Alarming

 Our house came with a then state of the art burglar/smoke alarm, and I have dutifully paid the annual monitoring fee though we never use it. Fortunately, there have been zero break ins in our area, and we have a gate and some lights, as well as an off duty FHP trooper who patrols and makes our 'hood less attractive to miscreants.

Still, I dutifully call Aressco, a local company whenever the thing goes on the blink, or needs an upgrade. Some years ago, we got rid of the landline part of the system -- it's now totally 4 G. So if we DO use the alarm, a master thief couldn't disable the thing just by cutting phone lines. We don't have any particularly valuable stuff, anyway.

But we now have a very active toddler grandson, and it occurred to me we need to start using the chime function of the alarm whenever he is over the house. That chimes when a door is open, and though we watch him like a proverbial hawk, it is good to know if he decides to leave without permission.

So Sunday night, I checked the chime function, and sure enough, the one most critical door -- leading out to the pool -- wasn't working. So Monday am I called Aressco, and arranged for Tony to come out. He's been their maintenance guy for over 15 years. I last saw him a year or so ago when we got a new front door and matching impact glass windows -- he came to put in new contacts.

Today he came by, and figured out the problem -- probably the roofers who repaired an overhang above the door cut the wires by mistake. But no problem -- everything is wireless now -- and so he put on a new sensor that transmits to the unit -- problem solved. He even showed me how to change the battery -- which he says will last 3-4 years. Hell -- at my age, those durations mean more and more.

Speaking of that toddler -- Sunday Wifey and I walked him and his baby brother over to his friend Mason's house. D1 and Joey's hood is amazing -- the young people have free run of each other's playgrounds -- and Mason and his family were out of town.

We walked, and came across a large woman with a small dog. We knew she was a new addition -- her son, an NBA star, had bought her a house there! Wifey and she chatted -- she was very nice, and duly proud of her son, who is 25 and looking each year like a superstar in the league. Wifey said she must be so proud of him -- Marilyn said she was, but because of his character as much as his athletic success.

Anyway -- at Mason's, the dog sitter came out to visit -- Mason's paternal grandmother, who was house and dog sitting. Karen is delightful -- a native Montanan, who married Howard, and raised her kids near D.C. She moved to Miami last year to help with the grandsons, and is living in the Grove. Wifey is going to fix her up on a social meet with our friend Diane, who lives a few buildings away.

And as I hung with the toddler, it occurred to me: he is ALL boy. I'm used to having small girls, who sit quietly and play. Not our grandson -- he is unstoppable energy, who is adorable and mischievous and amazing.

But the good thing : when he had to pee, it was just a trip to the corner of the yard -- no indoor bathrooms necessary. He will learn that is a MAJOR benefit to being a boy.

Anyway -- now we have another measure of protection when he comes to visit -- and eventually for his baby brother, too.

Meanwhile -- we're off Thursday -- Wifey and I are headed to Maine for 4 nights at Joelle and Kenny's house. It's my first time on a plane since December of '19, and Wifey and my first trip together other than Key West and Key Biscayne.

We have to change planes in D.C. and hopefully we make the connection. If not -- I guess it'll be a darkened drive up to Oxford from Portland.

We have a very nice young girl house and dog sitting -- Talia. She is an FSU grad and starting nursing school soon -- we met her dog sitting in the 'hood, and it turns out she's best friends with another neighbor. Talia lives at home with her radiologist mom, and enjoys getting away for a few days at a time.

Coincidentally, D2 and Jonathan have Labor Day plans in Atlanta -- a reunion of Yellow House friends and now their 4 husbands. So tomorrow night, after I fetch the toddler from school (his parents are on a one day stay cation), I will fetch the enormous puppy Betsy on Miami Beach and bring her here -- Talia gets to watch her, too. So while we're gone, it'll be a true hotel for dogs -- with a guest innkeeper.

I'll be missing the first Canes game, but my consuegro Ricardo is happily taking my tickets. A lot of my crew is missing the game, too -- Norman is the only regular going, I believe. It's hopefully a tuneup game, against Bethune Cookman. I plan to go to the second game -- against Southern Mississippi, the Saturday after we return from Maine.

So here's to some cool air and laughter with dear friends at their beloved lakeside house. There are far worse ways to spend Labor Day weekend.

Free Stuff!

 So POTUS, who I really like, executed a bald faced political move yesterday -- signed a regulation that forgives $10K of student debt to borrowers making less than $100K per year. Dr. Barry and I joked about it last night -- we were saps for paying off ours in its entirety. And that's ok.

When I first heard about the debt relief, I recalled a "Simpsons" episode, where Grandpa mistakenly received a lot of money in his bank account. When Marge asked how he didn't notice -- he replied "The Democrats are in power -- I assumed that's how it's supposed to be!"

I guess I'm just a sardonic Democrat, like my Dad was. He was probably more liberal than I am, but had a jaundiced eye about entitlement programs. I recall one beautiful Spring day -- my Mom asked him to take the day off, and he begged off, saying "Hey -- I don't just have to support MY family, you know. There are at least 20 Puerto Ricans in the South Bronx on welfare who don't want to work -- I have to support them, too!"

Yes -- he was politically incorrect, but happily paid more than his fare share. 

I was lucky in college -- I had a half tuition scholarship, and in those days, at least my freshman year, tuition at UM was $2400 per year. It rose, and by my senior year, the Director of the Honors Program, Jim Ash, thanked me for my work as a student leader by arranging for a full scholarship for my senior year. I was so thankful -- Mom was a widow by then, and I was sensitive about spending her money.

When law school began, Mom said that she and Dad always planned to pay for my grad school, but I refused. I took out the maximum federal student loans at the time, which were $7500 per year, and my last year, still fell a bit short, even though I had worked as a summer intern, and two time English Comp teacher. The law school gave me an additional $3k loan, but at, I think, 12% interest.

Wifey and I made one of our first major financial decisions together -- we used wedding gift money to pay off that high interest private loan. And the GSL and NDSL? I unhappily paid them back each month -- keeping Mazdas and a less than top level houses so I could do so.

I was fortunate -- Hurricane Andrew gave me the money to pay off my loans in their entirety in 1993 -- so it took only 7 years to pay back my obligation to the government. Man -- had President Clinton said "No worries, Dave, I forgive the debt" I would have been VERY happy. But it didn't work out that way.

I get it -- mid term elections are less than 3 months away, and my party wants to give some pork to young, and sometimes not young, voters. I've been reading that there are plenty of Boomers with remaining student loan debt.

Meanwhile, college tuition, especially private college tuition, skyrockets. And why shouldn't it? Many of the universities have huge endowments, and if the students and families are more eager to borrow to get a degree from a fancy school, it'll just get more expensive.

I guess I am just a cranky old guy. I guess I'll just keep working -- now I have to support the student loan deadbeats! 

A Dawn To Remember

 So today is the thirtieth!!! anniversary of Hurricane Andrew. I recall and write about it each year, as it was truly a milestone in our lives -- completely "mistroyed" our house as adorable 3 year old D1 said. Now she has 2 sons -- one a few months from turning three himself -- and he would probably say the same thing, heaven forbid another storm - but in Spanish - his first language.

I'm dealing with some nasty hip pain, that came about, I think, while I was playing Sunday with the aforementioned toddler. When I got out of the car from the drive home that evening, my right hip hurt a bit. Since then, it has evolved into a real pain the the high ass, so to speak. Last time this happened, several months ago, Dr. Mike, a licensed PT at my gym, was able to fix me with a single session of massage and manipulation. I'm hoping for the same this time -- if not - it'll just take time. Mike said I was lucky: though I have the normal arthritic changes of a 61 year old dude, my problems were muscular, and not structurally related to the actual joint. So hopefully I avoid the replacements several of my friends have been getting. I guess I'll find out later.

But back to Hurricane Andrew. My in laws, who seemed so old at the time, were actually Wifey's age. They made out just fine -- huddled in a closet, where I found them when I rode my bike the two miles up 107 Ave in the early morning. Their house, a well built 50s era ranch with Dade County pine tongue and groove roof decking, had all of $5K of damage. After a few nights camped at my Mom's in Delray, my in laws wanted to go back home -- even though they were without power for weeks. Richard cooked on a hibachi. I guess after you survive the Shoah, a few weeks of hot Miami nights with no AC are no big deal.

My Mom had stayed with us, since it earlier appeared that the storm was heading closer to Palm Beach. She was 72, and kept our spirits up -- reminding us that all of our ruined possessions were just tchotchkes that could be replaced. We got her home the day after the storm -- the South Dade highways were cleared out pretty quickly, and once we got north of Flagler Street, it was as if there hadn't been a storm.

And we moved to Brickell Key -- thanks to quick acting friend Linda, who grabbed an available rental unit for us, knowing we'd be homeless in the Falls. Our house could have been an object lesson is shoddy 1980s construction -- when inspectors were being paid off by builders to look the other way. Our roof deck, supposedly nailed down but merely stapled, gave away like cardboard. And the lovely interior atrium, separating a living room from our master bedroom (you could still use that term then) acted as a chimney -- imploding as the Cat 5 winds passed over us, sucking up a lot of the structure.

So it was a very eventful year -- that 1992. It started out great -- D2 was born in February -- and ended up fine, too. I had brought in my first jumbo case, and the insurance settlement in those days was yuuuuge, as Wifey says. We essentially converted knick knacks into stock holdings. Thirty years later, the shares of blue chip stocks have done better than the statues and faux antiques.

I still have one memory of the insurance adjusting process. After the Prudential guy visited our house, he asked to meet at Bennigan's -- now an Ale House. Paul was down visiting. The fellow handed me a check for $350K -- saying that ought to get us started on rebuilding. Paul was astonished -- "not every day someone hands you a check like that for tax free money." 

We rebuilt the house much bigger and nicer, paid off my student loans, and even bought my in laws' house to live in while the rebuilding took place -- they had decamped to Pembroke Pines. Yes --financially, Andrew turned out to be the literal windfall. 

Still -- it was traumatic as it happened. We huddled in a car in the garage as much of the roof collapsed. Looking back, had it just been Wifey and me, it wouldn't have been that scary, but worrying about a three year old, 6 month old, and 72 year old grandma changed the whole scene for us.

A lot has happened in the past three years. My in laws and Mom have all passed on. The Ds are grown and married. Just last weekend, we learned that neighbors Lou Jean and Manny have also left us, this year.

So I'll happily take a dawn of hip pain over what happened three years ago -- on that dawn to remember.

Finding Out Sad News About Former Neighbors

 So yesterday Wifey and I drove up to Shorecrest to play with the adorable toddler on his last day before school begins. He is a delight, and bundle of energy, and Wifey kept up with him well. As for me, well, I ran around a bit after him, and sure enough, as I exited my car after the drive home, felt a sharp pain in my right hip.

This happened a few months ago, and Dr. Mike, the PT at my gym, was able to massage me back into shape, after diagnosing issues not in the hip joint itself. I texted my man Juan, told him no regular workout for me tomorrow, and was Dr. Mike available for some of his miracle touch? I'm waiting to hear -- and it only hurts when I breathe, so it's no big deal. Serves me right for being 50 lbs too fat.

But as we had dinner, we were discussing how the first people we ever knew with a nanny were neighbors Manny and Lou Jean, who lived on our street by the Falls. Three year old D1 went to play with their girl Nicole one time, and reported that she, D1, had spilled her juice, and that "the other mommy" cleaned it up. D1 was smart and adorable -- kind of like her son, but much smaller.

We realized it'd had been decades since we heard from Lou Jean and Manny, and their kids, and so D1 looked them up. What?!!! Lou Jean had died -- last April! We were shocked, as she was about my age, and we remembered her as a beautiful and smart lady -- she was a nurse at South Miami Hospital.

This am I did a bit of social media research, and got Nicole's FaceBook page. I messaged her, reminding her we were neighbors, and that I had learned of her lovely Mom's passing. She responded -- her father had died, too! Manny was in his mid 60s, and my research showed they had divorced just last year. The social media indicated that Lou Jean had died from cancer -- nothing about Manny's cause of death.

Wifey reminded me we visited them once after they moved -- probably late 90s. Also, I recalled that our friend Donna was a co worker at South Miami -- also decades ago. Donna last worked when Scott was born, and he turns 26 this December.

So I can't say we grieved -- truly these people, though nice, were from another place; another time, as Tom Petty sang.

Still -- we were saddened to learn about this, and once again grateful to still be on this mortal coil.

In the funny side of death Department, I  got a letter from Bank of America today -- my late mother in law's normal monthly statement, with a balance of $100.77.  The account never had more than $2K, to keep Rachel's Medicaid eligibility, but knowing BOA was going to be a bear to deal with, I kept the balance very low.

Sure enough, in June, I emailed them to tell them about her passing. They sent Wifey and the Ds (beneficiaries of the account) a comically long set of papers, and ask that the Death Certificate be forwarded to some office in Tampa. We complied, but knowing BOA, I suspected they wouldn't simply send the check for $100.77 and close the account.

So my plan is to let them keep writing us, running up at least $100 in postage and staff time, before we follow up. Usually I'm the passive aggressive one, but Wifey is livid with them, too -- they once took up a solid 10 hours of Wifey's time after her Dad died and the account had to be changed. So we'll see.

Still -- nothing funny about the passing of our former neighbors. I recall Manny was a mortgage broker, and was freaked out when Andrew hit -- 30 years ago this week! He had paid off his own mortgage, and therefore wasn't required to carry casualty coverage. He meant to, but forgot to pay his premium.

His house was a total loss like ours, but his company paid for a double wide and generator to be put on his property -- he was such a profit center for them. And, there was such a flurry of buying after Andrew, Manny made so much money that the loss of the $175K house was no big deal. 

He paid out of pocket to rebuild it, and sold to Carlos and Lois -- a UM Art professor and his LA born and bred English teacher wife. They were great folks, too -- 2 sons the same age as the Ds. Lois was head of English at Palmer School, as they were merging with Trinity Episcopal, and she got my former nephew his first teaching job there, after he graduated FSU.

Lois went on to found her own academy for well off but behaviorally challenged high school kids -- after she was hired away from Palmer by Heat coach Pat Riley to homeschool his kids. Pat paid her so much, she was able to start the school.

Alas, she and Carlos divorced, and Lois remarried. She and her new husband moved to Orlando, and, last we spoke was moving with him to Colorado -- a western girl always at heart.

Carlos still teaches at UM, I think, and is a well known Peruvian artist. He may well still live in Manny and Lou Jean's house -- last we ran into him, at Home Depot, he was still there.

I wish peace for the orphans, Nicole, Manny Junior, and a change of life baby, Nina. Based on FaceBook, the three are very close and very supportive of each other.

Their parents' loss was some sad news across the years.

Why Me Lord?

 I have loved the Kris Kristofferson song since I first heard it, though I change the lyric "Jesus" to "Big Man," as I believe in the Dad but not the son. The history of the song is that Kris was invited to church at the time he was very atheist, and felt the spirit inside him, immediatley humbled by the manifold blessings given to him despite his glaring imperfections as a man.

I agree. I am daily humbled by the Big Man -- why have I been given so many amazing gifts in my life while others seem so bereft? Yes -- my inherited sunny disposition helps quite a bit, and some people seemed forever trapped in feeling most natural and fulfilled when they complain about what they DON'T have.

My answer to that was taught to me years ago by my friend Yossi the Rabbi. That man is truly wealthy who is satisfied with his lot. Hell -- I can compare my life to Tom Brady's. Fabulously wealthy -- greatest NFL QB of all time, supermodel, richer than he is, wife. And, according to my friend Alex, who knew him at Michigan, a genuinely nice guy.

Objectively, compared to his life -- mine sucks! And yet I admire Brady -- would gladly shake his hand if I ever met him -- but am quite content with my life. Hell -- apparently that super model wife of his, the Brazilian, has a chronic medical condition he must daily battle: she suffers from nymphomania. I am SO thankful Wifey was spared that dreaded malady.

Anyway -- the feelings came bursting through last night. It began Friday -- I was surrounded by dear friends from different parts of my life who all came together for a fine meal.

Most significantly, D1 and Joey recovered from an awful bout with Covid -- and the little man and his jumbo toddler brother were fine, too. And then yesterday afternoon, D2 and Jonathan came by, to drop off Betsy the enormous dog while D2 dragged Jonathan to a local couples' baby shower.

Jonathan spied a large brown fancy bottle on my liquor cabinet. It was Don Julio 1942 tequila, which sells for $200 a bottle. Where had I gotten it? I had no clue -- friends know to buy me vodka -- tequila isn't my drink. Was it a gift for a party? No clue -- but there it was -- about 1/4 of it left. So Jonathan decided we HAD to pregame the shower -- and so I got my frozen Stoli Elit, and poured a prosecco for D2, and we 4 sat in the dining room toasting -- Wifey stuck to selzer. 

The first glass for we men turned into 2. I looked at D2, in a white party dress, and saw how beautiful she was. D2 is a natural beauty who typically dresses down, and wears nerdy glasses, and downplays her looks. But yesterday it poked its way through, and I so adore her, and so began to cry. She and Wifey properly made fun of me -- D2 pointing out that the years usually only come with Paul is drinking with me, and he says stuff to cause me to "get in touch with my feelings." But I did it solo yesterday.

The younguns left for the party, and I kept tippling the Stoli. I played DJ, and put on Ramones and B52s, and made Wifey dance with me. I selfied us, and meant to sent it only to Wifey. Instead, it went to Wifey's BFF, too, who was puzzled -- why was she getting a video of a couple dancing and having fun? Because I sent it by mistake!

Anyway, I UberEated Anthony's Coal Fired, and then we ate pizza. And danced more. And then D2 and Jonathan returned, to a thrilled Pyragold.

They had eaten, but the lure of Anthony's wings called to them, and I drank sobering up tea while they ate. I was just SO happy. And then Jonathan put a cherry on the sundae. He had been reading fiction more, to escape his mental world of high finance -- what might I recommend? He was asking an always frustrated and unrequited English professor -- and we strolled into the library where I gave him a leather bound volume of some Jules Verne, and one of my sleeper favorites: "A Confederacy of Dunces" by John Kennedy Toole, a one hit wonder book I learned about when I took a literary walking tour of NOLA. 

I know he'll enjoy them.

Anyway, I woke up this am AFTER Wifey, a rare occurrence, and she had already fed the dogs. I apologized to her -- was last night just TOO MUCH fun? No, she said, she loved dancing and wished me more nights like that.

Later today we're off for some grandson visiting. The baby is adorable. The toddler is absurdly hilarious and adorable.

Indeed -- why me, Lord?

Kvetching In The Am

 So last night a client meet up in Broward turned into a lovely impromptu sushi meet, up in Pembroke Pines. Dr. Barry had signed out from a week in charge of the PICU, and was asked if it wasn't too intense. 

He replied that he couldn't do it for grown ups -- if he had to take care of them, other than an emergency -- he'd turn in his license. As if on cue, this am gave me a reason why.

I try to walk early, before the August heat becomes oppressive, but often I get waylaid -- feeding the dogs, reading news, etc...This am it was pouring rain through the sunshine, like the Fred Neill song, and so I had to wait.

The rain brought down the temperature a few degrees, but increased the humidity, and so by my first mile, I was drenched. I saw a neighbor, Kay, picking up some branches, and started to chat.

Kay is in her early 80s, and lost her husband Irv three years ago. He was in his mid 90s and a great guy -- used to walk the 'hood with dog treats in his pockets, and therefore became a favorite of all the pooches. They met when he was flying to Miami and Kay was a stewardess, NOT a flight attendant. I've found that women of that era were often proud to be attractive enough to be hired as stewardesses, and do NOT call them flight attendants.

Anyway, I asked how Kay was, and she started a litany of complaints. Her new roof leaked, and roofers "take advantage of women." Most of her golfing companions were dead or incapacitated. She had to finally sell Irv's beloved Cadillac, and settle for a new Lexus.

I found myself trying to comfort her. Roofers took advantage of EVERYONE. She still was able to play golf -- was a pretty good one, as I recalled, and hadn't she mentioned she was driving that new Lexus up to Tampa for a tournament?

Yes, she admitted, but couldn't STAND Tampa -- it was a "poor man's Miami," and why couldn't the tournament be in closer Palm Beach County.

I caught myself and realized it wasn't my place to point out to a wealthy, pretty healthy older woman how lucky she was.

The bubble above my head said what I didn't: "You know -- Barry is right. Kids are wonderful. Cranky old folks --feh!"

Of course I just wished her well, and walked off into the humidity.

We were lucky with my Mom.  All into her final days, she kept her amazing gratitude about life. Even when she was in the nursing home, when I would wheel her outside, she remarked how wonderful the sun felt on her skin. And she'd tell me how the night before they served hot dogs for dinner, "And you know, David, that's my favorite."

It's a shame. I've seen pictures of Kay in her younger years -- she was a stunner. She is still very attractive for an 80 something lady. But I think next time, I'll just wave and save myself  the negativity. I walk in the mornings to enjoy the nature and move my overweight corpus. I ain't needing no rain on my parade.

Meanwhile, D1 and Joey had a miserable Covid week -- 4 days of feeling awful. Thankfully, it passed, and they're essentially recovered. And, as Dr. Barry has assured -- the baby and toddler were just fine.

Wifey and I plan to head over tomorrow and spend some time with them -- grabbing the toddler for a hug, even as he protests "Si, pero no besos!" The little brother has no choice or say in the matter.

Tonight D2 and Jonathan are dropping off the enormous puppy for a few hours -- a co-ed baby shower a few blocks away. Their old friends Brett and Elise are expecting. Poor Jonathan -- I don't envy this turning baby showers into a co-ed event thing. I'll offer to pre-game with him.

We're at or near the peak of the miserable Miami summer heat. We're off to hopefully cooling Maine in less than 2 weeks -- and most looking forward to it. 

Kenny and Joelle are hosting us in Oxford. And they don't kvetch...

My Least Favorite Kind of Person

 Dave Barry always says that your nice friend who treats waiters badly isn't your nice friend. I have always wholeheartedly agreed, and yesterday it gave me the chance for a fun prank.

Paul and I had a rare Brickell meeting -- he comes in probably every three to four months. We hoped to have lunch with Stuart, but that was a non starter as Stu also rarely comes to the office before 2 or so. Ah -- old lawyers.

Anyway, Paul and I did some work over lunch at North Italia, and then decided to walk around the now Manhattan like 'hood. Paul has worked around there since 1972, when he was at the firm where we met on Coral Way just off Brickell, and I started there in 1988. The amount of building and pedestrian traffic, almost everyone far younger than I, and I am 11 years younger than Paul. I often borrow the Cormac title and change it: this is no city for old men.

On our way back to the building, we passed by the amazing new condo, Brickell Flatiron. Like its namesake in NYC, it's build on a triangular plot, but this one is much taller and luxurious. The restaurant on the ground floor is a flashy, high end Asian place called Sexy Fish. Stu has been there and was unimpressed -- $200 for a sushi dinner that was only ok.

But we wanted to check it out, as the place has glass sculptures and furnishing that are a mix of Disney and Vegas. It was late lunch time, and the place was packed.

We walked in, and were greeted by two hosts, a smiling gay Black man, and a striking beautiful young woman. The woman had a Southern accent, and loads of superior attitude -- reminded me of the president of a Southern sorority at maybe Alabama -- like Kappa Delta.

At UF, they say KD stands for Christian Daughters, and all the girls are Southern Belles. I was reminded of a hilarious tale from D2's rush year -- 2010. UF required pledges to visit ALL sororities, even ones where everyone knew they would never end up -- like KD for the nice Jewish girl from Miami.

So D2 met the rush representative, who charmingly inquired about her unusual name. D2 replied it was a Hebrew name, and the KD girl said "Oh, and are YOU a Hebrew?" D2 calmly said "Well, I'm Jewish -- Hebrews were the ancient tribal name of our people." And everyone laughed, apparently, though not as much as I did when I heard the tale.

Anyway, the modern KD was very dismissive. In fairness, Paul was asking lots of questions about the property, and the shiksa goddess seemed to hope we two older guys, not well dressed, would simply disappear.

Paul was unaware of this slight, and proceeded to wander around the place. I turned to the nice gay guy, though I could tell the beauty was listening, and said "You know -- my friend is the owner of a hedge fund, and is in the process of relocating here from Philly. He's scouting out venues to host his staff -- about 300 high level finance types are moving here."

It was if I had flipped a switch on the Southern beauty. She stopped writing, visibly. She turned to me and said "Well I would be the one to help with special events. Here's my card -- make sure y'all call me anytime."

I kept a poker face, and said I was just a local lawyer, but was most excited about my friend moving his major operation to town. You could almost tell the previously dismissive hostess was almost physically aroused.

Clearly, older normal guys aren't worth her time, but billionaires...

I said goodbye. Paul thought I was silly -- he and I share so much fraternal closeness, but very different senses of humor. As I turned back, the gorgeous hostess gave me a flirty wave and a wink. Wow -- just moments before Paul and I were just some annoying mosquitoes.

Paul still wants to visit -- his wife loves places like that. And the truth is, it DID sound fun -- around 10 pm apparently they turn down the lights and it becomes more of a club than restaurant.

In the 90s, the Grove had such a place --Mezzanote. We had some great times there -- even Wifey got up on the table and danced -- using my head as a bannister.

I am my father's son. In his retirement days, he would pull pranks, too, like his finest, at a Delray Publix. He was waiting for my Mom, and his fellow Greatest Generation Jews were grumbling about the wait at the bakery.

Dad turned to the loudest complainer and said "Well -- the reason for the wait is that they're giving free rye breads to the first 30 people here." Rye bread is, of course, the staple food of my people.

The man started shouting "I demand my free rye bread!" Soon a battle cry was raised by many in line "We want our free rye breads!!!!!"

Dad said a nerdy looking bakery manager had to stand up on the counter and say "Remain calm. There are no free rye breads. That is a false rumor." 

Mom came by and retrieved the mischief maker and they headed back to Kings Point.

I like to think my prank had a more solid basis -- exposing a young poseur and would be arriviste. Hell -- if she ever learned the truth, she'd probably say "Well -- what do you expect from a couple of Hebrews?"

Walk Back in Time

 Wednesdays are the days I tend to visit the office on Brickell, just to make an appearance and see if I can help tie up any loose ends. And when I do, I tend to stop at Bagel Emporium for breakfast, as it's right on the way.

This week is UM's move in for new freshmen, and there was an article in the Herald talking about a housing shortage. I laughed -- nothing's changed. When I was a freshman in '79, a hundred kids or so were put up in the across US 1 Holiday Inn or Howard Johnson's, until they could fit them into the spartan dorms. Those so affected loved it -- maid service and meal vouchers were part of the deal.

This year, the not yet placed kids move into the Thesis, a new luxury hotel located on the old Howard Johnson's spot, or the Dadeland Marriott, also a nice hotel. Also, according to the Herald, total cost to attend UM for a year is now between $78 and $83k, depending on whether you live on campus! Caramba!

I mean, I love the U, but $400K for a Bachelor's degree from there is absurd, unless you're either from a very rich family or get a LOT of scholarships. For the average kid taking out loans, it makes zero sense to spend that much, in my opinion. Possibly it makes sense for an Ivy League school, and it's guaranteed entry into elite circles, but really no other university, in my opinion.

When the Ds were entering freshman, in '06 and '10, tuition was much lower, and D1 got a half tuition scholarship and D2 a 3/4 tuition scholarship. Both wished to go away for school, and headed to UF with Bright Futures paying all of their tuition. Since we had purchased the Florida Pre Paid, for about $10K each, that paid for most of their tuition and room and board. D2 then won a partial scholarship for grad school, and had some Prepaid credits left over, so her MS degree was essentially free, too.

D1 picked FIU for her grad degree, which was also very low tuition. It was a pleasure to pay for her Brickell apartments knowing how little we paid for tuition and fees.

But on the nostalgic side -- today at the Emporium, there were several incoming freshmen and their parents. The parents were wearing UM swag, and the kids looked a bit embarrassed. It brought back the lovely memories I have about moving the Ds into college.

They didn't have to worry about my wearing Gator swag. That's because I always have and continue to loather their football team. Basketball is ok -- I actually dug their championship coach, Billy Donavan, as he was a working class LI kid who made it good. But football -- I am always happy when the Gators lose.

Still -- Gainesville was a great place to go to school -- D1 for 4 years, and D2 for 5. My memory of D1's drop off is a little tarnished. I was sitting at the Copper Monkey, enjoying a burger and beer and pretending I was starting school, while Wifey was helping D1 unpack. Our secretary called me -- she was quitting -- she had it with Paul -- and I had to spend the rest of the weekend scrambling to figure out what to do with big mediations and a trial coming up. Still -- it was lovely seeing D1 all college ready and excited to start her adulthood.

No drama for D2's dropoff -- she had visited her big sister several times, and already had the lay of the land. We moved her into Broward Hall, and cried a bit on I-75 heading South. Wifey and I had essentially done our job -- getting both D2 to adulthood, and on great life paths. D2 would meet her future husband at UF -- D1 after she graduated -- and her man is a fellow Cane. Happy and proud papa.

I noticed elderly Judge Arthur R at the Emporium. He stopped at a table with one of the freshmen co-eds and her parents, and asked if they were beginning UM. They were. He told them he was a double Cane, and how his UM education shaped a wonderful life for him. He's such a sweetheart. I thought about popping up and joining him in the pep talk, but then retreated to the register  to pay, instead. 

Wifey called about a house issue, and I shared with her the scene at the Emporium. I reminded her our time with the Ds was now 16 and 12 years in the past. Wow. How did THOSE years fly by.

Today is also FDOS in Miami Dade -- First Day of School. That brings back another batch of sweet memories, of adorable little girls. D1 is near that stage now, with her boy -- preschool resumes Monday.

I hope the Big Man keeps me around to see college beginnings for my grandsons. Now that would be something...

Mess Up With The Directory

 So when Wifey and I moved here in 2001, we were given a booklet, which was our neighborhood directory. It was nice -- set out the history of our beloved Devonwood, and listed all the residents and the names and ages of their kids. It also had a map as a centerfold, which made things easy if you had to visit someone either socially or to drop off errant mail or packages.

Each year there was an updated one, always put together and paid for by the matriarch of our 'hood, Bobbe Dooley. I really dug her -- Texas charming, but with a very quick wit, and flirtatious even into her 90s. She ran a real estate company she and her late husband Jim founded, and it was located next to Stir Crazy, a strip club that existed long before Pinecrest incorporated. At HOA meetings people would ask why upscale Pinecrest couldn't run them out of town, and Bobbe said they owned the land and were perfectly legal. She said once she knew they were there to stay, "I walked inside one day and asked if I could dance the afternoon shift." I really miss her -- she died about 5 years ago.

Since her death, for some reason updating the Directory has proven a daunting chore. It was suggested it go totally online, but most objected -- it really is nice to have the handy booklet to check out what's what and who's who in the hood. The Plague shut it down for a few years, but last year the HOA Board decided to get 'er done -- which was truly a tough task, given that we had record turnover -- probably a full 25% of the residents had moved, taking advantage of the absurd prices. A house that was worth about $1.5M sold for $3M -- in a single day! And the new folks were all refugees not from Latin America, which was the recent Miami trend, but from LA, and Chicago, and NYC. Still, the Board kept up, and at a meeting Denie, an exec with a local Mercedes dealership, announced her company had volunteered to pay for the printing costs, in exchange for having their logo on the cover -- the way Dooley Realty used to do. Actually, it was a smart move for advertising to an 82 house 'hood where the cheapest house is now close to $2M -- classic Mercedes demographics.

Well, the project dragged on. Since I'm Welcome and Hospitality Chair, I delivered the packets with all the neighborhood info without the Directories. And then finally, it was announced that we had them back! Our President Allison asked Denie and I to each deliver 1/3 of them, and on Saturday night, after a great dinner in Lauderdale with visiting friend Kenny, picked up my stack of the documents.

Early yesterday,  I acquitted my duties, fantasizing I was a mail carrier from days of old, letting neither heat, nor humidity, nor mosquitoes, nor iguanas, not peafowl keep me from my appointed rounds. Allison and Denie did theirs, too -- and there was some controversy. A longtime resident and Board member, Ellyn, said we ought to hand deliver each directory, as leaving them in mailboxes might "allow them into the wrong hands." I responded that wasn't gonna happen -- these days, any of the info in the Directories is a mouse click away, anyway, and I know from experience that people often are away -- hand delivering these things would take months, and I wasn't going to assume THAT task.

So it got done. Or DID IT??? In the evening came yet another HOA email blast -- a full page of information had been left out! I guess 15 or so of the residents were excluded from the Directory!

Poor Gloria, who had undertaken the job, and is extremely competent and accurate -- Wifey and I always joke that she was the girl we'd have sat next to in school to get all the right answers -- had missed the omission. So now she has to get the updated page from the printer -- hopefully for free since it was the printer's fault, apparently, and I shall again assume my fantastical duties as local mail carrier.

Now the scuttlebutt is whether there isn't a better system to get this done. I asked whether some neighborhood tech savvy kid might be deputized for the task -- all of us are too damn old to deal with things like this anymore.

It'll get done. And, as Wifey and I agreed, these tempests in teapots are the best kind of neighborhood problems to have. Now if we can just start getting rid of the endemic peafowl...

I Grow Old I Grow Old... I Shall Wear The Bottoms of My Trousers Rolled...

 So yesterday was another example of why serious professional pursuits, other than, I guess, things like Pickleball, are truly best left to the young. I speak for myself only, of course, as I have plenty of friends still doing serious medicine, operating heavy machinery, etc...

I drove to Homestead to visit a friend who is in awful shape -- my age, and living in an ALF because of serious brain issues. There's no clear diagnosis yet, but the likely culprit seems to be a witches brew of traumatic encephalopathy from his years playing football and taking awful spills dirt bike riding, maybe long Covid brain fog -- he was stridently anti vax at the beginning of the plague, even though he had a very public job, and depression. More scary, there's talk he may have Lewy Body Disease, which is the sort of galloping Alzheimer's Robin Williams had and caused him to take an early exit.

Anyway, I was waiting to go visit, and I guess was distracted, when I got an email from our lawyer Scott about the annoying, ongoing fee case we have with the TV lawyer named Robert, who I call Saul Goodman. The email was a request from Saul's lawyer, who I call either the hairless, fat disgusting pig, or, if I feel ironic, the Victoria's Secret Model, since the woman is the very antonym of a VC model, to take "some of the fee" out of his trust account, since we don't claim all of it.

A ha! I had long held that Saul was far more desperate for the money than we, on account of Paul and I have no real overhead, and Stuart's is most modest. So when I saw that, I replied to Scott in rather spicy terms, including the fact that Saul is 72 is married to a thirty something, and clearly she only had relations with him because of his money, and that made him even MORE desperate. Fortunately, I didn't write any of the horrible things about the physical appearance of his associate lawyer.

Well -- turns out that the VC model had been copied on the email! Since I read it on my phone's small screen, I missed that. She replied "I don't think this was intended for me, but rest assured the cash flow of the firm is very strong. Right. That's why she wants to go to the judge and get at least some of the money.

But again, since I'm lucky, my mis sent email didn't mention the insults I typically make towards the woman lawyer. That would have been bad. First, I never want to make fun of a woman's ugliness or stringy, thinning hair, or immense size directly to her. And second, in this "Me Too" era, my blunder may have gotten me in deeper trouble.

It was yesterday's second miscue, but the first was actually profitable. After dropping the dogs at a local groomer, since they needed to be there by 830 which to Wifey is the same as 330 am, I walked over to La Boulangerie, a French inspired spot owned by Venezuelan Jews. It was VERY loud -- two huge tables of women, probably teachers preparing for Monday's school opening. I got something for Wifey, to go, and left. Later in the day, I got a call from Bank of America in Sunniland, asking if I had eaten there earlier. I had.

Well, there was a woman at BOA with my blue Visa card. She was at the next table, and the waitress had given us each the other's card back! They were both blue colored Visas, and so neither of us noticed. Could I come in to make the switch? I could, but after my stop at Angel's Hatchery, where I had stopped to treat myself to some new little koi and cichlids for my pond. I pulled up to Sunniland a few minutes late, as I got stopped at every single traffic light on South Dixie.

I walked in -- and recognized the lady. She had been at the next table -- I said with her boyfriend. No, she said, it was her SON -- she was, she volunteered, 54 and her son in high school but did indeed look much older. I said something charming about she could be in high school, and then she told me she was a recent NYC transplant who had already gone back to La Boulangerie and got them to credit both checks -- and so Wifey and my $30 breakfast was free! Finally! Something good for the rich white man!

Anyway, Victoria and I chatted -- she asked me for other good breakfast places, and I directed her to LOL and Bagel Emporium. I asked why she had moved, and she said that while she loved the City, it was no longer tenable to live there -- her kids were all harassed on the subway and even Central Park near her Upper East Side home, and that since she could run her business remotely, it was time to flee.

I told her that D2 and Jonathan had moved in '19, and had they stayed, I'd have been compelled to subsidize their lifestyle with UBer and Lyyt -- no subways anymore, unless and until another pre crazy Giuliani returns like a tough sheriff and gets Gotham back to liveable condition.

Anyway, it was a nice meeting, and profitable, too.

But as for lawyer emails -- only on a big screen for me, going forward. Heaven knows where some of my offensive missives might land otherwise.

Life Partners

 I go on about this like a broken record, or maybe scratched CD. Wait -- I guess both references are irrelevant today -- what is the correct one -- a virus infected program that just keeps repeating? Whatever. I constantly talk about the crucial life choice one makes -- who will be her or his life partner.

I speak from empirical experience. My California sister unfortunately chose about the worst possible life partner anyone in our family ever imagined. When they were first together, she had a health crisis, and my Mom flew out to SF to be with her in the hospital. Mom asked where the boyfriend was, as he had lots to do with the health crisis. My sister said that he "freaked out about stuff like this," and was nowhere to be found.

My Mom thought it would be clear to her daughter -- this was a man to avoid like the proverbial plague. But my sister instead married him, and the decades since have held the awful sequellae of that. My sister is bright and talented and fun and quirky, and I often lament how much easier her life would have been had she booted the awful choice back in 1981 or so, instead of choosing him to make a life with.

Wifey's closer than a sister, a nice Jewish girl from Brooklyn, met very young her first husband -- a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn. They married and had two girls and moved to Georgia. After a divorce, the nice Jewish boy showed he was not so nice -- especially when it came to his kids. In many ways, his kids became ex kids, like his ex wife, and he provides an example of how NOT to be a father to grown daughters -- to my view, at least.

I'd like to think that both of these examples were patently observable to the Ds, and helped them when they chose life partners. There's no guarantee about the future, of course, but D1's man Joey LIVES for their two sons -- sometimes to an extent that makes me, an absurdly devoted Dad, seem like an absentee one. Just this am, D1 sent a photo of the now nearly 5 week old sleeping on his beloved Dad's chest -- as Dad grabbed some zzzs, too -- probably totally tired out from comforting the little man.

As for the adorable toddler, well, being with him when his Dad walks into the room is like what I imagine it would be like seeing an evangelical getting to meet Jesus in person. Total joy -- eyes lighting up -- giggling laughter -- complete happiness. And Joey feels the same way about his very talkative son -- even though Joey is far more taciturn.

Have these two had rough patches in their marriage? Certainly -- especially during the early days of the Plague, when they had a fragile baby, and different ideas about coping with everything, especially their well meaning but intrusive extended families, Wifey and me included.

But as I always tell D1 -- her man is a winner -- by my highest standard -- the one best described by Sidney Poitier in his "The Measure of a Man." The measure of a man is how he takes care of his family -- and D1 has a Nobel Prize winner.

I have a sense that D2's man Jonathan is cut from the same cloth. He certainly is that way with his canine child, and I have hopes that these two will be blessed with actual human kids, too. Jonathan will be more chill than Joey, I suspect, but will love his kid or kids fiercely as well. I look forward to seeing this in person.

It's funny -- we still have folks in our orbit who are at the stage where their kids are picking colleges. One of my friends is actually a year older than I, but didn't get married until much later, and is off as I write looking at schools in New England.

This decision weighs heavily on the future undergraduates and their parents. I always say the same thing, which is advice I got from my wise friend Steve, a lifelong academic, when the Ds were choosing schools: just figure out where you want to live for 4 years, among the choices that are reasonable for your family. That's it -- forget about who has the best program, teachers, etc... as these change rapidly. Just imagine yourself in a Southern college town, or big Northern city -- and make the call.

The corrollary to this, as far as my life advice goes, is spend 10 times the effort talking to your near adult about life partners. What's important? What are your values? Who can you see going through this long journey with?

The Harvard grad with the wrong wife is a miserable man. The Miami Dade College grad with the great husband is a very happy woman, indeed -- just ask Wifey. Ha. Maybe don't...

But if your kids choose life partners who treat them and their kids like royalty, well --- I don't know what's better than that.

In The End What You Don't Surrender...Well The World Just Strips Away

 When Paul and I started our firm in November of 1994, it was in a shared office suite -- sort of an early version of We Work, or Buro. It was located in THE building at the time -- the Centrust Tower, which was lit up different colors each night. We were on the 26th floor, and enjoyed after work cocktails looking down on the entire city. And then the company, Quantum, lost its lease, and we had to move.

SunTrust on Brickell lured us to their space -- at the time we had clients with millions of dollars in trust and guardianship accounts there, and they wanted us close by. They offered us a very sweetheart deal for Brickell space, and we moved in Spring of '95. We had an option to stay for many years, but I screwed up -- forgot to send in the written option, and the bank wanted our space for a restaurant. They kept our rent low and moved us to the 4th floor.

In 2008, Stuart largely took over our operations, and took over the lease. Our space was nice -- and it had a tell tale address: Suite 400. When you have an even number like that, typically it means you have the premier address on an office floor. Before Covid, the building was sold, and the rent was to skyrocket, and Stuart's associate Vince found nice space 2 blocks south -- on Brickell.

This building is more downscale, but our suite number was 600 -- the main office suite on the floor. Well, that ended, and 2 weeks ago the operation moved. This time our Suite is 201-E. That says a lot.

The office is much smaller, and a number with a sub letter says the glory years are gone.

I remember following the career arc of my former boss Frank. He co-owned his building, and then had his own firm, before becoming of counsel with another.  The arc pointed downward, and finally a year or two ago, he was listed as "retired."

And this is ok. Truth is, at 61 I could indeed start anew, get some top drawer space, excite old referral sources, and give it a go. Nah. Zero desire to do that, and I am fortunate to not have to.

A lot of my friends, career lawyers or doctors, are dealing with existential crises these days. But the bottom line is, to me, careers are for the younger. Doing surgery at 70? Really? Making life and death decisions when putting on one's socks is a chore? Doesn't seem to make much sense.

So I I guess we'll limp along in these yeoman's quarters for awhile. The space is fine, but by no means impressive. There is a nice view, though, including one across SE 10th Street to a particular bench. 

A fellow lives on that bench -- he has been there every day since we moved into the building in 2018. He looks about my age -- wears khaki shorts and camo shirt. He has a back pack. He literally sits there all day, watching the very busy life go past -- "watching the wheels go round and round" as Lennon sang.

I always say hello when I pass, and I can tell from his demeanor and manner of speaking he is educated, or was. I have no idea where he goes at night -- for all I know, he sleeps right there. 

But he observes the human condition, and is there with his thoughts. As am I, now in an office suite with a dash and letter.

Happy Toddler Sunday

 After decades of experience, Wifey has noted, correctly, that social days spent with families with young children depend on the mood of the young children. If they're whiny and cranky -- the day is one of tensosity. If they're ebullient -- well, then that's  how the day turns out. Thankfully, yesterday at D1 and Joey's was one of the latter.

Wifey and I left the dog infested house and headed up to Shorecrest -- arriving to a scene of a napping Joey and nursing hermanito. The adorable toddler was waking from his non nap, and was in the most wonderful mood -- he was sprung from his crib and immediately set about smacking golf balls, cooking in his kitchen, and running around gaily. 

As the hours went on, there was a scene of absurd cuteness -- he put his head on his baby brother and hugged him. There was singing in Spanish and English, and then a rarity: while focused on a music video, he actually allowed Wifey, who he calls Ipi, to hold his hand!

We played together, and essentially basked in the sacred space of our family. D2 and Jonathan would have been lovely additions, but they were above the Atlantic --returning from their delayed honeymoon.

Paul called. He and Patricia had plans to stop by with the little man's gift -- might they come by last night instead? They could indeed, ruled D1 and Joey, and then D1 ordered in: Hometown Barbecue. HB is gourmet barbecue, with the original spot in Brooklyn, and opened north of Jackson Main. I had eaten there once, with my nephew of another brother Josh, as we waited for his dad Dr. Barry. Alas, Barry was under the weather that night, and so I sent home bbq with his boy. This had been pre plague.

So after Paul and Patricia arrived, so did the food, and we feasted on brisket and chicken and pickles, and two Flintstone sized beef ribs. I treated myself to a few Zhyr vodkas, and my attempts to lure Paul back into drinking failed -- he's on the wagon for awhile. I hope for his sake he falls off soon.

Anyway -- the hours flew by. Patricia had full conversations with the toddler in Spanish. The now 4 week old did his job -- slept and nursed on D1. It was a truly delightful afternoon.

Around 8, Joey and D1 began the nightly ritual of putting the toddler to bed -- negotiations about the number of books, glasses of water, etc...

Wifey and I drove home, so happy, and tired. Just a bit of running after a toddler tires out we 60 somethings.

I told Betsy the enormous puppy it was her last night with us. She shrugged, but made sure to bounce into our bedroom this am to wake me. She gets her final walk with me soon, and then I'll Dadber her back to Miami Beach.

She's a great natured dog. D2 and Jonathan miss her -- it'll be a happy reunion. I texted a video of her barking, and asked "Guess who can't wait for a return to Miami Beach?" D2 answered "Not Betsy." She does love staying here. I responded that I was talking about Wifey, who, after more than a week with the energetic dog, started counting the days until her return.

And that's ok. I look forward to a debriefing about Positano and Santorini. But yesterday, there wasn't no place I would rather have been than right in Northeast Miami.

Our Number One Goal

 Since November of 1988, when D1 was born, the main focus of Wifey and my life has been our role as parents.We absolutely savored and adored D1's baby and toddlerhood, and she was uncommonly easy to raise. She was chill, and would sit for long periods watching "The Little Mermaid" and other videos, emerging from those sessions singing the songs adorably.

In February of '92 D2 joined the band, and we adored her wildly, too, though Wifey recalls her toddlerhood as "a hardship." Indeed D2 was tougher -- prone to tantrums mostly out of frustration because she wasn't an early talker, and couldn't communicate her desires, but she caught up. In grade school she was one of the very few to get a perfect 5 on the Florida Writes exam. D1, one of the smartest in the school, got a 4.

The Ds were, and are, very different. But Wifey and I had one supreme goal for them: they WOULD become and remain forever best friends -- there for each other no matter what. Much about what we expected of them was negotiable -- this was NOT.

They could squabble, of course, and did, and hurt each other's feelings, as they do, but there needed to remain an underlying foundation of love and respect for each other. 

Thankfully, mission accomplished.

It's funny -- both married wonderful men who are Latin Jews -- one from Colombia, and one from Venezuela. Joey and Jonathan are also very different kinds of men, but their values are the same: family is sacred. 

I joke that raising girls in Miami held the occupational hazard that they'd marry Spanish speaking men. Among my manifold blessings, this hazard has been one of my highest.

And yesterday, something happened that made me so happy. D2 and Jonathan are on their long delayed honeymoon -- enjoying the second Mediterranean resort, in Santorini. D1 is a bit busy lately -- dealing with a VERY energetic toddler -- more like his tia was as a toddler than D1 was -- as well as a newborn. Still, D1 took the time to order cocktails and dessert for her sister and brother in law.

D2 and Jonathan sent us a gorgeous photo of them enjoying these seaside. It warmed me.

Well -- the honeymooners are flying home from Athens as I write. I look most forward to hearing about their trip, and returning the enormous puppy Betsy to them tomorrow. She's a sweet huge dog, but a bit too energetic for Wifey and I to keep -- needing a lot more exercise than we 60 somethings wish to provide, at this stage of our lives.

But we would never refuse to dog sit -- that's how my family rolls.

Later today Wifey and I are headed to D1 and Joey's, to hang with the amazing grandsons.

And I will praise D1 for what she did. She'll say no big deal -- and I paid for it with my AMEX, anyway. But still -- it's a signal that Wifey and my goal has been realized.

And that makes me one lucky, rocking Daddy in the USA.

Remembering How Little I Like The Practice of Law

So there I was, a newly minted English major at UM in 1982, and I figured I'd graduate and then get a PhD in English, and go teach at a university. One of my mentors, Judy, strongly discouraged me from that. It was the tail end of the Baby Boom, and there were few teaching jobs available -- Judy knew of "Harvard PhD grads" waiting tables. Plus, as she said: "You're a nice Jewish boy. You're going to want to support a wife and kids someday, and doing that on a professor's salary won't be easy." She was correct, of course.

But what else could I do with a BA in English, as the wonderful "Avenue Q" song asks? Judy suggested law school. "You read and write critically and well, and law is just words -- it'll be easy for you, and you can get a bunch of different jobs with a J.D." I took her advice, signed up for the LSAT, did pretty well, and figured I'd go to law school -- not because I had any special desire to become a lawyer, but because I , like Richard Gere in "Officer," had "no place else to go!!!!"

I applied and got into UF and UM. UF was probably a better school, and certainly cheaper, but my Dad was only one year gone, and I knew my Mom still needed looking after, and so UM it was.

I disliked most of my classes right away, but stuck it out. I'm glad I did -- indeed it turned out to be a very lucrative career, and it took this "blue collar Jew," as my friend Joel calls my Levittown, LI roots and put me in a very rarified lifestyle.

Within the first year of practicing law, I again knew it wasn't something I loved. The camaraderie of friends working together, and getting paid were nice, but the lawyering itself, with all the back stabbing and dirty dealings, weren't fun at all. I could do it, and did it pretty well, I guess, but never enjoyed it.

The last 15 years I have thankfully been more of a consultant than actual practitioner, and today, as a party, I was reminded just how unpleasant the whole thing can be.

A friend from law school referred a case to my firm. Paul and Stu signed it up, and as it involved the failure of a pediatric ER doc, I got a LOT of advice from Dr. Barry. He suggested a great expert, and Stu filed suit. But Stu was also pretty much over working hard 10 years ago, and when an older friend was looking for a place to practice, Stu brought him in and asked him to be lead counsel on the case.

John was so thankful, and worked hard, and the case resolved for a great result. Ha. As If! John turned out to be like Fredo, which is my new name for him, and he stole the case and took it to a TV advertising firm, whose head, Robert, I call Saul Goodman, after the sleazy character from the show "Breaking Bad" and its spinoff "Better Call Saul."

Well, Saul fired Fredo, but kept the case Fredo had stolen, and settled it for a little more than we could have gotten for it before Fredo stole it. A substantial, though not huge, fee was earned, and Saul said we were entitled to bubkis. So we hired Scott, a bulldog of a lawyer, to collect our just fee. And today was the mediation.

Bottom line --after an hour, Saul and his amazingly unattractive underling Bonnie offered next to nothing. And so now we will litigate, spend thousands of dollars, and eventually end up before the judge who will likely award us exactly what we seek. The problem is, we'll have wasted so much time and costs getting there. But so be it.

It reminded me, strongly, why I dislike the law practice so much. Years ago, I read a true quote: engineers work at making things in life work better and more efficiently; lawyers slow down and clog up life. It is often true.

I actually look forward to giving a deposition, though. I'll follow my lawyer's admonition to not volunteer, keep my answers short and precise...but I know I'll have the chance for some on the record wiseassery. And I intend to enjoy it.

Fredo used to be a friend. In fact, yesterday I gave a ride home from a surgical procedure to my man Norman. Last time I did that, I drove and picked up Fredo. I asked Norman not to thank me by stealing any cases. He agreed, and instead treated me to a delicious dim sum lunch.

Norman still practices full time. I give him credit for having the patience. I think I'd go postal if I had to do more than I do now.

On the other hand, I wonder whether any colleges are looking for overgrown and 61 year old dudes to teach Joyce...