to adulthood. I am thrilled to watch him soar.
Barry and Donna had arrived earlier at Thurgood Marshall, and Barry insisted on fetching me, which he did, and then we were off to lunch at a neat place called Busboys and Poets. We walked around the 'hood a bit, and then checked into our hotel, the Grand Hyatt, which lived up to its name, with an enormous covered courtyard in the style of the big corporate hotels of the 80s...
After some nice naps, we reconvened at the hotel's Club -- Josh, a skilled lay travel agent, had booked us rooms on the concierge floor, which came with some free drinks, which we enjoyed. We were joined by Scott, the man of the weekend, and made our way to the 'hood where Obama lives, and a great Middle Eastern place called Mama Ayeesha's, where we met Scott's lady, Samantha, and feasted on shish kabob and other like foods.
The young couple were beaming. Sam graduated Maryland last year, and works for CNN. She has become the chief assistant to Wolf Blitzer, their superstar reporter. Scott has a job, too -- working for a company that owns sports radio stations across the nation, including the top ones here in Miami. It was great to be among their enthusiasm. Young folks are where its at for me -- I'm over the complaints and pains and annoyances of the old. Ageist, I know, but too bad...
The next am we met with the balance of our party, staying at a hotel up the street: Barry's mom Beverly, and sister Phyllis, and brother in law Marty. Marty's mother also came along -- a testament to the closeness of their family. Josh, ever the organizer, led the way.
We went inside the older auditorium, where the Journalism School held their ceremony. We all beamed. Scott was the only male to be among the J School honors grads, and we heard inspirational talks about how important writers are.
Outside, during pictures, Scott pointed out a Miami family I knew -- my GI's partner Seth, who I watched the Presidential returns with at Kenny and Joelle's house, was there with his graduation daughter, also Samantha, and I congratulated them as well.
We then drove to Georgetown, and a place called Bakers, Farmers, and I forget the last name -- but it had terrific pub food and great drinks. We toasted and laughed, and stayed a bit longer due to a tornado warning -- I brought the restaurant's own vodka, which was excellent, and made folks share some shots...
Sam said goodbye -- she had family duties to attend to, and later Barry, Donna, and Scott and I wandered to DC's small Chinatown for a lovely dinner. Josh was with his aunt and grandmother.
We talked of days to come for Barry's family. In the immediate future there is a cruise to the Maritimes, followed by a NYC trip. They have an anniversary and Donna's 60th to celebrate. I told Barry it's not too scary. He asked what. I told him sleeping with a 60 year old woman -- it's a little shocking at first, but you get very used to it. Donna graciously refrained from pouring her won ton soup in my lap...
Friday the gang headed off the the general Maryland graduation, and I begged off. I had plans to meet my friend John, a retired CIA agent and writer, who I had last seen in '11. We almost missed our meeting -- he wrote to me the details on FB messenger, which I don't get on my phone, but I texted him and jumped into a Lyft to Arlington, and a terrific reunion.
We met in kindergarten, and John took a circuitous route to an ultimately heroic job -- law librarian in LA, grad school , and then the Company, as they call it. We both realized that 1992 was a highlight year for us -- he knew he was going to Georgetown for a Master's degree, and D2 joined our band, and I made my first big money in the law biz...
The 2 hours flew by. The same team that made the RBG movie, "On the Basis of Sex," is making a movie of John's book, and he'll be a major consultant. They'll film in LA, DC, and Morocco, which will fill in for Iraq. I can't wait to see it.
I left saying I hoped it would be far less then 8 years until we met again. John said his long term plans include a move to South Florida -- so hopefully that will be so.
Then came the final celebration -- a dinner for 9 at BLT Steak in DC. The martinis flowed, the steaks sizzled, and we truly feasted. We also celebrated Beverly's birthday, which was the next day, and it was wonderful to see how proud she was and thrilled to be included.
Barry and Donna and I said our goodbyes in the hotel lobby. They had to be up early for a three hour drive to Port Liberty in Jersey for their cruise. I had a later flight home.
Saturday I said goodbye to the Club, and Lyfted to Reagan, and flew home uneventfully. Wifey was there, dogs in tow, and we came home to a quiet and clean house. It was terrific.
I had missed a concert I really wanted to see -- Joe Jackson at the Gusman Theater Downtown. But, alas, Norman had attended, and posted some highlights, so even that miss wasn't a miss.
And more importantly, I was privileged to share in a major milestone for an awesome young man. Scott is now equipped and on his way to adulthood. I am thrilled to watch him soar.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
To Our Nation's Capital
I haven't been to D.C. in awhile -- since 2011 to be precise. I was last there to watch the Canes play Maryland -- it was new coach Al Golden't first game. We lost, which would prove a harbinger of the Golden tenure, but still had a wonderful time.
We stayed in D.C., and my Miami friends got to meet John, a friend since kindergarten. John had returned from Iraq, where, as a member of the CIA, he helped lead the capture and interrogation of Saddam Hussein. John regaled us with tales of his time there. It was one of the best steak dinners I ever had the privilege to host.
Before that, I had been in D.C. several times -- for experts on cases, and taking the Ds to learn about our nation. During one trip, when D2 was about three, we met John and his then girlfriend for dinner -- at one of those themed restaurants -- maybe Planet Hollywood. D1 sat quietly, and D2 was a terror -- we joke that she is the reason they never had kids. But the truth is, their careers got in the way.
Well, tomorrow I'm headed back. I had been out of the graduation business for awhile, but my nephew of another brother, Scott, is getting his sheepskin from Maryland -- he invited us up. Wifey was originally going to come, too, but things with my mother in law have gotten dicey lately -- 94.5 and in the hospital -- so Wifey is staying put. Instead, I'll fly up -- meeting Barry and Donna at the Grand Hyatt, where Josh, who is better than any travel agent, scored us great rooms at record low prices.
Thursday we'll drive to College Park for Scott's J School graduation. D2 made fun of me for calling Journalism School "J School," but in fact it's what its students call it. Ha. Score one for still hip dad...
Friday I'm going to skip the general graduation of the huge state school -- held in the football stadium. I'll reconvene with the graduate's family at a steakhouse Barry has chosen -- for the celebratory dinner.
I hosted our family for my nephew Henry's graduation at SF State in a steakhouse, too -- Morton's, I believe. Henry and his wife Val later became vegans...
And while the crew is at College Park, I hope to see my old friend John again. He's in town, and we have plans to meet. The book he wrote about his adventures in Iraq sold really well, and an award winning filmmaker is making a movie about it. I told John I hope they get someone like Brad Pitt to play him...
When we last spoke, I told John how proud I am of him -- a guy from our working class suburb on LI involved in the highest level of international intrigue. He said he was proud of me -- the family I have, with my accomplished daughters, and the fact I built a successful law practice which provided for many... Eh. I still wonder what it would be like to be an American James Bond for awhile...maybe John has some new and cooler tales to share.
I'm due back Saturday, and after a short Memorial Day week, we'll be seeing Edna and Marc -- in town for their wedding anniversary. They're staying at the Key Biscayne Ritz, and we'll meet at the Rusty Pelican -- the place with the best view of the city. We're due back there in November -- D2's dear friend Catherine is getting married there, and Wifey and I got a save the date. We really dig Catherine, and it'll be a privilege to attend her big day.
So hola, hopefully, D.C. This is the 4th and final of my trips of 2019 --Chicago, NYC, San Francisco, and now D.C./Maryland.
If there's something better than watching a dear friend's kid graduate, or get married, I don't know what it is. I am very thrilled to be celebrating the newest minted Maryland Terrapin, or, as his aunt Phyllis calls him, Maryland Twerp. He's an awesome young man, and we will justly celebrate him this week.
We stayed in D.C., and my Miami friends got to meet John, a friend since kindergarten. John had returned from Iraq, where, as a member of the CIA, he helped lead the capture and interrogation of Saddam Hussein. John regaled us with tales of his time there. It was one of the best steak dinners I ever had the privilege to host.
Before that, I had been in D.C. several times -- for experts on cases, and taking the Ds to learn about our nation. During one trip, when D2 was about three, we met John and his then girlfriend for dinner -- at one of those themed restaurants -- maybe Planet Hollywood. D1 sat quietly, and D2 was a terror -- we joke that she is the reason they never had kids. But the truth is, their careers got in the way.
Well, tomorrow I'm headed back. I had been out of the graduation business for awhile, but my nephew of another brother, Scott, is getting his sheepskin from Maryland -- he invited us up. Wifey was originally going to come, too, but things with my mother in law have gotten dicey lately -- 94.5 and in the hospital -- so Wifey is staying put. Instead, I'll fly up -- meeting Barry and Donna at the Grand Hyatt, where Josh, who is better than any travel agent, scored us great rooms at record low prices.
Thursday we'll drive to College Park for Scott's J School graduation. D2 made fun of me for calling Journalism School "J School," but in fact it's what its students call it. Ha. Score one for still hip dad...
Friday I'm going to skip the general graduation of the huge state school -- held in the football stadium. I'll reconvene with the graduate's family at a steakhouse Barry has chosen -- for the celebratory dinner.
I hosted our family for my nephew Henry's graduation at SF State in a steakhouse, too -- Morton's, I believe. Henry and his wife Val later became vegans...
And while the crew is at College Park, I hope to see my old friend John again. He's in town, and we have plans to meet. The book he wrote about his adventures in Iraq sold really well, and an award winning filmmaker is making a movie about it. I told John I hope they get someone like Brad Pitt to play him...
When we last spoke, I told John how proud I am of him -- a guy from our working class suburb on LI involved in the highest level of international intrigue. He said he was proud of me -- the family I have, with my accomplished daughters, and the fact I built a successful law practice which provided for many... Eh. I still wonder what it would be like to be an American James Bond for awhile...maybe John has some new and cooler tales to share.
I'm due back Saturday, and after a short Memorial Day week, we'll be seeing Edna and Marc -- in town for their wedding anniversary. They're staying at the Key Biscayne Ritz, and we'll meet at the Rusty Pelican -- the place with the best view of the city. We're due back there in November -- D2's dear friend Catherine is getting married there, and Wifey and I got a save the date. We really dig Catherine, and it'll be a privilege to attend her big day.
So hola, hopefully, D.C. This is the 4th and final of my trips of 2019 --Chicago, NYC, San Francisco, and now D.C./Maryland.
If there's something better than watching a dear friend's kid graduate, or get married, I don't know what it is. I am very thrilled to be celebrating the newest minted Maryland Terrapin, or, as his aunt Phyllis calls him, Maryland Twerp. He's an awesome young man, and we will justly celebrate him this week.
Sunday, May 19, 2019
Shifting to the Right
As a late Boomer who grew up on Long Island, it just seemed a given that I would be politically liberal. My parents were Democrats, and that made them second generation members of the party -- I was in the third. My Dad was politically incorrect, though still liberal. I remember one lovely Spring day, in the late 70s, my Mom suggested my Dad not go into work, and instead take us to Jones Beach for a picnic. My Dad responded that he wasn't only supporting his family -- "10 Puerto Ricans in Spanish Harlem who don't want to work" depended on him to work, too -- he couldn't simply miss a day.
I truly am my father's son -- my political incorrectness would have been a MAJOR problem for me had I gone into academics...
But, following Churchill's observation that an older man who isn't a conservative has no head (a young one not a liberal has no heart), I have been following that path.
Just this am, the NY Times had an extensive article about the plight of targeted immigrants -- from places like Haiti and Bangladesh, who were the victims of predatory lending in the NY taxi industry. I had always believed they just had bad timing -- many bought expensive medallions just as Uber and Lyft were cutting int the taxi business -- sort of like modern versions of the folks who opened new horse stables as the auto was coming into widespread use.
Nope, the Times explains -- these poor folks were victims of banks and other lending companies who "took advantage" of them, so that financing companies could become rich. The Times even included a note about a young man, the son of a taxi driver, who got so rich in the biz that he hired Nicki Minaj to "play for his son's Bar Mitzvah." So, of course, clearly many of the predators were Jews...
If you read it the way the author intended, you have to feel bad for these innocent victims.
But then I thought about it. Our friend Edna's father Meyer came to the US in 1960, also with limited English skills. He started supporting a family driving a taxi. He saved and saved, and bought his own medallion, I guess in the late 60s. He worked crazy long hours, and when he retired in the early 80s, sold his medallion -- for , I think, about 1/4 of a million dollars. He enjoyed a nice retirement in Hallandale -- bought a condo for himself and his wife, and even fully supported a daughter, Edna's sister, who never launched, as the saying goes.
So because luck ran his way, and Meyer bought right and sold right, he wasn't a victim, but the new wave of immigrants are?
Nah -- smells funny to me. I mean, I'm sorry for the Bangladeshi guy who blew his life savings trying to buy a nearly $1 million medallion, but that's the system.
I stupidly bought a condo in Palmetto Bay at the height of the real estate bubble, in '06, and sold it at a substantial loss 11 years later. The only person I blamed was myself, for getting caught up in the market, and making a stupid call. I don't at all blame the developer for marketing a 750 square foot former garden apartment that I KNEW was worth around $100k in such a way that I paid close to a quarter million for it.
Maybe the Times should investigate. The developer used "granite counter tops and steel appliances" so that a schmuck like me would overpay to that extent.
It's just the system. Poor folks aren't always to be pities for making dumb choices...
I know two people who lost nearly everything investing their life savings in franchise businesses. One of them took me along -- I was a major investor -- it took years to get paid back the principal only.
It taught me a lesson about franchises. They are terrific for the franchisor, and a sucker bet for the franchisee.
The good news is, ride sharing companies allow anyone willing to work to make money without a major investment. I just learned about a former day trader, and son of a rich man, who is driving Uber up in Broward. Good for him. He has a nice car and plenty of free time -- so why not.
Hey -- wait a minute. That describes me as well...
If I do it, and lose money, though, I won't blame others.
It's funny how our point of view shifts as we age.
I remember being in law school, and seeing a Ferrari parked at the school. I scoffed -- that car cost more than my first house! How could anyone justify spending so much on a car.
Now I think -- good for that guy. He's made it (or his parents did), and he gets to drive whatever he wants.
I'd much rather aspire to greater wealth than envy it. Hopefully the "victims" of the failing taxi trade will get that lesson, too.
I truly am my father's son -- my political incorrectness would have been a MAJOR problem for me had I gone into academics...
But, following Churchill's observation that an older man who isn't a conservative has no head (a young one not a liberal has no heart), I have been following that path.
Just this am, the NY Times had an extensive article about the plight of targeted immigrants -- from places like Haiti and Bangladesh, who were the victims of predatory lending in the NY taxi industry. I had always believed they just had bad timing -- many bought expensive medallions just as Uber and Lyft were cutting int the taxi business -- sort of like modern versions of the folks who opened new horse stables as the auto was coming into widespread use.
Nope, the Times explains -- these poor folks were victims of banks and other lending companies who "took advantage" of them, so that financing companies could become rich. The Times even included a note about a young man, the son of a taxi driver, who got so rich in the biz that he hired Nicki Minaj to "play for his son's Bar Mitzvah." So, of course, clearly many of the predators were Jews...
If you read it the way the author intended, you have to feel bad for these innocent victims.
But then I thought about it. Our friend Edna's father Meyer came to the US in 1960, also with limited English skills. He started supporting a family driving a taxi. He saved and saved, and bought his own medallion, I guess in the late 60s. He worked crazy long hours, and when he retired in the early 80s, sold his medallion -- for , I think, about 1/4 of a million dollars. He enjoyed a nice retirement in Hallandale -- bought a condo for himself and his wife, and even fully supported a daughter, Edna's sister, who never launched, as the saying goes.
So because luck ran his way, and Meyer bought right and sold right, he wasn't a victim, but the new wave of immigrants are?
Nah -- smells funny to me. I mean, I'm sorry for the Bangladeshi guy who blew his life savings trying to buy a nearly $1 million medallion, but that's the system.
I stupidly bought a condo in Palmetto Bay at the height of the real estate bubble, in '06, and sold it at a substantial loss 11 years later. The only person I blamed was myself, for getting caught up in the market, and making a stupid call. I don't at all blame the developer for marketing a 750 square foot former garden apartment that I KNEW was worth around $100k in such a way that I paid close to a quarter million for it.
Maybe the Times should investigate. The developer used "granite counter tops and steel appliances" so that a schmuck like me would overpay to that extent.
It's just the system. Poor folks aren't always to be pities for making dumb choices...
I know two people who lost nearly everything investing their life savings in franchise businesses. One of them took me along -- I was a major investor -- it took years to get paid back the principal only.
It taught me a lesson about franchises. They are terrific for the franchisor, and a sucker bet for the franchisee.
The good news is, ride sharing companies allow anyone willing to work to make money without a major investment. I just learned about a former day trader, and son of a rich man, who is driving Uber up in Broward. Good for him. He has a nice car and plenty of free time -- so why not.
Hey -- wait a minute. That describes me as well...
If I do it, and lose money, though, I won't blame others.
It's funny how our point of view shifts as we age.
I remember being in law school, and seeing a Ferrari parked at the school. I scoffed -- that car cost more than my first house! How could anyone justify spending so much on a car.
Now I think -- good for that guy. He's made it (or his parents did), and he gets to drive whatever he wants.
I'd much rather aspire to greater wealth than envy it. Hopefully the "victims" of the failing taxi trade will get that lesson, too.
Saturday, May 18, 2019
Meet the Mets
So D1's client is the Marlins, and she knows I follow them, but my first sports love was the NY Mets. I was 8 when the Miracle Mets happened -- the formerly laughable team won the World Series. It was my first sports love.
They're in town for a series with the Fish, and she got some excellent tickets -- right about the Marlins dugout in the stadium that sits on hallowed ground -- the sight of my beloved Orange Bowl, where my finest sports memories happened.
Dr. Barry, despite moving to So Florida from Queens as an early teen, still loves the Mets, and D1 thought we'd all go to the game. D1's man Joey is golfing near Orlando, and the plan was for Barry, Donna, Josh and I to be joined by D1 and Wifey for a Mets/Marlins night.
Well -- fate intervened. Josh went out of town, and D1 was feeling under the weather, and once Wifey learned that, she begged off, as did Donna. So now there were 6 premium, free seats.
I called Mike, and ever the trouper, had no problem turning around from Pinecrest and joining us. So three merry old Canes -- Barry, Mike, and I met across from the parking lot we tailgated for years, and walked inside Marlins Park.
The scene there, even with the historically bad team, was lively -- lots of folks having a grand Friday night. The crowd was easily half Mets fans, including a fellow sitting behind us with Archie Bunker's accent, who came from Queens to see his team.
Mike procured us some adult beverages, and the game began. It was a good one -- the Marlins anemic offense awoke, and they shelled the Cy Young winner Jacob DeGrom. But, even though they had a 7 run lead late, the laughable relief pitching let the Mets right back in the game, and the tying run was at bat in the top of the 9th when the game finally ended.
Barry had left an inning earlier, to fetch Josh at FLL, and later I got a photo of the two of them enjoying some late night Chinese together.
I love college football the most, but the games don't lend themselves to good conversation - especially when the Canes play well, we're all intensely involved with the action. Baseball is the opposite -- the three wise men caught up last night on world affairs, grown kids, careers -- the whole 9 innings. It was a great time.
This am I got up early and went to LOL, and was served by Lori, the long time waitress and now RN. She starts full time at Baptist in July. She loves Barry's boys, and I interviewed her on video about Scott's upcoming college graduation. She gave him some cheerleading. He loved it.
I think we'll have dinner with D1 tonight -- Joey comes back tomorrow night.
I'm due to leave Wednesday for D.C. -- attending Scott's graduation from Maryland J School on Thursday, and big dinner in D.C. Friday night.
Not a bad way to cruise through the end of May...I have a feeling I'll take in a few more Marlins games this season -- even if I buy the tickets myself.
They're in town for a series with the Fish, and she got some excellent tickets -- right about the Marlins dugout in the stadium that sits on hallowed ground -- the sight of my beloved Orange Bowl, where my finest sports memories happened.
Dr. Barry, despite moving to So Florida from Queens as an early teen, still loves the Mets, and D1 thought we'd all go to the game. D1's man Joey is golfing near Orlando, and the plan was for Barry, Donna, Josh and I to be joined by D1 and Wifey for a Mets/Marlins night.
Well -- fate intervened. Josh went out of town, and D1 was feeling under the weather, and once Wifey learned that, she begged off, as did Donna. So now there were 6 premium, free seats.
I called Mike, and ever the trouper, had no problem turning around from Pinecrest and joining us. So three merry old Canes -- Barry, Mike, and I met across from the parking lot we tailgated for years, and walked inside Marlins Park.
The scene there, even with the historically bad team, was lively -- lots of folks having a grand Friday night. The crowd was easily half Mets fans, including a fellow sitting behind us with Archie Bunker's accent, who came from Queens to see his team.
Mike procured us some adult beverages, and the game began. It was a good one -- the Marlins anemic offense awoke, and they shelled the Cy Young winner Jacob DeGrom. But, even though they had a 7 run lead late, the laughable relief pitching let the Mets right back in the game, and the tying run was at bat in the top of the 9th when the game finally ended.
Barry had left an inning earlier, to fetch Josh at FLL, and later I got a photo of the two of them enjoying some late night Chinese together.
I love college football the most, but the games don't lend themselves to good conversation - especially when the Canes play well, we're all intensely involved with the action. Baseball is the opposite -- the three wise men caught up last night on world affairs, grown kids, careers -- the whole 9 innings. It was a great time.
This am I got up early and went to LOL, and was served by Lori, the long time waitress and now RN. She starts full time at Baptist in July. She loves Barry's boys, and I interviewed her on video about Scott's upcoming college graduation. She gave him some cheerleading. He loved it.
I think we'll have dinner with D1 tonight -- Joey comes back tomorrow night.
I'm due to leave Wednesday for D.C. -- attending Scott's graduation from Maryland J School on Thursday, and big dinner in D.C. Friday night.
Not a bad way to cruise through the end of May...I have a feeling I'll take in a few more Marlins games this season -- even if I buy the tickets myself.
Thursday, May 16, 2019
Staying Out of the Dark
I had a long talk with my California sister yesterday, and we philosophized about the need to surround ourselves with upbeat and happy people. I told her I LOVE it when friends call to tell me about triumph and winning. I'm at an age where I listen to the negatives and drama, but have much less patience for them.
Earlier, I had spoken with my friend Jeff. It was his birthday, and he's a very lucky man. He has three accomplished daughters, and the oldest, most importantly, married a great young man. The oldest is graduating with a MS in Architecture and MBA next week, and Jeff, his wife, and 2 daughters are all meeting for this wonderful event.
Jeff told me about a local tragedy. A 26 year old young man had killed himself via a drug overdose. I know who the family is, but I don't personally know them. They are star crossed: 10 years ago, while on a cruise to the Bahamas, the parents were struck by a truck (they were on scooters) and grievously injured. They needed lengthy rehab, and apparently the Dad was never the same.
The young man apparently had a rough time of things. He did a few stints in rehab, and seemed to be on the mend, but then brought down the final curtain.
I felt terrible to hear this news, but soon directed our conversation back to the positive -- telling Jeff that if there is a better birthday gift than a child's graduate school graduation -- I don't know what it is. I wanted to be in the brightness again -- staying focused on these peoples' tragedy wasn't for me.
I'm lucky, in that I inherited the optimism from my Mom. But, like her, I have to work at it. Sunny stopped getting the newspaper a year after my Dad died. My Dad would have sooner skipped food than he would have his daily paper. But Mom said it saddened her to read about all the bad news.
In the final years of her life, she cut out TV news, too. She would only watch animal and cooking shows -- and the occasional old movie. She knew that what you let into your head would have an effect, and she only wanted to bring in happy and light.
I can't be that extreme -- especially since I'm a news hound, and like to know what's going on nationally, globally, and locally at all times. But I put up a wall between the bad news and my heart -- it's the only way.
This morning I met my friend Kenny for breakfast. He excitedly showed me pictures of the dream house he and Joelle are building up in Maine. They hope to become true snowbirds next year.
Kenny is one of my most politically liberal friends, and despises Trump. He contributes to Democratic political races all over the country. But he also separates politics from his personal peace of mind. He's wise.
Wifey has some friends who also despise Trump, and their feelings dampen the rest of their lives. To me, this is the height of foolishness. No politicians truly care about anyone but their own re-elections. To invest real heart into any of them is silly -- let alone allowing the state of things politically to affect your state of mind.
Tragedy and sadness comes to all of us. But to let it define us seems to me to be the most ungrateful act towards the Big Man we can perform -- failing to savor the gift of life.
Tomorrow D1 is sending Dr. Barry and me to see her client the Marlins play -- against my childhood team, and still Barry's team -- the Mets. The Marlins are the worst in baseball this year, and the Mets, despite having some great players, are having a bad year, too. I guess we can focus on that aspect of things.
But Barry and I will watch the game, share some toasts to our wonderful kids, and savor the time. In other words, we will stay out of the dark.
Earlier, I had spoken with my friend Jeff. It was his birthday, and he's a very lucky man. He has three accomplished daughters, and the oldest, most importantly, married a great young man. The oldest is graduating with a MS in Architecture and MBA next week, and Jeff, his wife, and 2 daughters are all meeting for this wonderful event.
Jeff told me about a local tragedy. A 26 year old young man had killed himself via a drug overdose. I know who the family is, but I don't personally know them. They are star crossed: 10 years ago, while on a cruise to the Bahamas, the parents were struck by a truck (they were on scooters) and grievously injured. They needed lengthy rehab, and apparently the Dad was never the same.
The young man apparently had a rough time of things. He did a few stints in rehab, and seemed to be on the mend, but then brought down the final curtain.
I felt terrible to hear this news, but soon directed our conversation back to the positive -- telling Jeff that if there is a better birthday gift than a child's graduate school graduation -- I don't know what it is. I wanted to be in the brightness again -- staying focused on these peoples' tragedy wasn't for me.
I'm lucky, in that I inherited the optimism from my Mom. But, like her, I have to work at it. Sunny stopped getting the newspaper a year after my Dad died. My Dad would have sooner skipped food than he would have his daily paper. But Mom said it saddened her to read about all the bad news.
In the final years of her life, she cut out TV news, too. She would only watch animal and cooking shows -- and the occasional old movie. She knew that what you let into your head would have an effect, and she only wanted to bring in happy and light.
I can't be that extreme -- especially since I'm a news hound, and like to know what's going on nationally, globally, and locally at all times. But I put up a wall between the bad news and my heart -- it's the only way.
This morning I met my friend Kenny for breakfast. He excitedly showed me pictures of the dream house he and Joelle are building up in Maine. They hope to become true snowbirds next year.
Kenny is one of my most politically liberal friends, and despises Trump. He contributes to Democratic political races all over the country. But he also separates politics from his personal peace of mind. He's wise.
Wifey has some friends who also despise Trump, and their feelings dampen the rest of their lives. To me, this is the height of foolishness. No politicians truly care about anyone but their own re-elections. To invest real heart into any of them is silly -- let alone allowing the state of things politically to affect your state of mind.
Tragedy and sadness comes to all of us. But to let it define us seems to me to be the most ungrateful act towards the Big Man we can perform -- failing to savor the gift of life.
Tomorrow D1 is sending Dr. Barry and me to see her client the Marlins play -- against my childhood team, and still Barry's team -- the Mets. The Marlins are the worst in baseball this year, and the Mets, despite having some great players, are having a bad year, too. I guess we can focus on that aspect of things.
But Barry and I will watch the game, share some toasts to our wonderful kids, and savor the time. In other words, we will stay out of the dark.
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
Hip Hop Culture in Miami
I never got hip hop music at all, but sometimes quote lyrics or mention the outrageous name of a performer to make D2 laugh. She likes the music. D1 -- not so much.
So 4 years ago some producers in Wynwood started a hip hop festival called Rolling Loud. It grew and grew, and last year moved into the stadium I always call Joe Robbie, even though it hasn't had that name in decades. Robbie built the place with his own money, and deserves the immortality, I figure.
Anyway, the thing is now the biggest hip hop music festival in the country, and last weekend it played out. Rappers from all over came here, many staying in typically non hip hop places like Sunny Isles Beach, which is very rich and Jewish and, lately, Russian.
What played out over the weekend was a scene from a Wayans Brothers satire about rap culture. One performer, Kodak Black, was arrested as he tried to take the stage. A guy named AAB Hellabandz was shot and killed on South Beach by someone with a beef with him.
Lil Wayne was outraged that he was to be wanded as he entered the stadium, and got all angry and refused to perform. I mean -- who needs to check for weapons at a hip hop festival, right?
And then Saturday was the worst of all. A rapper named NBA YoungBoy was leaving his luxury hotel, the Trump National on Sunny Isles, when a rival group opened fire on his posse. NBA stands for Never Broke Again -- not anything to do with basketball.
A gun battle broke out, NBA's girlfriend was hit, though not fatally, and some poor schlemiel working across Collins Avenue, returning cars for a Hertz outlet, was killed. He was a 40 something guy with an Arab sounding name, and by accounts was a nice, 12 year employee about to leave to celebrate Mother's Day with his family.
Afterwards, the groups fled, shooting at each other as they drove the Lehman Causeway towards Aventura -- and the mess shut down the whole area with the multiple scenes. The cops ended up arresting a bunch of these guys as they were entering Joe Robbie to perform.
The Rolling Loud twitter page said something like "Dis hip hop. We had some hiccups." When someone commented that 2 deaths was more than a hiccup, the response was "Nobody done die at event."
Ah, Miami tourism guys. They happily bring in ANYONE if it means they pay the absurd hotel prices.
Of course, this thing is nothing new. Years ago, Miami Beach hosted a great Klezmer music festival, and things got out of hand, when Moshe Ginsberg accused Stein's Deli of shorting his kreplach order. Loud yelling in Yiddish resulted.
Thankfully, these people are gone -- but not for long. Memorial Day has somehow become Urban Beach Weekend, and South Beach will welcome back some tourists who tend to get into the same dustups as the Rolling Loud folks.
Many South Beach residents leave town rather than get caught in the crossfire. The mayor and commissioners try to deal with the problem while remaining politically correct.
This year, they invited the US military to hold and air and sea show, hoping the different demographic that is interested in that sort of thing will sort of dilute the other types of tourists...
All I know is, a culture that glamorizes violence isn't one I want to be part of. But in fairness, some of the puns and play on words for the performers IS pretty funny. Nipsey Hustle -- a rapper killed in LA last month? Hey -- he knew Nipsey Russel, the comedian.
I'm so old and out of touch, but I DO enjoy not getting shot by idiots protecting their pride...
So 4 years ago some producers in Wynwood started a hip hop festival called Rolling Loud. It grew and grew, and last year moved into the stadium I always call Joe Robbie, even though it hasn't had that name in decades. Robbie built the place with his own money, and deserves the immortality, I figure.
Anyway, the thing is now the biggest hip hop music festival in the country, and last weekend it played out. Rappers from all over came here, many staying in typically non hip hop places like Sunny Isles Beach, which is very rich and Jewish and, lately, Russian.
What played out over the weekend was a scene from a Wayans Brothers satire about rap culture. One performer, Kodak Black, was arrested as he tried to take the stage. A guy named AAB Hellabandz was shot and killed on South Beach by someone with a beef with him.
Lil Wayne was outraged that he was to be wanded as he entered the stadium, and got all angry and refused to perform. I mean -- who needs to check for weapons at a hip hop festival, right?
And then Saturday was the worst of all. A rapper named NBA YoungBoy was leaving his luxury hotel, the Trump National on Sunny Isles, when a rival group opened fire on his posse. NBA stands for Never Broke Again -- not anything to do with basketball.
A gun battle broke out, NBA's girlfriend was hit, though not fatally, and some poor schlemiel working across Collins Avenue, returning cars for a Hertz outlet, was killed. He was a 40 something guy with an Arab sounding name, and by accounts was a nice, 12 year employee about to leave to celebrate Mother's Day with his family.
Afterwards, the groups fled, shooting at each other as they drove the Lehman Causeway towards Aventura -- and the mess shut down the whole area with the multiple scenes. The cops ended up arresting a bunch of these guys as they were entering Joe Robbie to perform.
The Rolling Loud twitter page said something like "Dis hip hop. We had some hiccups." When someone commented that 2 deaths was more than a hiccup, the response was "Nobody done die at event."
Ah, Miami tourism guys. They happily bring in ANYONE if it means they pay the absurd hotel prices.
Of course, this thing is nothing new. Years ago, Miami Beach hosted a great Klezmer music festival, and things got out of hand, when Moshe Ginsberg accused Stein's Deli of shorting his kreplach order. Loud yelling in Yiddish resulted.
Thankfully, these people are gone -- but not for long. Memorial Day has somehow become Urban Beach Weekend, and South Beach will welcome back some tourists who tend to get into the same dustups as the Rolling Loud folks.
Many South Beach residents leave town rather than get caught in the crossfire. The mayor and commissioners try to deal with the problem while remaining politically correct.
This year, they invited the US military to hold and air and sea show, hoping the different demographic that is interested in that sort of thing will sort of dilute the other types of tourists...
All I know is, a culture that glamorizes violence isn't one I want to be part of. But in fairness, some of the puns and play on words for the performers IS pretty funny. Nipsey Hustle -- a rapper killed in LA last month? Hey -- he knew Nipsey Russel, the comedian.
I'm so old and out of touch, but I DO enjoy not getting shot by idiots protecting their pride...
Sunday, May 12, 2019
Everything's Quiet On Mother's Day
I read an article this morning that claims the originator of MD, some woman in West Virginia, ended up hating what the holiday had become: total commercialism. The founder simply wanted a day to honor US mothers, and hers in particular, and got President Wilson to sign a law making it an official US holiday. But when it became all about chocolates and flowers and jewelry, the founder would protest, and even get arrested. She died in an asylum...I guess a fitting martyr to those star crossed mothers who, if they had to do it all again, probably wouldn't have become mothers.
Well, Wifey had a banner MD. It actually started last night -- we visited my ancient suegra at the Palace. Rachel was out of it -- sleeping through most of the visit, and failing to realize when she was dreaming or in reality, and when we left, I could tell Wifey was sad. But I told her I really didn't think it was the end for our Survivor -- she had a bad eye infection and cold, and I think her mien was the result of the meds she was taking. As I told Wifey, her mother will live to annoy another day...
This am, I woke Wifey with coffee in bed, and a visit from the Special Needs Spaniel, who usually stays downstairs, but wanted to make a special MD visit. We got ready and drove to the Grove, where Joey's brother's in laws were hosting a brunch.
It was delightful -- Susie is a baker, and made the most delicious bread pudding I've ever had -- along with a classic Ashkenazi spread, which the Sephardim among us enjoyed immensely. We caught up with Joey's family, and Rick, my fellow gringo lawyer and I , talked about the state of the law business in Miami.
The view from the balcony was beautiful, and Wifey fell asleep in an exquisite nap from the Biscayne Bay breezes. We chatted about days to come, and days gone by.
I FaceTimed D2 in NYC, and she sent her MD greetings to all, and reminded Wifey to check her email for her MD note to her.
After a few hours, we all left, and there was an exchange of orchids -- we gave one to Susie, and she gave out some to the guests, and D1 and Joey bought Wifey a beautiful one. As we took the elevator down, we looked like we had come from an orchid show. It was lovely...
On the way home, I did something I haven't in too long -- stopped at Acee's Icees in the park, for a frozen lemonade. Acee has been there since the 60s -- a Grove hippie made great, financially, and Wifey and I shared the frozen concoction all the way home. Refreshing.
Wifey read out loud D2's heartfelt email -- how D2 appreciates how Wifey always gave and still gives her unconditional love to her daughters, and how D2 appreciates even the little things -- like Wifey sending her a warm throw for the cold NYC winters, and pajamas, too...
I asked Wifey if it was an acceptable MD for her. Better than acceptable, she said -- it was a great one. Now, if there are grandkids in the future...imagine that, Wifey said...
So Mother's Day '19 is in the books. I admitted to Wifey the day is always a bit sad for me, since losing my own Mom 6 years gone by now.
But today was a fine one -- for the baby mama I need to worry about.
Well, Wifey had a banner MD. It actually started last night -- we visited my ancient suegra at the Palace. Rachel was out of it -- sleeping through most of the visit, and failing to realize when she was dreaming or in reality, and when we left, I could tell Wifey was sad. But I told her I really didn't think it was the end for our Survivor -- she had a bad eye infection and cold, and I think her mien was the result of the meds she was taking. As I told Wifey, her mother will live to annoy another day...
This am, I woke Wifey with coffee in bed, and a visit from the Special Needs Spaniel, who usually stays downstairs, but wanted to make a special MD visit. We got ready and drove to the Grove, where Joey's brother's in laws were hosting a brunch.
It was delightful -- Susie is a baker, and made the most delicious bread pudding I've ever had -- along with a classic Ashkenazi spread, which the Sephardim among us enjoyed immensely. We caught up with Joey's family, and Rick, my fellow gringo lawyer and I , talked about the state of the law business in Miami.
The view from the balcony was beautiful, and Wifey fell asleep in an exquisite nap from the Biscayne Bay breezes. We chatted about days to come, and days gone by.
I FaceTimed D2 in NYC, and she sent her MD greetings to all, and reminded Wifey to check her email for her MD note to her.
After a few hours, we all left, and there was an exchange of orchids -- we gave one to Susie, and she gave out some to the guests, and D1 and Joey bought Wifey a beautiful one. As we took the elevator down, we looked like we had come from an orchid show. It was lovely...
On the way home, I did something I haven't in too long -- stopped at Acee's Icees in the park, for a frozen lemonade. Acee has been there since the 60s -- a Grove hippie made great, financially, and Wifey and I shared the frozen concoction all the way home. Refreshing.
Wifey read out loud D2's heartfelt email -- how D2 appreciates how Wifey always gave and still gives her unconditional love to her daughters, and how D2 appreciates even the little things -- like Wifey sending her a warm throw for the cold NYC winters, and pajamas, too...
I asked Wifey if it was an acceptable MD for her. Better than acceptable, she said -- it was a great one. Now, if there are grandkids in the future...imagine that, Wifey said...
So Mother's Day '19 is in the books. I admitted to Wifey the day is always a bit sad for me, since losing my own Mom 6 years gone by now.
But today was a fine one -- for the baby mama I need to worry about.
Saturday, May 11, 2019
Limo Liberal
As I grow older, I am becoming more and more politically conservative. I'll never become a Republican, of course -- that party is even MORE nutty -- but the Democratic party of three generations of my family is getting harder and harder to stomach.
I read recently how FaceBook and other social media was designed to bring people closer together, and it has had the opposite effect. I've seen it myself -- people I have friended I have had to unfriend -- typically when they bash Israel. I'm not religious, but I AM a proud Zionist, as my parents were, and particularly when someone Jewish takes the side against Israel, I tend to say adios to them.
One example is a young man I'll call Sheldon, since that's his name. He is the son of a friend I admire greatly. I admire the Dad since he never really worked that hard at his profession, and used to make fun of those of us who got our hands dirty "chasing cases," and he ended up doing amazingly well by becoming the boyfriend of a very wealthy divorcee. Ah -- that ain't workin', that's the way you do it, as Mark Knopfler sang.
Anyway, his boy posted ultra liberal stuff, much of which was actually very anti-Israel and even anti Jew. I finally couldn't take it, and hit the unfriend button.
Another pet peeve (today seems to be a day of care and feeding of pet peeves) is a friend who, like Sheldon's Dad, hit it big financially by marrying VERY well. She's a lawyer who didn't practice for very long, but married a fellow who hit it HUGE in the music industry. I'm thrilled for him.
But she posts constantly about very liberal things -- we should ditch our cars and bike, private schools are evil instillers of white privilege, etc...I actually share the view about public schools -- the Ds both attended and learned more about diversity than I ever did growing up in lily white Levittown, but I would never come down against those who choose to send their kids private like she has in recent screeds.
So, fine, she is liberal and rich...good for her. But the latest is a series of passionate posts AGAINST new LA zoning that would, if I follow correctly, disrupt her glorious historic neighborhood by letting in more dense development, and, apparently, poor folks' housing.
In other words -- all for helping the poor until they get too damn close to those of us in privileged rich 'hoods.
So many zealots totally brush past their hypocrisy. Conservatives say "less government!" but have no problem telling women what to do with their bodies.
My Ds always exhort me to get the hell off Facebook. They're right. But it is very entertaining, and, to be honest, satisfies the part of me wanting to see what acquaintances are up to.
And it plays out narratives. I now really want to know how zoning turns out in rich West Hollywood. Will high rises be built next to former movie star houses?
I plan to watch...
I read recently how FaceBook and other social media was designed to bring people closer together, and it has had the opposite effect. I've seen it myself -- people I have friended I have had to unfriend -- typically when they bash Israel. I'm not religious, but I AM a proud Zionist, as my parents were, and particularly when someone Jewish takes the side against Israel, I tend to say adios to them.
One example is a young man I'll call Sheldon, since that's his name. He is the son of a friend I admire greatly. I admire the Dad since he never really worked that hard at his profession, and used to make fun of those of us who got our hands dirty "chasing cases," and he ended up doing amazingly well by becoming the boyfriend of a very wealthy divorcee. Ah -- that ain't workin', that's the way you do it, as Mark Knopfler sang.
Anyway, his boy posted ultra liberal stuff, much of which was actually very anti-Israel and even anti Jew. I finally couldn't take it, and hit the unfriend button.
Another pet peeve (today seems to be a day of care and feeding of pet peeves) is a friend who, like Sheldon's Dad, hit it big financially by marrying VERY well. She's a lawyer who didn't practice for very long, but married a fellow who hit it HUGE in the music industry. I'm thrilled for him.
But she posts constantly about very liberal things -- we should ditch our cars and bike, private schools are evil instillers of white privilege, etc...I actually share the view about public schools -- the Ds both attended and learned more about diversity than I ever did growing up in lily white Levittown, but I would never come down against those who choose to send their kids private like she has in recent screeds.
So, fine, she is liberal and rich...good for her. But the latest is a series of passionate posts AGAINST new LA zoning that would, if I follow correctly, disrupt her glorious historic neighborhood by letting in more dense development, and, apparently, poor folks' housing.
In other words -- all for helping the poor until they get too damn close to those of us in privileged rich 'hoods.
So many zealots totally brush past their hypocrisy. Conservatives say "less government!" but have no problem telling women what to do with their bodies.
My Ds always exhort me to get the hell off Facebook. They're right. But it is very entertaining, and, to be honest, satisfies the part of me wanting to see what acquaintances are up to.
And it plays out narratives. I now really want to know how zoning turns out in rich West Hollywood. Will high rises be built next to former movie star houses?
I plan to watch...
Thursday, May 9, 2019
A Lot Goes On In A Typical Day
So yesterday I went to the office, and met my posse for a visit to office space across the street. Stuart and Joel were due to sign the first new lease for our group since 1996, when Paul and I moved into the building with Mark, a now retired criminal defense lawyer, but the new rent was rather,um, astronomical.
The new owners of the building, who we call the Brazilian Brothers, since they're brothers from Brazil and never remember their names, are savvy. They kept the per foot price below market, but re measured the space and announced it was 1000 feet larger than SunTrust Bank, the previous landlord, said it was. So it's sort of like airlines today -- the fare is cheap, but you want to bring luggage? That'll cost you...
Last weekend Vince found an online ad for space for rent 2 blocks South, on the other side of Brickell. The owner is a Palestinian businessman who owns the office condo. He also owns a building in Hollywood, and found the Brickell traffic was a hassle, and so wants to rent out the space. It seems perfect -- and all in, will cost less than half of our current spot.
So we walked over (except for Stu's Dad Bill, who needed to be driven, because he is mentally a young man but physically every one of his 84 years), and were very impressed.
Stu and Joel will decide, but it seems like our presence on the corner of 8th Street and Brickell will come to an end after 23 years! Well -- except for Trulucks -- I'll still be a regular there, but will have to walk a few blocks...
While all this was going on, I kept getting calls from my friend and financial guy Pat, who was in a mediation in a nasty family dispute. Pat charges me for financial advice, but somehow all the legal advice I give is free. But no big deal -- he ended up settling -- and will bring to an end a terrible ordeal that has gone on for years. I told him our mutual friend Mike can draw up releases for him. Mike will charge...
And then later, I spent a lot of time with a friend of the Ds, a young lawyer thinking of making a career change. I put her in touch with another of my proteges, and the two of them will meet. I tend to shy away from this sort of matchmaking, but when it involved young people I really like, I still tend to engage in it.
So I came home, and although it seemed like a routine day, I realized a lot got done.
Change is hard, but it is essential. When the day comes that we leave our old building, I'll have some bittersweet thoughts. A LOT of stuff went on there. To quote Jimmy Buffet, there were good times and riches and son of a bitches...
I expect there will still be more to come.
The new owners of the building, who we call the Brazilian Brothers, since they're brothers from Brazil and never remember their names, are savvy. They kept the per foot price below market, but re measured the space and announced it was 1000 feet larger than SunTrust Bank, the previous landlord, said it was. So it's sort of like airlines today -- the fare is cheap, but you want to bring luggage? That'll cost you...
Last weekend Vince found an online ad for space for rent 2 blocks South, on the other side of Brickell. The owner is a Palestinian businessman who owns the office condo. He also owns a building in Hollywood, and found the Brickell traffic was a hassle, and so wants to rent out the space. It seems perfect -- and all in, will cost less than half of our current spot.
So we walked over (except for Stu's Dad Bill, who needed to be driven, because he is mentally a young man but physically every one of his 84 years), and were very impressed.
Stu and Joel will decide, but it seems like our presence on the corner of 8th Street and Brickell will come to an end after 23 years! Well -- except for Trulucks -- I'll still be a regular there, but will have to walk a few blocks...
While all this was going on, I kept getting calls from my friend and financial guy Pat, who was in a mediation in a nasty family dispute. Pat charges me for financial advice, but somehow all the legal advice I give is free. But no big deal -- he ended up settling -- and will bring to an end a terrible ordeal that has gone on for years. I told him our mutual friend Mike can draw up releases for him. Mike will charge...
And then later, I spent a lot of time with a friend of the Ds, a young lawyer thinking of making a career change. I put her in touch with another of my proteges, and the two of them will meet. I tend to shy away from this sort of matchmaking, but when it involved young people I really like, I still tend to engage in it.
So I came home, and although it seemed like a routine day, I realized a lot got done.
Change is hard, but it is essential. When the day comes that we leave our old building, I'll have some bittersweet thoughts. A LOT of stuff went on there. To quote Jimmy Buffet, there were good times and riches and son of a bitches...
I expect there will still be more to come.
Monday, May 6, 2019
Gas or Grass -- No One Rides For Free
The above title was my favorite bumper sticker of the early 70s. When I finally got a car in '77, I wanted to put it on my bumper, but I couldn't find it.
I was reminded of it today during a business breakfast I had. A banker I know, from back in the day, has started working for a leading local accounting firm. The firm has decided, apparently, that they wished to create a "wealth division," where they act as stockbrokers for their clients and others. Of course, they don't like to be called stockbrokers anymore -- now they're financial advisers, who, for a fee, manage your investments.
My first experience with a paid manager went horribly. In 2000 I gave a sum of money to a manager at Northern Trust to manage. The annual fee was close to the salary I had earned during my first year as a lawyer, but I was to make so much in gains, I wouldn't complain. Ha. As if.
It was 2000, and the manager invested all of the money in high tech. Of course, there came the bubble bursting, and when I looked at my balance 9 months later, it was half of what it started out to be. I started telling the joke that I knew how to make a small fortune: give the geniuses at Northern Trust a LARGE one, and wait awhile...
I took my money out, and pledged I would NEVER trust anyone again. Well, I did, eventually -- my neighbor Pat won my trust, and did very well, and I have used him for a portion of my investments ever since. He got me into Apple before it took off -- the gains on that holding alone have more than paid Pat's fees.
But the meeting today involved a fellow who wished me to become a client of his firm. No dice, I politely said -- I have the time and inclination to manage our own finances -- I'm not hiring anyone.
Well then, he said -- he knew I knew a LOT of people in town. Might I make introductions to him of these law firm managers, doctors, etc?
I might indeed, I told him -- but how would I be compensated? What? I wouldn't just do it -- to be a nice guy? No -- gas or grass, my friend, I told him in a nice way.
I'm privileged to be able to do charity. Our family donates to UM and FIU, and other local organizations. I give LOTS of free legal advice, and medical consulting advice -- but only to my inner circle.
This large financial company doesn't qualify as a charity, in my book.
So I happily enjoyed the breakfast, and nice conversation. If I was still on the make as a lawyer, it would be a different story -- I would use today's contact to meet other lawyers who might wish to refer cases. But that's not how things are lately.
So I wish the fellow well in his new gig, but he doesn't get a copy of my virtual rolodex. Those days are long, long gone...
Sunday, May 5, 2019
Reunion -- All I Ever Wanted
So my high school friends on FaceBook are all a-twitter about our upcoming 40th high school reunion. Somehow, in that time warp we live in, four decades have passed since I got on stage in Levittown, LI, and was told I had successfully completed what New York State required of me to be somewhat educated.
Sharon took the lead -- a nice woman I knew, but not too well. She still lives on LI, has a son in the Coast Guard, and, apparently, a second husband. She has been tirelessly promoting the event, which is to take place in October. I sent in my $140, and told my friend Kenny about it. He sent his in, too.
In truth, I wasn't keen about attending. Kenny and Joelle and Wifey and I went to our 20th reunion, in '99, and had a lovely weekend staying at an inn in the Hamptons. The reunion party itself was disappointing -- I realized those I cared to keep in touch with, I did, and the rest of the folks were just people I had sat next to in class, or passed in a hallway.
Still -- Kenny wanted to go. Part of it is he is not a FaceBook guy, like I am, and wanted to see old friends. FB provides me with more than enough information about old classmates. So I agreed to go.
But then fate stepped in. Dear friends Jeannette and Bob's girl Samantha, who we've known since she was born, has finally decided to marry her LONG time boyfriend. They're in their mid-30s, have dated since high school, and bought a house in Cutler Bay together. But they want to have kids, and so decided to make things legal, and they chose the same date as the reunion, in October.
I messaged Sharon and told her I couldn't make it, but keep the $140 and buy drinks for the attendees. Nah -- she said thanks, but returned my check. Same drill for Kenny -- when I told him I had to bug out, he decided to do the same -- Sharon is sending his refund, too.
Always bright, Kenny said why don't we go to dinner on the actual anniversary of our graduation -- if we could remember it. I knew it was June of '79, but I went on the reunion page and asked if anyone recalled the exact date. Immediately Gwen replied -- it was her birthday, too, and so she knew -- June 24, 1979. It was a Sunday. So Kenny and I will hold our own marking of the date -- 1200 miles South of Levittown.
I recall the day well. My Dad wore a leisure suit -- probably the most unfortunate fashion developments of the late 70s. Mom took a photo of us on the front porch -- him handing me his wallet -- symbolizing all he was about to pay for college for me.
After the ceremony, we went to a gathering at my brother in law Dennis's parents' house -- his brother Michael was my classmate. And from there my friend Eric said he wanted to go to another get together. As we drove there, he said "You know we're headed to a big surprise going away party for you, right?" No -- I had no idea. My girlfriend Alison and her parents had invited my parents and about 20 of our friends to their house in Seaford -- we were leaving the very next day for Florida.
It took me years to realize that Eric had lashed out -- he didn't have a girlfriend, and no party was planned for him, so he got to ruin my surprise. No biggie -- I feigned complete shock when I walked into the split level's playroom, and there was a sign that said "Goodbye and Good Luck, Dave."
It was a delightful send off. I really appreciated what her parents did for me. I saw Alison last September in Dallas. He Dad had long ago died, and her mother, Sandy, still lives alone in the Seaford house. Some things remain constant.
The next morning, Mark and John and Fitz and Mike, my oldest friends (since kindergarten) came by, and we stood by the moving van, planning to get together in Florida. Mark was headed to Florida Keys Community College to study Marine Mechanic Repairs, and indeed I saw the others a few times in Miami, when they came to visit . We hugged, the van left, and my Mom and Dad got into Dad's enormous Olds '98 Regency, and I followed in my red Firebird. We caravanned , using CB radios, to a hotel in Lorton, Va, where we would spend the night before boarding the Auto Train, which would save us about 18 hours of driving.
I still remember the uncomfortable seats -- we barely slept as the train overnighted down the East Coast. We got off near Orlando, and drove to Delray Beach, where Dad had rented two rooms at the Bermuda Inn on AIA -- our place until the Kings Point condo was complete -- due a few weeks later.
A few days later we all went to the Driver's License office on Linton Boulevard. I've been a Floridian since.
I strolled into Boston's, alone, the day I turned 18, and ordered my first legal beer. I drank it alone at the bar, and toasted my past life -- on Long Island. College at UM was to start in a few months. So much would change.
So I plan to follow Kenny's suggestion. It'll be next month, and we will mark the actual date -- 4 decades in the past. We'll do it without the run down hotel in Islip where the party takes place in October.
Where DID that time go?
Sharon took the lead -- a nice woman I knew, but not too well. She still lives on LI, has a son in the Coast Guard, and, apparently, a second husband. She has been tirelessly promoting the event, which is to take place in October. I sent in my $140, and told my friend Kenny about it. He sent his in, too.
In truth, I wasn't keen about attending. Kenny and Joelle and Wifey and I went to our 20th reunion, in '99, and had a lovely weekend staying at an inn in the Hamptons. The reunion party itself was disappointing -- I realized those I cared to keep in touch with, I did, and the rest of the folks were just people I had sat next to in class, or passed in a hallway.
Still -- Kenny wanted to go. Part of it is he is not a FaceBook guy, like I am, and wanted to see old friends. FB provides me with more than enough information about old classmates. So I agreed to go.
But then fate stepped in. Dear friends Jeannette and Bob's girl Samantha, who we've known since she was born, has finally decided to marry her LONG time boyfriend. They're in their mid-30s, have dated since high school, and bought a house in Cutler Bay together. But they want to have kids, and so decided to make things legal, and they chose the same date as the reunion, in October.
I messaged Sharon and told her I couldn't make it, but keep the $140 and buy drinks for the attendees. Nah -- she said thanks, but returned my check. Same drill for Kenny -- when I told him I had to bug out, he decided to do the same -- Sharon is sending his refund, too.
Always bright, Kenny said why don't we go to dinner on the actual anniversary of our graduation -- if we could remember it. I knew it was June of '79, but I went on the reunion page and asked if anyone recalled the exact date. Immediately Gwen replied -- it was her birthday, too, and so she knew -- June 24, 1979. It was a Sunday. So Kenny and I will hold our own marking of the date -- 1200 miles South of Levittown.
I recall the day well. My Dad wore a leisure suit -- probably the most unfortunate fashion developments of the late 70s. Mom took a photo of us on the front porch -- him handing me his wallet -- symbolizing all he was about to pay for college for me.
After the ceremony, we went to a gathering at my brother in law Dennis's parents' house -- his brother Michael was my classmate. And from there my friend Eric said he wanted to go to another get together. As we drove there, he said "You know we're headed to a big surprise going away party for you, right?" No -- I had no idea. My girlfriend Alison and her parents had invited my parents and about 20 of our friends to their house in Seaford -- we were leaving the very next day for Florida.
It took me years to realize that Eric had lashed out -- he didn't have a girlfriend, and no party was planned for him, so he got to ruin my surprise. No biggie -- I feigned complete shock when I walked into the split level's playroom, and there was a sign that said "Goodbye and Good Luck, Dave."
It was a delightful send off. I really appreciated what her parents did for me. I saw Alison last September in Dallas. He Dad had long ago died, and her mother, Sandy, still lives alone in the Seaford house. Some things remain constant.
The next morning, Mark and John and Fitz and Mike, my oldest friends (since kindergarten) came by, and we stood by the moving van, planning to get together in Florida. Mark was headed to Florida Keys Community College to study Marine Mechanic Repairs, and indeed I saw the others a few times in Miami, when they came to visit . We hugged, the van left, and my Mom and Dad got into Dad's enormous Olds '98 Regency, and I followed in my red Firebird. We caravanned , using CB radios, to a hotel in Lorton, Va, where we would spend the night before boarding the Auto Train, which would save us about 18 hours of driving.
I still remember the uncomfortable seats -- we barely slept as the train overnighted down the East Coast. We got off near Orlando, and drove to Delray Beach, where Dad had rented two rooms at the Bermuda Inn on AIA -- our place until the Kings Point condo was complete -- due a few weeks later.
A few days later we all went to the Driver's License office on Linton Boulevard. I've been a Floridian since.
I strolled into Boston's, alone, the day I turned 18, and ordered my first legal beer. I drank it alone at the bar, and toasted my past life -- on Long Island. College at UM was to start in a few months. So much would change.
So I plan to follow Kenny's suggestion. It'll be next month, and we will mark the actual date -- 4 decades in the past. We'll do it without the run down hotel in Islip where the party takes place in October.
Where DID that time go?
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Special Shabbat
So last Saturday, there was another terrorist attack against my people. Some loser nutcase brought a gun into a Chabad Center near San Diego, and started shooting. One woman, a charitable 60 year old mother, dove in front of the rabbi, and was killed. The rabbi had fingers blown off. Two armed congregants chased the coward out, shot at his car, and he surrendered on the freeway. The rabbi considered it a miracle more weren't killed, and he called upon all Jews to make the following shabbat a particularly powerful one -- to drive out the darkness with light.
D1 and Joey have started a wonderful tradition: they spend alternating Friday nights with Joey's parents and with us. Joey's Mom typically hosts at their home -- since Wifey doesn't cook, we sample local restaurants with our meetings.
Last night, Joey and D1 asked Wifey and I to come over. We had bought them a gas grille, and Joey wanted to show off his skills. They bought delicious NY Strips, chicken, and salmon, and all manner of veggies. Wifey and I drove through the rain and arrived in Shorecrest -- the grill was in full use.
Joey prays to the Big Man -- a lot. D1 is starting to pray more -- she realizes her manifold blessings, and gives thanks. She lit the shabbos candles and said a prayer. We shared the challah in the Sephardic way -- Joey broke off pieces, dipped them in salt, and then playfully tossed each piece at us -- no handing off.
We then sat and enjoyed a feast. D2 was out in the Hamptons celebrating her friend Ali's pre wedding hen party. She Facetimed us, and Ali's work partner, Professor the dog, got to sniff at the phone as we showed Madeleine, the spoiled Spaniel. Jonathan, alone in the apartment in Greenwich Village, happily demanded a similar barbecue next time he's in town. Joey happily agreed -- and added that they ought to move back to Miami sooner than later -- we have a great family going here, and we miss the two on extended sabbatical in NYC.
We talked of the future, and playfully made fun of D1. She was worrying about stuff three decades from now. Wifey explained to Joey that nothing has changed -- as a small girl, she always worried about years ahead.
But it was an evening of warmth, and joy, and light -- literally -- the candles chased away the darkness.
Today is a chill one -- the only thing we need to do is maybe head to Home Depot to buy a new patio umbrella -- a wind gust while were were in California snapped the aging one in two pieces. I say maybe, because we might decide NOT to leave the house -- Wifey has vintage "Twilight Zone" episodes on TV, and I have lots of reading to do.
Tonight, Mike is hosting another theme party. Though today is Stars War day (May the 4th be with you), he has decided to hold a Cuatro de Mayo party -- inviting about 50 of us over for drinks and Mexican food. Wifey pointed out last night that Mike is a serious man with very silly hobbies -- to me, a wonderful combination.
So I count my blessings this lovely Saturday morning -- the best way, I figure, to keep darkness at bay.
D1 and Joey have started a wonderful tradition: they spend alternating Friday nights with Joey's parents and with us. Joey's Mom typically hosts at their home -- since Wifey doesn't cook, we sample local restaurants with our meetings.
Last night, Joey and D1 asked Wifey and I to come over. We had bought them a gas grille, and Joey wanted to show off his skills. They bought delicious NY Strips, chicken, and salmon, and all manner of veggies. Wifey and I drove through the rain and arrived in Shorecrest -- the grill was in full use.
Joey prays to the Big Man -- a lot. D1 is starting to pray more -- she realizes her manifold blessings, and gives thanks. She lit the shabbos candles and said a prayer. We shared the challah in the Sephardic way -- Joey broke off pieces, dipped them in salt, and then playfully tossed each piece at us -- no handing off.
We then sat and enjoyed a feast. D2 was out in the Hamptons celebrating her friend Ali's pre wedding hen party. She Facetimed us, and Ali's work partner, Professor the dog, got to sniff at the phone as we showed Madeleine, the spoiled Spaniel. Jonathan, alone in the apartment in Greenwich Village, happily demanded a similar barbecue next time he's in town. Joey happily agreed -- and added that they ought to move back to Miami sooner than later -- we have a great family going here, and we miss the two on extended sabbatical in NYC.
We talked of the future, and playfully made fun of D1. She was worrying about stuff three decades from now. Wifey explained to Joey that nothing has changed -- as a small girl, she always worried about years ahead.
But it was an evening of warmth, and joy, and light -- literally -- the candles chased away the darkness.
Today is a chill one -- the only thing we need to do is maybe head to Home Depot to buy a new patio umbrella -- a wind gust while were were in California snapped the aging one in two pieces. I say maybe, because we might decide NOT to leave the house -- Wifey has vintage "Twilight Zone" episodes on TV, and I have lots of reading to do.
Tonight, Mike is hosting another theme party. Though today is Stars War day (May the 4th be with you), he has decided to hold a Cuatro de Mayo party -- inviting about 50 of us over for drinks and Mexican food. Wifey pointed out last night that Mike is a serious man with very silly hobbies -- to me, a wonderful combination.
So I count my blessings this lovely Saturday morning -- the best way, I figure, to keep darkness at bay.
Friday, May 3, 2019
Making Stuff Up
When I was in the 11th grade, a teacher we called Mr. V, since he had a long and complicated Dutch name, told me I had the gift of blarney. It was a nice way of saying I was a budding bullshit artist. I took it as a compliment. I still do.
I love to make stuff up, and am quick to tell anyone who asks that I made stuff up. In Sonoma, I toldl some fantastic tales to the other two couples assembled, about Kenny and Joelle. I have an honest face, and they thought I was telling the truth. I quickly told them I wasn't, and for the rest of the trip, Hal, the NY law professor, would say "Ok -- is this for real?"
I'm still annoyed by the rip off and attempted rip off at Lexus of Kendall, and the saleswoman, Patty, I thought might by trustworthy. They took away an attempted $899 stealing charge, but I DID pay hundreds for "electronic documents filing."
The day I left for California, Patty texted me -- they had copied my insurance card for my vehicle, but not the SUV I bought, and they needed THAT card for their files. Would I take a photo of the card and text it to her? I did so, and then sent the following text: "Patty: as an attorney, I charge $200 for document photographing and transfer. Kindly have your dealership send me a check for $200 to pay for the insurance documentation I provided. No rush."
I heard no reply. I know she thinks I'm being serious. Actually, I WOULD love to get a check from them -- I'd double the amount and donate it to charity -- but it'll never happen. Dealers charge stupid amounts for stuff -- I have a feeling they'd fight to the death to have it happen to them.
Just as well. When my car lease is up, I'll go to North Miami for my next one. I know car dealers are crooks -- but when one says she isn't, and is...well, that crosses the line.
I LOVE a great story. I do NOT enjoy exercising. A reason I have kept up with it is that my trainer, Enrique, is also a great raconteur. We share tales of human nature and life -- he sees a LOT working with mostly professional women who use his gym to get fit. And since I'm a quarter century older, I have more tales to share -- Enrique loves it.
Meanwhile, yesterday I had my every two year dealings with two of my favorite people: Mr. Smith and his son in law Pedro. Mr. Smith owns a septic tank company, and every two years he and Pedro or Pedro alone come by to pump ours out. Supposedly this preventative maintain work keeps me from having to replace the drain field, which is a $5-10K job. Mike was neglectful in his septic care, and needs a new one as I write. I referred him to Mr. Smith and they will do the job.
Smith and Pedro have the sense of humor required to literally, instead of figuratively, deal with tons of shit each day.
Pedro is missing two front teeth, and I guess realized I noticed. "Mang -- I am like a hockey player," he explained in his classic Miami Cuban Spanish accent. "I take out the teeth when I work -- since I once dropped them into an open tank."
I told Pedro that in my family there is a great tale involving my late Grandmother Goldie. Supposedly she became nauseous at a family function, and vomited in the ladies room toilet. She asked my Uncle Abe, who owned a coin laundry machine business and was a trained plumber, to retrieve them. I think he did, but joked that had he left them there, everyone using the toilet would have been bitten in the ass.
Pedro LOVED the tale. I still do, too...
So yesterday they came by and pumped out, but I was at work. Mr. Smith is coming later to pick up the check. I look forward to it -- a man truly #1 in a #2 business...
So congratulations, Mr. V. I hope you're still alive, and collecting a fat Levittown Schools pension somewhere. You noticed true bullshit talent when you saw it, and I have been developing my craft ever since.
A blarney tale that goes untold is a terrible thing to waste...
I love to make stuff up, and am quick to tell anyone who asks that I made stuff up. In Sonoma, I toldl some fantastic tales to the other two couples assembled, about Kenny and Joelle. I have an honest face, and they thought I was telling the truth. I quickly told them I wasn't, and for the rest of the trip, Hal, the NY law professor, would say "Ok -- is this for real?"
I'm still annoyed by the rip off and attempted rip off at Lexus of Kendall, and the saleswoman, Patty, I thought might by trustworthy. They took away an attempted $899 stealing charge, but I DID pay hundreds for "electronic documents filing."
The day I left for California, Patty texted me -- they had copied my insurance card for my vehicle, but not the SUV I bought, and they needed THAT card for their files. Would I take a photo of the card and text it to her? I did so, and then sent the following text: "Patty: as an attorney, I charge $200 for document photographing and transfer. Kindly have your dealership send me a check for $200 to pay for the insurance documentation I provided. No rush."
I heard no reply. I know she thinks I'm being serious. Actually, I WOULD love to get a check from them -- I'd double the amount and donate it to charity -- but it'll never happen. Dealers charge stupid amounts for stuff -- I have a feeling they'd fight to the death to have it happen to them.
Just as well. When my car lease is up, I'll go to North Miami for my next one. I know car dealers are crooks -- but when one says she isn't, and is...well, that crosses the line.
I LOVE a great story. I do NOT enjoy exercising. A reason I have kept up with it is that my trainer, Enrique, is also a great raconteur. We share tales of human nature and life -- he sees a LOT working with mostly professional women who use his gym to get fit. And since I'm a quarter century older, I have more tales to share -- Enrique loves it.
Meanwhile, yesterday I had my every two year dealings with two of my favorite people: Mr. Smith and his son in law Pedro. Mr. Smith owns a septic tank company, and every two years he and Pedro or Pedro alone come by to pump ours out. Supposedly this preventative maintain work keeps me from having to replace the drain field, which is a $5-10K job. Mike was neglectful in his septic care, and needs a new one as I write. I referred him to Mr. Smith and they will do the job.
Smith and Pedro have the sense of humor required to literally, instead of figuratively, deal with tons of shit each day.
Pedro is missing two front teeth, and I guess realized I noticed. "Mang -- I am like a hockey player," he explained in his classic Miami Cuban Spanish accent. "I take out the teeth when I work -- since I once dropped them into an open tank."
I told Pedro that in my family there is a great tale involving my late Grandmother Goldie. Supposedly she became nauseous at a family function, and vomited in the ladies room toilet. She asked my Uncle Abe, who owned a coin laundry machine business and was a trained plumber, to retrieve them. I think he did, but joked that had he left them there, everyone using the toilet would have been bitten in the ass.
Pedro LOVED the tale. I still do, too...
So yesterday they came by and pumped out, but I was at work. Mr. Smith is coming later to pick up the check. I look forward to it -- a man truly #1 in a #2 business...
So congratulations, Mr. V. I hope you're still alive, and collecting a fat Levittown Schools pension somewhere. You noticed true bullshit talent when you saw it, and I have been developing my craft ever since.
A blarney tale that goes untold is a terrible thing to waste...
Thursday, May 2, 2019
California Dreaming II
The drive South from SF was lovely, and Waze dropped us right in front of Zambala House, the historic hotel my nephew Henry obtained for my sister. I'm so proud of that young man -- he built a wildly successful business on his own. Well, not really. He had the full support and love of his beautiful wife, Valerie... So here he is, in his mid 30s, already treating his beloved mother to vacations. My kind of man...
We met Sue, and it was delightful. Life throws curve balls, and one was that she and I didn't speak for awhile, and last were physically together three years past -- also in Half Moon Bay. Well -- the reunion was delightful. She told me she laughed more during our time together than she had in awhile. I reminded her what the ladies had always said about me: I'm a magic man...
As we were talking, the door was nosed open -- literally. Henry and Val's enormous, Marmaduke-like dog Rocco was in the place! This big fella is truly a dog of a generation -- sweet, enormous, and hilarious. He made himself right at home with some crotch sniffs, and then plopped down his 150 lbs or so on my feet, waiting for scratching.
Henry and Val were gorgeous, as always. Henry could be Steve McQueen's son, and Valerie Angelina Jolie's sister. They met in high school, went off to SF together for college, and married 8 years ago, and act like new lovers. Wifey noted that one never sits apart from the other. They speak to each other so lovingly, and smilingly. It is truly a sight to behold -- how much they love each other -- and not in a suffocating way. Valerie just got back from a trip to Morocco, of all places, with her best friend, and Henry is headed with his closest surfer bud to Mexico for a pre wedding surf party.
They each have rich individual lives, but when together, still give off electricity. My only regret, and it's NUNYA, as D2 taught me (none of your business) is that they've decided not to have children -- at least the kind without fur. I just wonder how gorgeous and amazing a child of these two would be. But again -- this choice is their sacred one -- and they hear from plenty of folks how, if they did life again, they would NOT have had kids -- so there it is.
We parked Rocco in the back of the SUV -- his crate during most outings. It never gets very hot in Half Moon Bay, and so slightly opened windows give Rocco a great place to hang.
We went to lunch at a charming, quirky cafe -- sort of the description of all the places in the throwback California beach town.
From there, we headed to our hotel, the HMB Beach House, and it lived up to its name. We had a small suite right overlooking the ocean, and I cracked open a bottle of wine from the Sonoma weekend -- Kenny and Joelle were schlepping home two full cases, and there remained a single orphan bottle after they packed up. Everyone loved it, along with the gourmet chocolate we had bought, and I had some craft vodka Kenny had bought for me, knowing I'm a clear ETOH guy, instead of wine lover.
We had wonderful conversation, and then I brought us to the business I had at hand: we all stood up, faced the sea, and toasted our wonderful Grandma Sunny, whose yahrzeit had just passed. We spent some time telling loving Grandma Sunny tales -- there were more than we had time for -- and it was a tribute I know she'd have loved. She always adored Henry and Val -- she giggled at how pretty her grandson's wife was.
Susan reminded us to toast Dad, too, and we did. We miss both of them so...
Afterwards we drove to Moss Bay, and a historic restaurant there, supposedly haunted by The Blue Lady, who was murdered during a lovers' quarrel. We didn't see her, but did have some great food, and afterwards took our cocktails to the deck, where firepits were roaring. We met a couple there, and the fellow was familiar with Visalia, Sue's small Central Valley town -- and we all enjoyed the scene together.
Tuesday Val had a meeting for work, so Wifey and I checked out of the hotel, and drove back to Main Street and Sue's place. Henry and Rocco joined us, and we went for breakfast.
Afterwards we drove to the state park on the Pacific, and found a bench overlooking the sea -- a gorgeous beach mostly empty, as the water was too cold to swim, and the waves that day not big enough to surf. But we watched dogs frolicking in the dunes and water. Rocco rolled around the clover, literally --- enjoying his best dog life --and then he sniffed his way back to the car.
We went to Valerie and Henry's house, and caught up with Val. The place is the definition of charming -- anti-clutter, which I so admire and wish I had, and perfect for these two young lovers and their big, furry son.
We drove to a Chinese place and had lunch, and then back for a final sit down at Sue's hotel, where we bored the young folks with tales of our family from the mid 60s on. They actually seemed to enjoy them.
There were tearful goodbye hugs, and then Wifey and I were on the road to SFO. The reunion was perfect -- Sue and I are back, as Governor Schwartzenegger would say.
We'll all be together again in January, at D2 and Jonathan's wedding. Val and Henry have spent their own time with those cousins, and they all truly dig each other. It should be a fine time in South Beach -- no Rocco, though -- he'll be on his happy dog ranch, where he goes when his humans travel.
It was an uneventful red eye home. I slept most of it (thanks Xanax!) and am now back in the Miami state of mind.
Kenny dropped by last evening to use my notary skills, and we had a few drinks on our porch as Wifey slept -- it takes her longer to get over time changes.
We noted our tropical versus cool surroundings. We toasted, we two products of Levittown Public Schools -- about how our lives have turned out. As Kenny said, if he was offered what he got (amazing medical and US Navy career, loving wife, two wonderful sons, and financial security) back in '78, he'd have said "Yeah -- sign me up."
And indeed I feel exactly the same...
We met Sue, and it was delightful. Life throws curve balls, and one was that she and I didn't speak for awhile, and last were physically together three years past -- also in Half Moon Bay. Well -- the reunion was delightful. She told me she laughed more during our time together than she had in awhile. I reminded her what the ladies had always said about me: I'm a magic man...
As we were talking, the door was nosed open -- literally. Henry and Val's enormous, Marmaduke-like dog Rocco was in the place! This big fella is truly a dog of a generation -- sweet, enormous, and hilarious. He made himself right at home with some crotch sniffs, and then plopped down his 150 lbs or so on my feet, waiting for scratching.
Henry and Val were gorgeous, as always. Henry could be Steve McQueen's son, and Valerie Angelina Jolie's sister. They met in high school, went off to SF together for college, and married 8 years ago, and act like new lovers. Wifey noted that one never sits apart from the other. They speak to each other so lovingly, and smilingly. It is truly a sight to behold -- how much they love each other -- and not in a suffocating way. Valerie just got back from a trip to Morocco, of all places, with her best friend, and Henry is headed with his closest surfer bud to Mexico for a pre wedding surf party.
They each have rich individual lives, but when together, still give off electricity. My only regret, and it's NUNYA, as D2 taught me (none of your business) is that they've decided not to have children -- at least the kind without fur. I just wonder how gorgeous and amazing a child of these two would be. But again -- this choice is their sacred one -- and they hear from plenty of folks how, if they did life again, they would NOT have had kids -- so there it is.
We parked Rocco in the back of the SUV -- his crate during most outings. It never gets very hot in Half Moon Bay, and so slightly opened windows give Rocco a great place to hang.
We went to lunch at a charming, quirky cafe -- sort of the description of all the places in the throwback California beach town.
From there, we headed to our hotel, the HMB Beach House, and it lived up to its name. We had a small suite right overlooking the ocean, and I cracked open a bottle of wine from the Sonoma weekend -- Kenny and Joelle were schlepping home two full cases, and there remained a single orphan bottle after they packed up. Everyone loved it, along with the gourmet chocolate we had bought, and I had some craft vodka Kenny had bought for me, knowing I'm a clear ETOH guy, instead of wine lover.
We had wonderful conversation, and then I brought us to the business I had at hand: we all stood up, faced the sea, and toasted our wonderful Grandma Sunny, whose yahrzeit had just passed. We spent some time telling loving Grandma Sunny tales -- there were more than we had time for -- and it was a tribute I know she'd have loved. She always adored Henry and Val -- she giggled at how pretty her grandson's wife was.
Susan reminded us to toast Dad, too, and we did. We miss both of them so...
Afterwards we drove to Moss Bay, and a historic restaurant there, supposedly haunted by The Blue Lady, who was murdered during a lovers' quarrel. We didn't see her, but did have some great food, and afterwards took our cocktails to the deck, where firepits were roaring. We met a couple there, and the fellow was familiar with Visalia, Sue's small Central Valley town -- and we all enjoyed the scene together.
Tuesday Val had a meeting for work, so Wifey and I checked out of the hotel, and drove back to Main Street and Sue's place. Henry and Rocco joined us, and we went for breakfast.
Afterwards we drove to the state park on the Pacific, and found a bench overlooking the sea -- a gorgeous beach mostly empty, as the water was too cold to swim, and the waves that day not big enough to surf. But we watched dogs frolicking in the dunes and water. Rocco rolled around the clover, literally --- enjoying his best dog life --and then he sniffed his way back to the car.
We went to Valerie and Henry's house, and caught up with Val. The place is the definition of charming -- anti-clutter, which I so admire and wish I had, and perfect for these two young lovers and their big, furry son.
We drove to a Chinese place and had lunch, and then back for a final sit down at Sue's hotel, where we bored the young folks with tales of our family from the mid 60s on. They actually seemed to enjoy them.
There were tearful goodbye hugs, and then Wifey and I were on the road to SFO. The reunion was perfect -- Sue and I are back, as Governor Schwartzenegger would say.
We'll all be together again in January, at D2 and Jonathan's wedding. Val and Henry have spent their own time with those cousins, and they all truly dig each other. It should be a fine time in South Beach -- no Rocco, though -- he'll be on his happy dog ranch, where he goes when his humans travel.
It was an uneventful red eye home. I slept most of it (thanks Xanax!) and am now back in the Miami state of mind.
Kenny dropped by last evening to use my notary skills, and we had a few drinks on our porch as Wifey slept -- it takes her longer to get over time changes.
We noted our tropical versus cool surroundings. We toasted, we two products of Levittown Public Schools -- about how our lives have turned out. As Kenny said, if he was offered what he got (amazing medical and US Navy career, loving wife, two wonderful sons, and financial security) back in '78, he'd have said "Yeah -- sign me up."
And indeed I feel exactly the same...
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
California Dreaming
So Wifey and I Ubered to MIA, had some dinner and, in my case, some drinks at the Centurion, and then we were winging Westward for SFO. We arrived after 11 pm, and though we needed to be in Sonoma early Saturday, opted to stay on SFO campus to get some sleep.
I had found the Dylan Hotel on Trip Advisor, and the shuttle dropped us off. It was a former 50s era Travel Lodge, turned into a cool, boutique property, and it was lovely. The rooms had record players and vinyl, but Wifey and I just enjoyed the very quiet and clean surroundings. Next am there was breakfast, and then a the longest Uber ride ever -- a 1.5 mile drive to Sonoma. The driver loved it - he was a LA transplant and never been to Sonoma. He told us he planned to explore the place after he dropped us off.
The house was buzzing -- Big Chill-like. We met the celebrants, Joelle and Kenny, and the other guests. Joelle's half brother Alejandro was there -- a great late 30s man who is a Stanford grad and works for some kind of international consulting firm, and his Italian wife, Gianna, who works for a Brazilian NGO. They were so bright and nice and worldly -- it was a pleasure spending time with them.
The other couple was Ellen, a law professor in San Diego, and her man Hal, a law professor in NY. Ellen has a daughter with the same name as D2, which is unusual, and we spent a lot of time comparing daughter notes.
The limo Joelle and Kenny ordered pulled up, and off we went to Dry Creek. We stopped at 8 wineries, each of which had a theme party going, with a live band, and delicious gourmet food. The bands were terrific -- ranging from a Blues group, to a Beatles cover band. As we progressed during the day, we were all drunker and drunker -- even Wifey, who rarely drinks. She enjoyed the whites and roses,and had a blast. There was much laughter, and great conversation in the limo.
That night we ate at a great place in Sonoma, and walked home in the cool air. Sunday we said goodbye to Alejandro and Gianna -- they left for far flung places, and I drove a minivan for the 6 of us -- more wineries, including one whose theme was "Opening Day," and featured a whiffle ball stadium. I struck out -- I haven't swung a bat in more than 10 years...
The final winery of the day was Amida, which was celebrating their 25th anniversary. We found it a fine coincidence -- the purpose of the trip was Kenny and Joelle's 25th anniversary. We all took photos with Audrey Hepburn 's cutout -- and all wore tiaras...
Sunday night we had another fine dinner, at a place called Harvest Moon. We walked home, and Hal told me about issues in China, where he was headed for a conference. When you walk into any public place there, facial recognition tells observers everything about you. Hal said the Soviet Union were 19th Century thugs; Chinese are 22nd Century thugs.
Monday we said our goodbyes, and Kenny drove Wifey and me to the Hertz outlet on the outskirts of town.
I began the 1.5 hour drive to Half Moon Bay, over the Golden Gate Bridge.
I had found the Dylan Hotel on Trip Advisor, and the shuttle dropped us off. It was a former 50s era Travel Lodge, turned into a cool, boutique property, and it was lovely. The rooms had record players and vinyl, but Wifey and I just enjoyed the very quiet and clean surroundings. Next am there was breakfast, and then a the longest Uber ride ever -- a 1.5 mile drive to Sonoma. The driver loved it - he was a LA transplant and never been to Sonoma. He told us he planned to explore the place after he dropped us off.
The house was buzzing -- Big Chill-like. We met the celebrants, Joelle and Kenny, and the other guests. Joelle's half brother Alejandro was there -- a great late 30s man who is a Stanford grad and works for some kind of international consulting firm, and his Italian wife, Gianna, who works for a Brazilian NGO. They were so bright and nice and worldly -- it was a pleasure spending time with them.
The other couple was Ellen, a law professor in San Diego, and her man Hal, a law professor in NY. Ellen has a daughter with the same name as D2, which is unusual, and we spent a lot of time comparing daughter notes.
The limo Joelle and Kenny ordered pulled up, and off we went to Dry Creek. We stopped at 8 wineries, each of which had a theme party going, with a live band, and delicious gourmet food. The bands were terrific -- ranging from a Blues group, to a Beatles cover band. As we progressed during the day, we were all drunker and drunker -- even Wifey, who rarely drinks. She enjoyed the whites and roses,and had a blast. There was much laughter, and great conversation in the limo.
That night we ate at a great place in Sonoma, and walked home in the cool air. Sunday we said goodbye to Alejandro and Gianna -- they left for far flung places, and I drove a minivan for the 6 of us -- more wineries, including one whose theme was "Opening Day," and featured a whiffle ball stadium. I struck out -- I haven't swung a bat in more than 10 years...
The final winery of the day was Amida, which was celebrating their 25th anniversary. We found it a fine coincidence -- the purpose of the trip was Kenny and Joelle's 25th anniversary. We all took photos with Audrey Hepburn 's cutout -- and all wore tiaras...
Sunday night we had another fine dinner, at a place called Harvest Moon. We walked home, and Hal told me about issues in China, where he was headed for a conference. When you walk into any public place there, facial recognition tells observers everything about you. Hal said the Soviet Union were 19th Century thugs; Chinese are 22nd Century thugs.
Monday we said our goodbyes, and Kenny drove Wifey and me to the Hertz outlet on the outskirts of town.
I began the 1.5 hour drive to Half Moon Bay, over the Golden Gate Bridge.
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