Happy Birthday, Former Friend

 So I met one of my close college friends in the most early 80s, pre "Me, Too" sort of way: ogling a co-ed's enormous breasts. It was the Spring of 1981, and I was still pre Med, and taking Calculus. Knowing my strengths and weaknesses intellectually, I had as much business taking Calculus as I did trying out for the Hurricanes, but there I was.

Of course, I was soon lost and bored with the lecture of a kindly old professor named McDougle, who ended up giving me a gentlemen's C at the end of the class. But sitting next to me was a fellow Honors Student named Christine -- a Marine Science major who could have been Jayne Mansfield's sister. My gaze, no, stare, was upon her chest, and I looked up to see another face staring the very same way, from the seat on her other side. It was a comical face -- curly blonde hair, glasses, and huge nose. The fellow gave me the thumbs up, and we met after class.

"I see you're a man of similar tastes," he said, and I think I answered that any undergrad male who wasn't gay probably had similar tastes. We laughed, and a friendship was thus born. His name was Vince.

He had transferred in from FSU, where he partied too much and his grades were poor. His Dad, Vince, Sr. made him come home (he was raised in North Miami, back when they had a small Italian American section there -- now all Haitian) and gave him a final year of paying for college. "If my grades don't improve -- I have to work as a janitor in his clothing factory in Hialeah!" The parental pressure worked -- he got all As and accepted into UM's Medical School.

But first we had a lot of fun to add to our college memory list. We had a lot in common -- we adored our Dads . His was an Italian version of mine -- same high school in the Bronx, even, and like my late Dad, a self taught intellectual who prized education above all else in a man. His Mom was Irish, and less warm, but had a sharp sense of humor.

He used to spend nights at my campus apartment, and met his first wife Barbara, a pretty, smart girl from Chicago who ended up going to UM Law and becoming a US Assistant Attorney. Wifey and I attended their wedding, at Reflections at Bayside, and Vince's sister Lee remarked that it was filled with "pregnant pauses." Barbara's very WASPY Chicago family were no bunch of wacky funsters.

Anyway -- the marriage didn't last long, and Vince then married a Nurse Practitioner with whom he had his 2 kids, now grown with their own kids. His son was a troubled young man, and one of my worst jobs as a friend was staying on the phone with Vince as he had his 17 year old son "kidnapped" by a drug program which took him to rural Utah, too far to run away to anything, and tried to get him cured. I hope it worked -- at least according to FaceBook (tm), the young fellow seems to be doing well -- married and with a new baby -- never college educated but working, I think, in the marine industries.

And indeed it was FaceBook (tm) this am that told me it was my old friend's birthday -- I guess he is 63.

He had a pattern. When he was married, which was 4 times (the last 2 to the same woman, also a nurse) I'd hear from him infrequently. But when he was divorced, he was around -- a lot. Between his 3rd and 4th marriage, our friends Dave and Sandra were staying here from the UK, and Vince was there every day for 4 in a row. I recall Dave found that odd, but I was used to it.

And then came the schism. Vince asked me for a loan of $50K, to keep afloat a pain clinic he had founded. He had just paid 7 figures to his wife #3, who was later to become wife #4, and I asked why he didn't simply ask HER for the money -- since his ability to pay her alimony depended on his ability to make money. Oh no -- he said -- no way.

Well -- I had just completed a very bad deal with another college friend I'll call Jorge -- borrowed money for a donut business, and defaulted on several loans. Plus, I had a sense that many of these private pain clinics were headed for trouble -- audits for Medicare/Medicaid issues and the like, and I had zero desire to encounter the Feds as an investor in something like that. So I told Vince no.

He understood, or so I thought, and soon after married wife #3 again. And then I didn't hear from him for over a year, which was, I thought, the usual pattern. But then I reached out -- no, he said, he wasn't not talking to me because he was married again, but because I had broken his heart when I refused the $50K loan.

I thought long and hard about a response. Should I remind him of the laundry list of things I had done for him in his life? How I supported him through so many tough times -- represented him for FREE on two cases -- once when he was sued, and once when an insurer wouldn't pay for a sailboat destroyed by a hurricane? The legal fees for those two cases alone would have been more than $50K, and as I was reminded recently, lawyers often charge full price even to young people they've known since birth!

Nah. I let it go with a simple "Sorry you feel that way -- I wish you the best." And that was it.

His wife #2 is a FaceBook friend, now on her husband #4 , and over the years has reached out to Wifey and me about getting together. We took a Pasadena -- plenty of couple friends. And I told her I was thrilled to see her kids soaring.

Still -- when I got the FB notification this am, it brought back mostly happy, warm, and hilarious memories of our times together. And it turns out I'm not the only one who Vince jettisoned.

He has a friend, Al, a fellow North Miam Italian guy. They met when they were 9 -- Al married his Catholic high school sweetheart. We all recall with hilarity the best July 4 party ever -- July 4, 1981. Vince's parents were in the Keys, and we hosted a huge blowout. It ended with random people, passed out from booze and drugs, sleeping all over the house. I was working that Summer at Boca Hospital as a pharmacy tech, and a group of pharmacists and fellow techs all attended. My girlfriend at the time, a rich Colombian Jewess, saw how "crass and loud" the party was and made me drive her home. She was proud to be Chopin and not Skynerrd. 

Anyway, a few years back, Al took a break from his lawyer life in Tampa, and moved back to the 305 to care for his declining mother. We had lunch, and of course talked about our mutual friend. He said that when he reached out to Vince as his wife Cristina was dying -- Vince totally blew him off. Talk about heartbreaking. So Al convinced me not to feel bad at all about refusing the loan - our old, mutual friend had some emotional screws loose, it seems.

Still -- I hope he's well, and gets joy from his grandkids. I think he's still practicing medicine. 

So happy birthday, old friend. We're long divorced, but I wish you only well.

Baby It's Cold Outside

 We finally got our first real cold front in Miami this year -- and it's a real one. Tomorrow am temps are to drop to 39 with wind chills into high 20s -- coldest in 11 years! Last night the chill winds blew into the guest room -- my decamped sleeping quarters as Wifey finishes the end of Omicron Covid. The room has two small windows facing East, and a large one facing West -- and the ventilation is seriously good. I slept and dreamt of my childhood on LI -- cold winter nights.

We had a lovely Zoom -- Barry and Donna and Eric and Dana with guest appearances by Barry's boys. Everyone asked for Wifey -- she refused at first, but ultimately came down for a cameo appearance. D2 and Jonathan were on Brickell -- I ate my Publix meatloaf and pasta -- and enjoyed a few Ketels.

Today the sun was bright and the temps still low -- 50s -- and I actually fell asleep in a chaise lounge out front -- guarded by Betsy, who hung with after chasing away some intruding peafowl.

Joey and D1 are at a birthday party close by with the Little Man -- they may stop by on their way home, but stay outside in an abundance of Covid caution. That's ok -- though Wifey seems completely recovered, and thankfully the rest of her Pinecrest Roommies are fine.

Tonight there WILL be a fire in the fire pit -- before the temps drop too low. D2 and Jonathan actually had dinner plans cancel -- they dine outdoors with friends, and tonight will be too cold! It's not too often that happens round these parts.

Last night, after the Zoom, and in the nice afterglow of the adult beverages, Wifey and I talked for a good long while. It was refreshing -- when you're married to someone for 35 years, you think you're pretty good at knowing how they think about things -- how they process life events they   know or hear about.

Well -- without going into the details, the substance was learning about another marriage, and the issues they face, and my discovering Wifey's opinions about its pathology were the exact opposite of my opinions. It doesn't affect us in any way, but it was as if we both looked at a painting, and one saw two horses while the other saw a ballet dancer. It just shows that if you truly listen as you go, as Tito Puente advised, you really DON'T know what you're going to hear. How about that?

Also last night, we talked about a possible trip -- which would be my first time on an airplane since December of '19. We have, or I do, some reason to visit D.C. and I think Wifey may wish to come along. Hopefully the trip can be arranged during cherry blossom time. I've been there two times during that part of the Spring -- and it's magical.

Once was the classic walk through the middle of the Mall. Another time, Kenny and Joelle took me to a residential neighborhood in Bethesda, MD, and it was lovely -- the blossoms fell like fragrant snow. I hope to experience that again.

Meanwhile, I continue in my study of human nature -- particularly relationships. My Florida sister always loves to quote Don Henley's lyric "Every form of refuge has its price" which explains why people put up with some awful things just to have a place.

I wonder, though, what price is worth it, sometimes. I hear more and more about fully crappy partners, who pull outrageous acts, and their partners stay with them for lifestyle, to not have to work, etc...I guess you truly have to get in another's skin and walk around in it for awhile, as Atticus Finch said, to even try to understand.

Meanwhile, the Little Man DID make his brief appearance -- playing with an inflatable dinosaur he apparently purloined from the party. We kept our distance, and all adored him, and then he and his parents were off.

D2 and Jonathan got out the old NYC winter gear and went to the outdoor dinner after all. I sat by the firepit drinking some gourmet tea D1 left for me.

I guess we'll actually close the windows tonight -- and tomorrow defrost the three dogs. Nice to have this weather for a brief bit -- but just a brief bit.

Cranky Old Man

 So the theme around here lately seems to be how I've become much more of a cranky old man. Ya think? Last January after Wifey's medical event, I began a journey of 6 months of being her caretaker, case manager, insurance coordinator, and butler.

I thought we were past it, and then Covid came knocking -- this time, thankfully, it was a mercifully short time of bringing meals upstairs, finding probably unnecessary Regeneron appointments, and mediating mask wearing issues amongst our Pinecrest roommates. Last night was hopefully the last of it.

D2 went to dinner with some of the fellow wives of Jonathan's company, and Jonathan and I ordered in from a great new local Peruvian place, 1111 Peruvian Bistro. Wifey had enjoyed a salad from there last week, topped with salmon. This time I ordered her tuna. Alas, it came with Ahi tuna, which she doesn't like.

When I handed her the bowl, she gave it the kind of withering expression she learned from her mother -- the one that says "I'm not complaining, but you should know I am VERY disappointed." She went outside to eat yogurt.

Now, I could have just let it go, but I know she's recovering from the plague, and ought to have a wholesome meal, so I whipped up some of my famous Daddy eggs (the secret is simply whipping them before the pan), toasted her some whole wheat bread, and brought her a custom egg sandwich -- even cut diagonally, which somehow makes sandwiches seem fancier.

So am I cranky? You're durn tootin!

The truth is, as I begin my 61st year, I came to an obvious conclusion. Throughout life, I have always had a tremendous grasp of the obvious -- which sounds demeaning to intellectuals, but puts me ahead of the mass of people who always fail to see the obvious. The conclusion is my time is far more precious than it was decades ago -- a price above rubies, as our Holy Books say.

And for this reason, when given the chance to go somewhere, or meet someone, or do something, I take the metaphorical step back, and ask myself if the opportunity is worth it. I love where I live. Each time I step onto the streets for a walk, surrounded by the lush tropical foliage, I can't believe how lovely it is. Should I leave this for dull conversation, or a crowd of people at a sports event where my team likely loses?

And I guess that comes off as cranky. And that's ok.

I feel obligated to fewer and fewer people as I age. Recently there was an issue about a friend's stepson's wedding -- I assumed Wifey and I would have to attend, since the friend was paying for some of the party -- even though the young man is marrying a way rich girl. I guess her parents realized that you STAY very rich by being cheap ass with your kids. Anyway, fear of my crankiness had the friend reluctant to invite me -- lest I go, have a crappy time, and talk about it for months.

At first, my reaction was no -- we SHOULD go -- I can be a mature boy and keep my annoyances to myself. But then, I took the step back, realized I truly do NOT wish to go to the wedding of a young man I barely know (in Philly no less) and said simply "Probably for the best -- barely know the young man -- he doesn't need me there."

Cranky? Yes. Preventing resentment? Yes, that as well. And, if the plague subsides by Fall, maybe I'll be ready to go to some alternative leaf peeping place -- maybe taking the Full Squad along -- like a memorable trip we took to Mohonk Mountain House in Upstate NY a few years ago.

Then again, I guess I was less cranky then. We'll have to see if the Squad wants to come along now.

The State of Banks

 I remember when banks would give you stuff if you made a deposit. My Dad even got our second color TV as a gift when he opened a $10K CD -- in the late 70s. My how things have changed.

I've kept two low balance accounts at SunTrust for years -- they pay our annual life insurance premiums. We let Wifey's insurance lapse years ago, on account of I figured the Ds were old enough that if something untoward were to happen to Wifey, I wouldn't need the money to hire an incredibly hot nanny for them. Yes -- life didn't take that tragic turn, fortunately.

I still have one whole life plan, which expires when I turn 65, and each July I deposit about $1100 into the trust account, pay the premium, and then leave a few hundred dollars until the following July.

Well Mike, my friend and trustee, got a letter. SunTrust is turning to Truist, which is one of the stupidest names in corporate history, in my opinion, and Truist said the salad days were over. Any accounts with balances less than $1000 would be charged a $6 monthly maintain fee. I keep a couple of rather substantial money market accounts with SunTrust, which pay peanuts in interest.

So I call my "private banker" Eric, and ask him to please waive that $72 yearly fee -- explaining that it's a 2 transaction per year account, and, come on...

No fewer than 10 emails have been exchanged. I guess being allowed to waive that fee is something that must be decided at the corporate level. I finally got a bit Karen-like, and told Eric if they said no -- I would close all my accounts with SunTrust/Truist. That got his attention, and by the way, would I be interested in talking to their wealth advisor? Insurance specialist? No I would not, but it occurred to me that they had become car dealerships -- trying to sell useless undercoating, or maintainence plans.

But there's more! I followed my banker friend Carole around since 1992 -- from SunTrust to Bank of Boston, to Gibraltar, which got bought by Iberia, which is now changing to New Horizon -- a less stupid name than Truist but still stupid. Carole wants us to close our accounts and come to her new bank -- a local place -- with promise of a free safe deposit box!

I really dig Carole, but making this change would require mustering the Ds, Wifey, and I at the new facility in Kendall, on a weekday. Also, I'd have to change all the auto pays linked to the account -- so not going to happen.

So I emailed my NEW "personal banker" and asked for a free safety deposit box -- they cost $120 per year. Same thing as the other bank! He has to ask permission.

He asked me if a discount would make me happy. I told him it would not -- if they couldn't extend the courtesy -- I would indeed close my accounts and follow Carole. We'll see.

I realize these are the height of rich white guy problems. But on the flip side of that -- our FREE Covid tests came in the mail today, courtesy of Joe Biden. We are firmly in the 25% of Americans who approve of his job performance. Until his weakness allow Russia to take back Ukraine and China to take back Taiwan, of course. Then maybe some buyer's remorse...

But for now, it's great to have these kinds of problems. Supposably, as Miamians say, the installer for the appliances is coming buy today for a "pre install inspection." The oven finally came in, and is sitting in our garage along with the new compactor, dishwasher, and gas stove top/exhaust system.

The fellow said he'd wait for the enormous fridge, but I told him that may never come -- could he please do what we had so we'd have an oven for the first time since October, when the perfectly working one was removed for the one with the stainless steel front.

We'll see how much of the quotidian gets done this week.

The Covid Week Continues

So indeed Wifey was probably the last, or one of the last Miami residents to get Regeneron on Monday, before the FDA said it was worthless for Omicron and the state, kicking and screaming, shut down the Regeneron sites. The tech had told her her symptoms would abate within 24 hours.

And guess what? She awoke Tuesday am feeling totally better! Of course, the science indicates that her improvement is coincidental to the Regeneron, and it probably is. But who truly knows? All we DO know is that Wifey feels like she had an exorcism -- and is resting with very manageable symptoms.

She remains isolated in our master bedroom -- I bring her meals and tea and supplies. Her doc and the CDC guidelines say she can come out of isolation tonight, albeit still masked up for another 5 days. She says to be safe she may wait until tomorrow for her emergence, as her symptoms began in earnest on Saturday am.

Meanwhile, if our house was a We Work and charged by actual work, I would be making bank! D2 and Jonathan both put in marathon days yesterday -- other than a quick lunch, both were on calls or screens for probably 11 hours. These millennials work far harder than I did -- and for the first 20 years of my law career, I DID work long hours.

But, in nice news, today is their 2nd wedding anniversary, and they have plans for a lovely dinner in the Gables. On our morning Betsy walk, I offered Jonathan a pre dinner L'chaim. I'll be partaking at 7.

I remain a literary dilettante, and have a Zoom tonight with a company that does literary pub crawls. I take them whenever I visit a new city -- Dublin, Key West, NOLA, and when D2 and Jonathan moved to the West Village, one Saturday D2 and I took one. She was a good sport -- I thoroughly enjoyed it -- who knew that John Wilkes Booth planned his fateful act from a building in the Village? I also learned about Chumley's -- a pub that has hosted more Pulitzer and Nobel winners than any other -- F Scott and Zelda married there.

Anyway, I got on the company's email list, and last year attended one of the virtual functions -- their tour guides reading their original poetry as we all drank. It was free, but tips were welcomed at the end, and of course I supported their effort. That won me another freebie -- tonight at 7 - and I plan to pour some Ketel and tonic and maybe learn something.

Our family text groups are aflame with pictures and videos of the Big, Fat, Venezuelan wedding of two years ago. D2 sent a video of my friends and I doing The Worm, as we have done at parties since the early 80s, and wiseass D1 remarked that she was truly amazed my friends and I were able to get up off the dance floor from our supine wiggling. Actually, I was amazed as well...

So if all goes to plan, Wifey gets to unmask Monday evening or Tuesday am. And hopefully that's it for us, Covid-wise.

We all realize how lucky we are. If you have to be stuck, stuck in Miami in January isn't too bad. I just hope the virus is beating a retreat. 

Our Covid Journey

 Well, so much for my hopes for good health around here in the new year. Despite being boosted, and generally avoiding risks, Wifey came down with Covid.

We played the game of trying to figure out where - but the most likely culprit is her recent trip to Atlanta. She was in a limo for her friend Edna's daughter's party, and the birthday girl Erica came down with a nasty case, but that was a few weeks back. I'm guessing Erica passed to her Mom or step dad, who remained asymptomatic, but then passed it on to Wifey last Tuesday. That timing makes sense, as she started feeling sick Friday night. But then again, we were also with friends for dinner Thursday, including Mike and Christine from Tampa. I guess that window might be too small -- but who knows?

Saturday she was sick, like a bad cold, and a bit better Sunday. The problem is, Jonathan was due to fly to Argentina for work, and though he tested negative Saturday, in prep of his international travel, he was concerned he might turn positive while in Buenos Aires, which would trigger a long hotel room quarantine. 

Yesterday, Wifey, Jonathan, and D2 all got rapid PCRs at a great clinic Jonathan found -- they give you results within the hour. The millennials were negative; Wifey was positive. But the trip was still cancelled.

We got home, and Wifey reported she was "deteriorating," and so called her family doc. He's a nice fellow, and connected to Wifey through her dear departed friend, but I never got the sense he was a cutting edge practitioner. Sure enough, he told Wifey that given her age, which I can never mention but she's now fully on Medicare, he wanted her to go get the monoclonal antibody treatment, though he thought that might require a trip to West Palm.

I sprung into action, as I did last January for her stroke treatment and rehab. Sure enough, the state site at Tropical Park had an open appointment -- at 3:45. I bundled the Covid, masked Wifey into the car and headed there -- it was strangely uncrowded. She got 4 shots to her belly and reported they burned like fire.

I texted this information to some of the former Team Wifey -- Eric and Barry -- and they immediately seized upon something troubling: Regeneron doesn't work on Omicron, which Wifey was 99% likely to have! I kept the frustrating information to myself, knowing the treatment wouldn't hurt but likely wouldn't help either, but then, as if on cue, last night the state closed the sites after the FDA ruled that indeed Regeneron for Omicron was the proverbial tit on a bull -- useless.

When Wifey arises, assuming she's still feeling poorly, will attempt to get a prescription for the new Pfizer drug, Paxlovid, which DOES tamp down Omicron. Alternatively, she can just ride it out, which everyone with "breakthrough infections" seems to have done successfully. 

Man -- the freaking Plague is like the weather -- everybody talks about it, and nobody does anything about it. On March 12 TWO YEARS AGO we went into lockdown #1. Basta, as the Cubans say. Or enough, already, as the old Jews say.

Still -- things have improved. In March of 2020, we feared dying of the thing -- we really no longer do. Albert Bourla, the Pfizer CEO who I call the world's smartest Sephardic Jew, says the thing ought to be endemic by March -- and Pfizer will have a once per year vaccine to deal with it like we deal with seasonal flu -- and deniers will be free to die at their will.

Tomorrow marks D2 and Jonathan's second wedding anniversary. We were all gathered at the beautiful Betsy Hotel, in evening light out of a Hollywood lighting director's imagination, hearing the sage words of Rabbi Harlig. Somehow he brought up the Holocaust without being maudlin -- pointing out how those two grandchildren of Survivors were a testament to the future, the triumph of good over evil.

So I hope their anniversary marks the true beginning of the end of this damned viral disease. I am MORE than ready to get back to worrying about other ways to die.

Oregon in Miami

 So yesterday I drove up to Shorecrest, to help D2 babysit for the Little Man, who already HAS a full time nanny -- it truly takes a village with this kid. We had a terrific day.

First -- we walked the enormous puppy to a close by dog park -- and Betsy was shy. She usually romps with the dogs in the Grove, but we figured she was the new bitch in town and so avoided a chocolate Lab and mixed breed that looked like Petey from the Little Rascals. Afterwards, we sat on a bench in the late morning shade -- and the Little Man surprised us with some perfect English words -- even though he's mostly spoken to in Spanish.

After lunch, we took him to a true hidden gem, that his parents discovered. And I was amazed -- it was like being in Oregon in Miami. It's called Earth N Us Farm. I'm still not clear on the history of the place, but it's 5 acres in Little River, close by Little Haiti. The place is privately owned and open to the public.

They have a barnyard animal rescue -- pigs and turkeys and goats that were destined for the dinner table now live together in large pens. There are birds -- macaws and parrots -- and a pond with koi. They'll serve you a vegan lunch -- a fire pit was going with old style cast iron cooking -- and friendly cats abound.

We took Betsy, and she didn't bark -- in fact, it seemed as the goats were inviting her to join them. She wisely stayed back -- they DO have horns.

The place is totally rustic -- if it were commercial, it'd be shut down for tiny wooden steps and other unsafe structures -- but somehow they've been left alone by the city. They also have a large organic garden, and apparently donate a lot of food to the homeless. There are also washing machines that appeared to be available to any comers -- along with the Air Bnb folks I believe may rent some of the cabins and a treehouse located up in an ancient ficus.

The Little Man feels right at home -- he even did a happy dance in front of the "tugas" -- short for the Spanish tortugas, or turtles. They have two happy tortoises which were lazily sunning themselves.

I thought I really knew Miami -- particularly the quirky, atypical places -- and this showed I do not. I posted it on FaceBook -- anyone with little kids would totally enjoy the place -- and maybe lunch afterwards in MiMo.

We took the Little Man home -- he was a happy boy, and I took the enormous puppy back to Pinecrest. It was a chilly night, and I lit a fire in my firepit, and fantasized I was an ancient hunter, resting with my loyal dogs after a day securing food for my village. 

And then I watched the first ever Monday Night Football playoff game -- true genius in sports media, I thought.

Today I have some errands. I have to drop off a prepaid UPS envelope at the store -- hopefully the conclusion of a comically difficult attempt to transfer an investment account. I had kept it going because old friend Oui was at Morgan Stanley, but she left, and I decided to shift the funds to my Edge account, which I handle, sans management fees. I started this attempt in mid December, and it keeps being thwarted. My "relationship manager" in Jville thinks he has it figured out. We'll see.

Then I need a new FOB battery for Wifey's aging SUV -- the dashboard told me so. I'll drop into one of my favorite stores -- Batteries Plus. I really like stores that specialize -- I always think of the classic "Scotch Tape Boutique" routine from the old SNL. "Hey -- do you sell cassettes?" "No -- we're purists -- only Scotch Tape."

And then later the logistics begin. I fetch Wifey, and drive her up to Shorecrest. She tags D2, and I drive her home. Tomorrow evening I fetch Wifey from Shorecrest, and the Little Man's parents return from Colorado -- they're having a wonderful time.

I will definitely return, though, to the hippie farm. Seeing the Little Man happy dance -- well, that is just priceless.

One Year Later -- Thankfully All Is Well

 So 2020 was rough -- because of the plague, of course. Our Little Man turned one in December, though, and as the year ended, vaccines were finally available! I was able to shuck and jive my way to one in early January of '21, but Wifey was thwarted. Still -- 2021 dawned with an air of optimism. And then Fate said "Hold My Beer."

On January 15, Wifey had a major medical event -- requiring a week in the hospital, and months of rehabilitation. I was scared -- probably more than she was -- since she is generally more of an upbeat person when it comes to the future. I often see the darkest possibilities and assume they'll come to pass.

And yesterday came and went -- a very unpleasant anniversary. But thankfully Wifey recovered -- so much that she felt able, and in fact did, take her first trip since 2019 -- 11 days with her BFF Edna.

So much went down -- and we thankfully avoided the worst of Covid -- she actually got her first jab as she was leaving the Rehab Hospital at Jackson Memorial. Now Omicron is everywhere, but far less scary. No one wants it, but we vaxxed and boosted don't really think we'll end up in the hospital or graveyard.

Today, for the first time in a long while, I had the house truly to myself. D2 and Jonathan volunteered (well, D2 did) for babysitting duty for a few nights while her sister and brother in law are away. Wifey's due back Tuesday afternoon -- and complicated logistics will ensue -- I have to fetch her, and take her to D1's house to take over for D2 for one night -- and then fetch Wifey Wednesday afternoon.

I watched, so far, most of 3 NFL playoff games. A violent short storm blew in -- winds were probably gale force, and the rain poured like it was Summer. After it passed, I opened the doors and enjoyed the breeze. Betsy, the 87 lb fur child of D2 and Jonathan, was out by the pool, chilling, I thought. In fact she was romping in the mud of several huge flower pots, and then dragged the mud in. I got to her before she painted any furniture, and hosed her off, and then cleaned the floor.

And I thought -- let that annoyance be my real problem in life --dealing with a huge, goofy dog. She looked at me with her soulful eyes, and seemed to say "Hey -- that's how I roll, Grandpa -- what are ya gonna do?"

I ordered a salad for dinner, but somehow Uber Eats brought Chinese instead. Ha. That's my story, anyway.

But back to Wifey. She's been enjoying doing very little in Atlanta. Today there was a dusting of snow -- seemed like a good excuse to not leave Edna's house. And the thought of her intact made me smile.

2022. The experts say Omicron has peaked. I sure hope so -- so many around us have it. Let there be no bad medical surprises -- January 15, 2021 gave me enough.

A year of renewed health -- now wouldn't that be grand?

Bunch of Hot Air/Keeping It Real

 So yesterday saw two events that even an armchair sociologist like me noticed tells the sad tale of our two cities.

The humorous one, here in Pinecrest, involves a local law that was just passed outlawing gas powered leaf blowers. In our quiet Village, apparently the sound of those machines was enough to cause political action, and a majority of the Commission decided to ban them beginning in 2023.

Of course, all of the posters on the Village social media pages agreed it was a good idea and welcomed the quiet as well as the green cred that comes with going electric. Ha. As if. The posts were ABLAZE with residents decrying another serious loss of personal freedoms. Today we ban gas leaf blowers in Pinecrest; tomorrow we're Cuba and Venezuela. It's a slippery slope, apparently.

I personally find the damn loud things annoying on my daily walks, but wouldn't have banned them. They're used by hard working immigrant guys trying to make a living doing yard work in Miami -- in brutal weather conditions much of the year.

Typically when I walk by, the blower men turn them down, and I always motion or tell them to go right ahead -- they have jobs to do, and I'm just chatting on the phone. Now, I guess, the lawn services will have to buy new electric machines, which apparently don't work as well.

If I had to guess, litigation will ensue. Coral Gables used to ban pickup trucks parked in driveways, even when they were private vehicles and not used by contractors. The Gables lost that fight. It'll be time to get some popcorn when the one group of rich folks take on the other group.

The tragic side of our city was the shooting of Wavy Navy Pooh just west of ZooMiami. I had never heard of the young hip hop performer, but apparently he was an up and comer -- singing about guns and drugs and hos and bitches. He was stopped at a light on SW 152 Street and a Lexus pulled up next to him, and unloaded a bunch of caps. His one year old, five year old, and a baby mama were in the car, too, but fortunately unharmed.

In the keepin' it real Department, apparently Mr. Pooh was involved in several shootings himself last year - most near Liberty City where he grew up -- and this was a targeted hit over some beef with a rival hip hop group.

Oy. What a life. Here's a performer who was making real money, as hip hop is huge, and his business disagreement got settled out of court. It's a waste of a young life.

Miami Dade Police are said to be "bracing" for more to come from this -- likely during Monday, which is MLK Day. Wow. What a way to honor the great leader -- busting caps into fellow young Blacks over stupid stuff.

I was actually curious about young Mr. Pooh, and so watched an interview with him on a program called "Off the Porch" which comes from Atlanta. He was asked about his childhood in Liberty City -- and he answered that all ghetto childhoods are the same -- too much killing and selling of drugs.

The gestalt news is that murders were actually down quite a bit in Miami Dade last year -- and the ones that did occur were either domestic, or the type of thing that took down Wavy Navy Pooh. Miami hasn't been a murder capital for decades now -- I think the rate is much higher in West Palm and Tampa, and those rates are dwarfed by Chicago and Philadelphia.

So we're lucky here in Pinecrest. Our beefs are about lawn and garden care - and tend to be settled in Commission meetings and probably the Courts. That's plenty real for me.

The Slower Pace Of An Emptier House

 So today is day 6 of my Wifey-less house, and all is well. She is happily enjoying herself in Atlanta, and D2 and Jonathan and I are getting by.

Yesterday I met Paul and Lou at Mo's, and we three Ashkenazim ate a lunch fit for our heritage -- including a comical photo of Lou posing with the two oversized matzoh balls he wanted on the side of his soup. Afterwards, we retired to Gulfstream where we each invested huge stakes ($100 for Paul and me; $40 for Lou) for a joint venture of wagering.

I'm not much a fan of horse racing, or really ANY gambling, but being with two guys who savor it made it fun for me, especially in the beautiful afternoon. And -- Paul, having cojones, bet $60 on a long shot which came in -- we each won $100 on the day! When I got home, I gave 2 $50 bills to D2, and told her the winnings were for her and D1. D2 said it was unlikely D1 would see her share. Luck IS everything...

Last evening I walked over to neighbor Denie's house for our neighborhood's HOA Executive Committee meeting. Denie, the Republican, was maskless, and the other women, Gloria, Allison, Ellen, and Lee Ann, all Dems, stayed masked up.

Denie poured me white wine, and I we set about our agenda. Allison, the new President, got stuff moved along, and when they asked about Wifey's report (She's Crime Watch Chair and we have zero crime), I answered that I slept with the Chair and could therefore report. I got a lot of laughs with that one.

Today Jonathan left for a day trip to Dallas, and D2 is working away in the living room. Her canine assistants keep going back and forth between her and me -- always bringing a smile.

Meanwhile, since Wifey never answers her phone, her late friend Elizabeth's sister called me. It seems that Elizabeth, always OCD, left instructions about bequeathing her possessions to no fewer than 45!!!! people. Wifey and the Ds are among them -- some art pieces, I think. I was asked if the Ds and Wifey wanted any of the un-bequeathed items. I politely declined -- we all need more decluttering -- but I'm sure Wifey and the Ds will enjoy having a small material piece of our beloved, late friend.

I told my ladies that I wished the opposite when I leave this mortal coil. I want them and my sons in law to poach whatever they want from my stuff, and the rest is to be quickly taken to either Goodwill or the local transfer station -- our fancy word for dump.

Other than a few books with special meaning, like a copy of Gray's Anatomy my Dad gave me when I was starting pre-med, or the Robert Frost book I was given when I was awarded Outstanding English Graduate of 1983, I really couldn't care less about any of my stuff.

I had two expensive watches -- a Rolex and a Breitling -- and gave them to my sons in law already. I feel possessions own me and not the other way around, and the last thing I would ever want would be to burden anyone with bequeathments. Hell -- my 70s-90s era vinyl collection goes to anyone willing to schlep it away.

So it's pretty quiet around here. Tomorrow I see Dr. Herman for the removal of the stitches from my Mohs surgery. There's a Zoom cocktail meet at 6, followed by a cocktail party at 7.

As for the weekend -- not much on tap -- maybe a visit to the adorable grandson.

I simply have no desire to travel anywhere. I suppose the thought of having to strategize around Covid still makes it untenable for me. But it's also the most beautiful time of year in Miami -- why go anywhere else? In fact, some cool nights are on the way -- which means the firepit will get some use.

Come to think of it, that rusted bowl is one of my favorite possessions. No one would even want that.

Someone Told Me It's All Happening At The Zoo

 So Wifey's out of town still, and D1 asked if maybe I wanted to take the Little Man out for a day. I did. So she and he and his wonderful nanny came over, we exposed him to the inevitable licking attack from our dog infested house, and then we were off -- D1 stayed home with her sister to rest and work.

Oh what a day it was. I hadn't been to ZooMiami in decades, except for one evening when we attended the boss Ron Magill's locally famous "Sex and the Animals" lecture. We used to take the Ds all the time -- Wifey bought yearly passes -- but as they aged, we just never made it back.

It was a gorgeous, overcast day, so not too hot. The foliage that was denuded in Hurricane Andrew is all back, thankfully, and there are new exhibits.

We strolled the Little Man around, and he got his first live view of the animals he had seen in books -- and identified them all in Spanish. The zoo has a big variety of, as Wifey used to call them, "antelope-like" animals, and we called them all "vacas especiales," or "special cows." I can update him later.

He identified a giant tapir as an "oso," or bear, and I realized if looked pretty bear-like, especially from a distance. We sat on a bench and he ate his lunch -- watching the Arabian antelope type critters, and sharing some of his food with a friendly ardilla, or squirrel.

As we headed toward the exit, after a solid several hours in which we only covered half the place, I looked skyward and thanked the Big Man -- He let me get this far in life with an actual grandson.

D1 called in a lunch order from LOL, which was on the way home, and we ate with Tia D2. Later D1 and the Little Man and lovely nanny left for home.

Oh -- I have SO much to teach him. My paternal grandfather was long dead by the time I was born, and my maternal one died when I was just past toddlerhood -- I have a single memory of visiting him in the hospital before he died.

So I hope I get to change things this generation with this absurdly adorable child -- already pretty much bilingual.

Maybe he'll teach ME the actual Spanish names of the vacas especiales...

Temporary Bachelorhood

 Before the Plague, Wifey would go, at least once a year, to visit her BFF Edna in Atlanta, and I'd typically stay home as a dog sitter. It was always nice to have the big house to myself and the dogs, and I would always sort of fantasize I was an eccentric old man living alone in a big house. I'd often go to local spots, like Shula's or Sea Siam, and sit at the bar and order dinner and drinks. I enjoyed it.

Well, Wifey hasn't traveled in well over 2 years. In '19 D1 had the Little Man, and there was a big, fat Venezuelan wedding to plan. And then, of course, came the Plague.

But she went away Friday, for an 11 day stay in the Peachtree State, and I get to play the role again.

Last night, my friend Mike's sister Jeannine, staying at her nephew Chris's new house, invited me to come along to their family dinner at Christie's, one of my favorites. The foursome came by, and we pregamed, and greeted D2 and Jonathan and Betsy as they returned from Aventura.

The dinner was delightful -- we go back nearly 4 decades -- and had a lot of nostalgia to cover. Chris is getting married in April, and his fiancee was out at her bachelorette party on the Beach. We feasted, and followed the beginning of Canes at Duke -- the biggest game for the team in probably 10 years. After dinner, we dropped off Loni and headed to Chris and Rachel's new house in Palmetto Bay -- it was lovely - with Butters, a happy Corgi, jumping around.

And we 4 die hard Canes got to see our team shock the Blue Devils -- biggest win in awhile -- and first time they beat a Top 5 team on the road since last century. Literally. We savored the win, and then Mike dropped me back to a quiet house -- the millennials were still out on the Beach with their friends.

Wifey called from her Sprinter -- apparently a Mercedes van that Edna's daughters rented to transport their party to a Korean barbecue place for Erica's birthday party. So we each had a great Saturday night -- just in adjoining states.

Post nap, D1 and Joey are bringing Little Man over for the afternoon. We'll roam the streets with him -- he rarely stays in his stroller anymore -- and let him see the peafowl and gatos of the 'hood.

His preschool is closed until Wednesday on account of a positive Covid test, and I think either Monday or Tuesday D1 is bringing him back here -- and maybe his first trip to Zoo Miami, where he can see actual versions of the many animals in his books. It's so delightful to watch him learn and grow.

Tomorrow night, Kenny and Joelle have asked me to meet them at Root and Bone -- Monday is fried chicken night! And Wednesday evening, after my trip to Aventura to flee our housekeeper during the day, I have our neighborhood Association's Executive Board meeting. Wifey is on the Board, too, but will be absent. I told her I'd take notes.

So, so far, the latest incarnation of temporary single man status is going just fine. Plus, I have boomerang millennials to keep me company, with their enormous puppy. Hopefully this week they learn some concrete news about their long delayed Grove house project.

But as of my present condition, Sonos is playing The Bridge -- soft rock from my youth -- and all else are asleep.

As Arthur said in one of my favorite movies - it doesn't suck.

FaceBook (TM) Fun

 Back in 1981, I was in a Religious Studies class at UM, taught by my favorite professor, Steve Sapp. We became lifelong friends, and he was a favorite of all of us -- truly challenged us to think and write critically about the biggest issues of our lives. I think I was in class with my friend, now Dr. Barry.

Steve walked in looking solemn, and said "I have some news I must share. I'm dying. I'll tell more about this later, but now I want to finish the discussion about the Ethics essay we left off with..."

Several of the girls in class began to weep. The guys had our mouths agape. He went on for awhile, and finally dropped the other shoe: "I'm not at all sick, and like to think I'm as healthy as all of you, despite my 15 more years. The truth is, though, we are ALL dying -- you all as well as me. We begin to die when we are born. We can never forget that."

And I never did -- clearly he left out context in his shocking words. And so I figured I would repeat the stunt years later, on FaceBook, stating that my wife had left me and I was undergoing cancer surgery the same day. Of course, in answer to some of the shocked comments, I explained: my wife had indeed left, but not our marriage -- she was visiting her BFF Edna for 10 days. And I DID have cancer surgery -- but it was Mohs to removed a squamous cell ca on my nose -- the actual cutting took, no kidding, like 45 seconds -- one pass only was needed. But when the anesthetic wore off -- it WAS rather sore.

The good news is I was able to numb the pain with 3 vodkas last night -- D2 ordered in sushi for us while Jonathan was visiting his uncle and family -- D2 assumed her mother's usual spot on the recliner to watch the Boomers get tipsy -- along with Josh, a youngun.

But I got about 5 texts from FaceBook friends who didn't read past my "shocking" post -- some asking if I was kidding (no -- everything I said was true) or if I needed help during this "Dark period" (no more than the vodkas). I of course told everyone the leaving was temporary, and the cancer surgery the best you could ever hope for if you needed cancer surgery.

After the Zoom, Wifey called, and she and Edna gave me their Canarsie accented analysis: "Edna -- I think he just craves attttttennnntion." Edna agreed, and unsuccessfully tried to argue the semantics of my post -- it was indeed accurate.

They're both correct, of course. I'm a wildly unrequited comedy writer -- always looking for outlets. I have this blog, which one of Wifey's former friends Rosie pointed out was often NOT at all funny, and my beloved text chains with a group of witty, distinguished gentlemen. And then there's FaceBook.

The Ds want me off of it. But I enjoy the silliness of it, and learning, every once in awhile, how big my audience really is, even though many of the readers never comment, or "like" or "dislike" the posts.

That's ok -- it still provides me with enjoyment -- along with my fellow prodigious poster Norman, who, by the way, was kind enough to buy me a delicious post surgery lunch at Perry's. In retrospect, though, I should have started drinking then.

So, Steve Sapp told us he was dying 41 years ago. Thankfully he's still in wonderful health, retired and enjoying his life with his amazing wife Mary and one of their son and family, in Maryland.

And I'm dying, too, and have now SURVIVED cancer surgery, as well as the beginning of Wifey leaving.

It's all true.

What A Way To Start the Year: My Wife Left Me And I Had Cancer Surgery

 So 12/28 I had my annual skin cancer check with Dr. Green, the handsome and charming young dermatologist my family all loves. I think I'm his favorite patient, as the majority of people he sees are women for cosmetic issues, and he and I share a fanatic love of the Hurricanes, and we always catch up -- lately commiserate. His PA actually cut him off at the end of our visit -- reminding me enough about offensive coordinator candidates, and back to his other patients.

He wacked off two moles he found -- one of which was a repeat customer, on the right side of my nose. Last year he froze it off and biopsied it, and it was benign, but the little bugger came back, which was mildly concerning.

Sure enough, on Wednesday his office called -- it tested positive for squamous cell -- and I needed to see Dr. Herman, across the street from Dr. Green, for a Mohs surgery.

It wasn't my first rodeo. In '16 she removed a basal cell growth on my right forehead, after which I began to religiously use sun block. Ha. Wrong. I'm capable of idiocy, and continued my daily perambulations with no protection at all, and sure enough, this time Mr. Squamous came for a visit.

I called yesterday for an appointment with the very attractive Dr. H, blonde haired and blue eyed, and was told she was taking new appointments for mid February. That'd be fine -- squamous cell ca s don't typically kill you that fast...but wait...she had a cancellation for the very next am -- did I want it? I did -- she set me for 11:30 am.

Meanwhile, after a series of permutations befitting a rocket launch, Wifey decided she WAS going to ATL to visit her BFF Edna after all --- and was leaving this am. So I set my alarm, awoke the woman who typically sleeps late, and we were off the MIA. I figured she had a 75% chance of actually making it, and make it she did -- scooped up by Edna and beginning 11 days of solving the problems of the world and comparing life's issues. Heaven for Wifey.

So she DID in fact leave me, but is due back in 11 days.

I killed some time with breakfast and a bank visit, and then was off to Dr. H. She always runs on time. Since I had seen her, she got married and had a baby girl -- now 3. She had also seen my friend Mike earlier -- I showed her a picture of his chin bandage from earlier in the day. She laughed.

My nose was numbed, and the actual surgery was over in less than a minute. I was told to wait for the frozen pathology section. I texted my group, and the Ds, and Wifey arrived in ATL. 

She came back in -- the one pass removed the cancer cells -- she stitched me up and said to return in a week for stitches removal. This time I WILL start wearing sunblock.

I took the elevator down 2 flights and met Norman, whose office is in the same building. We walked across to Merrick Park, and he treated me to a delicious lunch at Perry's -- a place I'd wanted to visit for a long time. The anesthetic wore off. My nose was sore -- but I plan on re -numbing it tonight with several martinis at home.

So, indeed Wifey left and I had cancer surgery. This is a true statement. But as negative things go, these are in fact benign -- unlike the cells on my nose. But the bad ones are gone now.

For the Hollies It Was a Bus Stop. For Us It Was A Mailbox

 It was August of '83, and Eric and I had moved into a garden apartment in Kendall called Les Chalet, only AFTER Barry had bugged out on his commitment to live with us in a bigger place down the street. That bug out had big consequences for my life. Eric was starting med school, and I law school. One day I was studying in the living room, and I heard a knock at the door.

I got up, probably in cutoff jeans, to answer the door. No one had knocked -- a girl was fighting with her mailbox door outside, and making a racket. I said hello and said I thought she had knocked. She apologized and said no -- the door was always stuck. I shook her hand and introduced myself.

I'm Dave, and starting law school, for lack of anything better to do with a B.A. in English. But I figure I'll be ok at law, make a very nice living, and marry you when I graduate, and together we'll have an amazing life together, with 2 absurdly amazing girls who will marry amazing men, and give us a grandson who is also absurdly adorable, to the point it seems unreal. Oh yeah -- and I'll buy you a house that looks like something out of a tropical vision of Gatsby. But first -- want to get some dinner at a classic 80s fern bar named Raffles?

She agreed, and three and a half years later, 35 years ago tonight, we were married.

The wedding had a funny tale, too. First, I had contacted the only rabbi I knew -- the UM Hillel guy named Mark Kram. We met with him, and he got us to buy into this whole ersatz Catholic premarital counseling thing -- we met with him and his wife Mindy (Oy -- Mark and Mindy -- that alone should have told me this was a failed idea) and Wifey (not yet) and I bought into it. We would be progressive young Jews -- and Rabbi Mark and Mindy would be a foundation of our Jewish married life.

And then, a week before the big night, he called me at my office, in the SouthEast Building Downtown. "Uh Dave -- got some bad news. I can't be there for your big, fat, Holocaust Survivor kid wedding. One of my friends from UJA got sick and I get a free trip to Israel -- it leaves January 1." What -- had you never BEEN? "Oh now -- I've been several times, but I really like it -- so see ya, Chaim Yonkel!" Did you have a replacement? No -- as Hillel guy, I'm not really connected with the local rabbinate. I guess it sucks to be you."

As D2 loves it when I tell the story, my reaction was "But I thought we was partners!" We wasn't -- the selfish prick succeeded in turning Wifey and I off to the sanctimoniousness and hypocrisy of organized religion for years -- only to be rescued 11 years hence by the sincerity and reality of Rabbi Yossi and Nechama.

But what to do? Luckily Eric's Mom Norma knew a guy -- Norman Lipson -- sort of a relief Rabbi around South Florida. We met him once, and he did a yeoman's job. I hear he later founded a Reform temple in Weston, and is now retired

And what a night it turned out to be. Our friend Elizabeth, now tragically gone after a heart attack while hiking last year, was married to Pat Travers, a rock and roll singer. He played with the classic wedding band, Harry Frank and his Band of Mirth Makers, my Mom had found and paid for. Wifey's college friend Eileen, very drunk and thinking she could sing, joined them onstage in a classic act of silliness, and sang "Good Lovin" while Pat was singing "Gimme Some Lovin'" Pat, the professional, made it still sound great.

The next day we were off to a honeymoon in Jamaica for 4 nights -- all we could afford at Half Moon Bay. And then we returned, to our tiny but loved house on SW 125th Terrace, and began our life together.

The blessings were, and are, manifold. The sadnesses, too -- we said goodbye to Wifey's father and my mother. My mother in law rides on -- just turned 97.

There were serious illnesses -- for Wifey a year ago this month -- which thankfully she has recovered. The Ds gave us some scares.

But I had a vision for us, and Wifey shared it: our marriage would be the foundation for the rest of our lives, upon which we would build a family. And it goes deeper.

Wifey is the only child of Holocaust Survivors. Two years ago, at D2 and Jonathan's wedding, Rabbi Yossi reminded us all that D2 and Jonathan are grandchildren of Survivors. The Evil Nazis truly tried to do away with our people. And on a beautiful Miami Beach evening, with streaming setting sunlight that looked as if it was created by a Hollywood lighting director, the generations gave the ultimate F You to Hitler.

We weren't thinking about that on January 3, 1987. We were just a couple of young kids getting married and starting a life.

Truth is, I love Wifey more than I did then. Big Man willing, long may we run, together.

2021 In The Can

 So D2 and Jonathan were off on a boat ride in Biscayne Bay, and Wifey and I had a relaxing NYE day. Old friends Sheryl and Mark came over, in town from Boston, and we sat to catch up for awhile -- I poured Mark a Glenlivet and I had an Absolut, and we toasted the coming new year.

Wifey and I got dressed and headed to M'Italia, a place in South Miami across the street from the hospital where the Ds were born. We had a lovely table outside, and probably only 20% of the tables were filled -- Omicron seemed to keep most people inside this year. But our fellow negative Covid testmates arrived -- Joelle, Kenny, their boy Adam, and old friend Diane, who lives across Tigertail in the Grove.

We ate well and toasted, and then caravanned back home around 10:30. We popped a few bottles of 'pagne, as my friend Stu calls it, and ate desserts. Just before midnight, we retired to the family room and put on Miley Cyrus and her strange boyfriend Pete Davidson's show from Miami Beach, and some of us enjoyed the scantily clad dancers. And then the year changed, and we toasted for the last time in '21.

The guests left, we went to sleep, and I awoke to a text -- D2 and Jonathan were sleeping over, also in the Grove, at their friend Michael's new apartment. We'd see them NY Day.

We spent the first day of the year in complete sloth mode -- watching football and movies -- I never got off the property. D2 and Jonathan brought salads and wraps from Carrot Express. In honor of the holiday, I even eschewed my constitutional.

I have zero predictions for 2022. I was convinced, in my simple English Professor way, that 2020 would be the year of perfect vision. I guess it was -- it was only that what was seen was very ugly.

Things were looking up plague wise in early '21, with vaccines on the horizon. And then, January 15, Wifey had a major health scare whose recovery dominated our lives for the first half of the year. Thankfully she's recovered wonderfully.

And then the plague looked to be on the run -- I even attended several Canes tailgates and games -- and then Omicron, contrary to Pitbull's advice, indeed stopped the party.

So who knows? I guess the lesson is to just appreciate each day, and, like the Stranger in "Big Lebowski," "Take 'er easy, Dude."

Today I was back to walking, and complaining about the heat. I look forward to cooler temps in January, and so far -- "feels like" 86. Maybe some cooling will come Tuesday.

The Millennials are chilling today as well, too. I have the Dolphins on, with little hope they beat the Titans to keep their slim playoff hopes alive. Then again, watching the freezing rain in Nashville, I rescind my complaint about our weather.

The plague experts expect a quick drop in cases. Wifey hopes they're right -- she has tickets to ATL 1/9 and hopes to go.

Meanwhile, my writing was interrupted by crazy dog barking -- strange rescue and enormous puppy. Sure enough -- a 4 foot iguana was trapped in our pool area, and the dogs wanted a NY Day snack. I tried to shoo him out with water, but the big guy couldn't scale the wall -- must have dropped in via tree. He ran a bit and then, apparently, died. I prodded him with the pool net, and he woke up, but I was able to wrangle him into the net, and deposited him in the front yard. He waddled away -- sort of like the Dolphins season is doing on TV.

I'm hoping for a pretty, pretty, pretty good year.