Day At The Races -- End of the Season

 So Paul's friend Lou, who has become my friend, LOVES the ponies. He's a retired snowbird who comes each year after T Day from Philly, rents a place near Gulfstream, and goes most days. I really don't much care for horses or gambling, but being around Lou you HAVE to enjoy it. He's so upbeat and happy, and loves to share his knowledge and enthusiasm with anyone around.

Typically, we would have a year end meet there -- our comptroller and my brother in law Dennis would meet us, for cocktails, Chinese food, and a day of gambling. We'd each put in money, usually $50 or $100, and share the proceeds. This year we got delayed on account of Covid, but Dennis made the trip from Wesley Chapel, where he and my sister decamped, and it was a delightful day. Plus -- we broke even!

I shared this information with my man Kenny, and he had a request: could he come next time? Some of his happiest childhood memories were of the track with his grandfather -- also a Philly guy -- and wanted to attend again. I met Kenny's grandparents, who lived near Gulfstream, in Hollywood -- they were great people.

Kenny told me one day, when he was about 12, he and his Pop pop (he was a Philly grandpa) went to the track in Delaware, and won $150!. His grandpa gave Kenny the money, which he used to buy a 10 speed bike, which he had until college. Ah -- memories. My paternal grandfather was long gone when I was born, and my maternal one died when I was about 4, so I lost out in the grandpa department. But I get to make it up from the other side -- with D1's wonderful boys.

Anyway -- we set up a new date, and it's today. I'll fetch Kenny, and we'll head to Gulfstream. Hallandale is near Golden Beach, where Clapton stayed when making one of my favorite records, 461 Ocean Boulevard, and so I've had the Sonos playing Clapton all am.

It occurred to me I'll be the minority in this diverse group of Ashkenazim. Paul and Lou are pure bred Philly guys, and Kenny is a half breed -- Mom from Philly; Dad a NY guy. So I called an audible -- thinking it would be a long shot of long shots. Would Dr. Barry consider actually consider playing hooky and joining us -- to even the field, so to speak, as he is the product of 2 NYC natives, like I am -- or at least Bridge and Tunnel NYC natives. Long shots sometimes come it -- he WOULD!

So after a meeting, he has promised to meet us for lunch as well -- so our group can be TRULY diverse: 2 Philly guys, Two NYC guys, and a half horse!

Am I excited about this afternoon with the fellows? I am. I'll have a couple of martinis early, so I can drive home afterwards, and who knows? Maybe life changing money awaits, for my $100 parimutual investment. Nah! But Christine Lee's best ribs in the city are a shoe-in!

Poor Kenny is stuck with me again tomorrow. He and Joelle became friends with their Chinese drywall lawyer, Skip, and his wife Shannon. Shannon happens to be our Pinecrest commissioner.

During the recent kerfuffle, I would always comment, in pure wiseassery, about the absurdity of the thing. It actually got me kicked off for a week by the Trumper-like pro people.

After we won our issue, Shannon emailed me to thank me for my commentary. I reminded her we have good mutual friends, and she suggested maybe the 3 couples have dinner. So tomorrow Shannon, Skip (I love his WASPY nickname, especially since he's Cuban) and Joelle and Kenny are coming here for a pregame, and then dinner at a tapas place nearby.

Skip is a vodka man like I am, and so I'll break open, literally, a bottle of Beluga vodka I was given. It comes with a wax seal and a little hammer you have to overcome to open -- total marketing gimmick. But I figure new friends are a good excuse to consume it -- I had one bottle in the past, and it was quite good -- maybe like Stoli Elit, my celebratory vodka.

But first, there is the business of gambling. Maybe Kenny and Barry's superior mathematical minds will help in our quest for profits. Who knows? But I have a feeling the day will be a banner one -- and then Lou will soon be back on 95, for his Spring and Summer in NE Philly. Hopefully there'll be more seasons at the track.

Opening Day

 Baseball was my first love. I started playing at 7, and was actually above average -- made my high school team as a very slow moving but steady fielding first baseman. And as for fanhood -- well -- the Summer I turned 8 was the season of the Miracle Mets. I still recall pedaling my Schwinn home furiously from Third Grade (they let us out early) to watch the final innings of the Mets victory over the Orioles. That was a highlight of my childhood.

As I got older, the Mets were awful, and I switched to Yankee fandom -- sort of. My Dad and I would watch the games together -- he once called a Graig Nettles home run, which amazed me. But when I moved to Miami, it became all about football -- mostly the Canes, but Dolphins, too, as I was never much of a Jets or Giants fan.

And 30 years ago, we got the Florida, now Miami, Marlins. I was at the first game, with Mike, his Dad Ed, and my brother in law Dennis. We watched knuckleballer Charlie Hough, who was from Hialeah, win their first game, at then Joe Robbie Stadium. And the Fish became successful early -- they won 2 Series in their first 10 years! 

After that last Series season, in '03, I kind of lost interest, though enjoyed trips to the new stadium, on  the site of holy ground, the old Orange Bowl. Norman's firm had great seats for awhile, and Mike and I would take his boy Chris.

And then, D1 became the team dietitian, and my interest soared again -- mostly because of her. She would give me insight about the personalities, and had funny tales of pumping milk during Spring Training in Derek Jeter's office.

Well today is the first game of season 30, and the Fish are playing my childhood team the Mets. The Fish are starting Sandy Alcantara, last year's Cy Young winner, and the Mets have Max Scherzer, who won 3 Cy Youngs.

I called Jeff, as I always recall something he said when we were in law school -- how nice it would be when classes were over and we could watch an entire 9 inning game. Well, as an emeritus lawyer, I can indeed do that -- nearing 62 has some nice perks.

Ah, the passing of the years. Wifey saw an ortho today about her leg pain -- the doc, my age, said it was mostly arthritis. Julio was a classmate of Eric's, and then transferred to UF, where he became Barry's classmate. He told Wifey to remind Barry that their 30th!!! med school reunion is coming up. Wow. Old docs.

Young Michael called -- a wonderful 10 year lawyer whose career is soaring. He told me he was taking his boy to the game, along with his Dad and father in law. That made me smile.

I plan to definitely take our 3 year old to at least a few games this season -- the pace is so nice, compared with football. We went to a game 2 seasons ago -- it's time to head back to Little Havana again.

Speaking of sports, my Canes basketball team is in the Final Four for the first time. We have dinner plans Saturday -- so I'll watch the second half, which is what I typically do, anyway. They're big underdogs to UConn, but they've been underdogs most of the tourney -- so who knows?

But baseball season is upon us. The Canes seem pretty good this season, but have recently found ways to blow it late in the year. The Fish are predicted to finish near or at the bottom of their Division.

I guess we'll see. As of now -- they have zero losses. That's the beauty of Opening Day.

When Mr. Smooth Gets Farblunget

 Chabad has a wonderful group, based here in South Florida: The Aleph Institute. It provides visits to Jewish prisoners -- and coordinates the visits of others, kosher food, connection, etc. I learned about them years ago when Paul and I accompanied our Rabbi friend Yossi for monthly visits to Homestead, where we helped lead classes for men and women there. Many of the women had killed their husbands for money, which I kind of admired. But that's another blog post.

Aleph was formed by the late Rebbe because of stuff that went on in old Russia and Eastern Europe. Often Jews were wrongly imprisoned, and a major blessing was going to help them. In the US, maybe many of the Jews in jail and prison ought to be there, but still, visiting and nourishing their souls seems a righteous act.

During Covid, I had a family member jailed in LA County. No one visited him except for the Aleph Rabbi -- ignoring fears of the Plague to weekly connect with the troubled young man, to let him know he isn't alone. The family member doesn't identify as a Jew at all, but having a Jewish mother gets you into the program, and I was so happy to be able to arrange that for him. He got out, after about 1.5 years behind bars, and we thought his life would take a better turn. It did, for a short time, but he was back on the streets.

We learned last week he was arrested again, and had been in jail since February. I figured the only practical thing I could do was again contact the Aleph people, and see about renewing the visits. So I emailed them -- and they were kind enough to have someone call today. I had given a contribution to them, and I think they appreciated it.

So I fielded a local call this am, from deep voiced "Ronnie." Ronnie sounded like Billy Crystal's impersonation of his older aunts -- with the raspy voice of a several decade smoker. Marge Simpson's sisters sound the same.

Ronnie was very nice -- telling me they had the information on the family member. We talked about how tough it is for a family when someone is behind bars, and how the connections Aleph provides truly nourish the souls of the most damaged. I told Ronnie how much it meant that they visited so much last time, and was sorry to have to call upon them again.

And then came my faux pas: I asked Ronnie if he was a rabbi. "What???? I'm a WOMAN." I tried to tap dance, and said "Well, if you were Reform or Conservative, you could be a woman rabbi." Ronnie responded "G-d fobid!" in Yiddish.

Oy. My mother in law also had a deep, raspy, smoking affected voice, and she was confused for a man on the phone often. It happens. I think Ronnie may forgive me. But maybe she ought to say "This is Ronnie the woman!"

The important thing is they visit. And hopefully, Big Man willing, this time the troubled young man will find a new path. Ronnie and her LA Rabbis stand willing to help.

Resentment Bank

 Last night Wifey and I watched "Stutz," a documentary about funny Jonah Hill's longtime psychiatrist. It was well done and interesting, but the whole film can be distilled into Jonah was a fat, awkward 14 year old with Mommy issues who, despite finding huge success in Hollywood, still is a pile of anxieties and self doubt.

His doctor Stutz is a wise, Bronx born Jew, now 74, also with Mommy issues he can never resolve because his is dead. Hill's appeared in the film saying she loved her son and wanted to see him more. Stutz was never married, but had a "complicated" relationship with a woman of 40 years duration (Wifey inferred she may be married to someone else) and is now declining with Parkinson's Disease. Yeah -- no laugh fest, but thought provoking.

And that led to our talks -- about the nature of our lives and marriage. And I returned to one of the visual analogies, like Dr. Stutz employs. The Resentment Bank.

Over a long marriage, each partner makes deposits into the Bank. Maybe  Wifey made me feel badly about something I did for her. Maybe I insulted a friend of hers. Maybe we each wished, over the decades, that we reacted differently to each other's schtick, as my dear late Mom would call it.

Well, it seems to me if enough withdrawals aren't made, the marriage ends, or it should. What good is having a Bank of purely negative assets?

But if you're lucky, and on the same page about the deep issues of life, the withdrawals come in huge chunks -- and make up for a LOT of the insidious deposits.

For Wifey and me, that's meant our Ds, and the manifold blessings they have brought to us. Our Ds' weddings were two of the finest nights of our lives -- hosting just about everyone important to us in our lives with great food and dancing and laughter -- celebrating the Ds finding wonderful life partners.

And now, the grandparent gig -- again sharing those two precious little men, after raising girls -- means everything.

Fortunately, there are plenty of other withdrawals from the Resentment Bank -- delightful trips, which I am typically nonplussed about, Wifey pushes me, and then I have the most wonderful time.

And, of course, being there for each other -- fulfilling the one wedding vow we borrowed from Dylan -- being each other's shelter from the storms of life.

There are periods when it seems the Deposits are all that there are. I used to make them all the time when I would do things I was SURE would make Wifey happy, only to be wildly disappointed when they didn't have that effect.

And then wisdom came. I realized the idea that someone owed us happiness in life is a juvenile thought -- only toddlers and children are owed that by their parents. No -- I came to understand that one person in this big crazy world is responsible for making me happy -- and it's me! Likewise, one person in the same world is responsible for Wifey's happiness -- and despite my huge ego, it AIN'T me -- it's Wifey herself. And that has made a YUUUUGE difference, as Wifey would say in the traces of her Canarsie accent.

Ah, Harry P Schultz was so on point. It's funny how an Organic Chemistry professor could share sage advice having nothing to do with chemistry. He told us "We are ALL students in the study of human nature." Absolutely.

Jonah Hill was asked to share what he was most thankful for in his life, and one thing was "my nephews," and no mention of a romantic partner of kids of his own. I hope he finds those -- the Ds have been the people given to me in my life who have taught me the sacredness of unconditional love. D1 has learned it for herself now, with her toddler and baby.

A basic part of Stutz's pyramid of happiness is a healthy body, and feeling good about yourself in that regard. So I'm off in a bit to see Juan, who I really dig and can't stand at the same time -- he makes me sweat and physically work, which SO goes against my nature of loving to instead eat breakfast and talk.

But I see the rewards -- in mobility, and balance, and strength. I always joke with his other clients, who tend to my 40 to 50 year old attractive women types, that my goal is to get to South Beach in a Speedo. They always spit out their water, and then feel bad that maybe this near 62 year old fat guy is serious. When I assure them I was teasing (and then throw in a line about having naturally brown hair and it appearing gray only because my hairstylist colors it), we all get a laugh. Wifey has figured out I have a repertoir of about 20 jokes and funny lines I use over and over, like telling a server who asks if I want a drink that I would, but that I forgot my ID. 

Wifey's correct. Often I think she's not paying attention, but she truly does know me. And I know her. And we both will work at keeping the Resentment Bank barely solvent.

The Race To The Courthouse

 IF you wish to see fear in the face of a member of the Plaintiffs' Bar, say two words: tort reform. Basically that's the catch phrase for any laws that limit a person's right to sue to recover damages because of someone else's fault.

In 1987, when I was a second year lawyer at a defense firm in Miami, the Florida Legislature came up with Amendment 10, which would have seriously crippled PI cases. I remember a firm lunch, where an earnest young lawyer, a former pilot named Greg, brought up the topic at a weekly lunch. His clients, Lloyds of London, had asked what our firm was doing to help the law pass. Greg suggested maybe we station staff at polling places with Vote Yes signs.

The head of the firm, Calvin, who I nicknamed "The World's WASPIEST Jew," asked Greg if he was stupid or just naive. "If the PI guys go under, what the hell becomes of OUR firm?" Poor Greg looked near tears -- he failed to see the big picture. The law failed, anyway.

Since then there has been SOME tort reform, but this year there's a whole different animal. The Florida Legislature has a GOP super majority, plus Ron DeSantis, and so basically can get whatever anti trial lawyer stuff passed they desire. And so it came to happen.

DeSantis, so mafia like, has said he would sign the bill today, and it would take effect immediately. Laws usually take effect in July, but not under this new Don. In a nutshell, the law brings Florida back to the old days -- if a plaintiff is 51% at fault, he's out of court. For all the modern times, we had what is called comparative fault -- the plaintiff's award is simply reduced by the amount of fault he had. Now he gone completely.

Also, in negligent security cases, the criminal goes on the verdict form, even though the theory on those case was negligence -- allowing the criminal access to you. I have an old acquaintance, Todd, who works for a firm that does almost exclusively those cases. I'm guessing he's going to be looking for another line of work.

Additionally, the whole letter of protection thing is going away. It used to be that a poor client who was hurt, through his lawyer, would get medical providers to treat him, in exchange for the pledge they'd be paid out of any judgment or settlement. In exchange, the providers charged retail. No mas. Now they only get what Medicare or Medicaid would have paid. It'll be a desparate doc indeed who would agree to wait to be paid tiny amounts in exchange for his forbearance. I know one operator in particular, a chiropractor who owns major clinics, named Barry, who is probably headed to an earlier retirement than he wished.

All of this has caused a scramble to get cases filed before the law. My friend Stu filed 32 lawsuits by last night. I imagine the Florida Court Clerks are working overtime lately, to get things in before today, when the laws take effect.

Young lawyers I know are crafty -- they'll figure out ways to get out of this latest mousetrap. As for dinosaurs like me, well, just makes me happy we were able to make a living before all this silliness came to be. And government is a pendulum -- eventually Floridians will realize DeSantis and his minions ain't really good for us.

Hopefully the Dems can come up with an opponent less clownish than the last guy -- who came close to beating DeSantis, even though he was later found passed out on drugs in South Beach with a gay escort. Only pols in D.C. are allowed to pull that crap -- without the gay part, anyway.

D2 was over the other night, talking with Wifey and me. We remembered how crazy the last 3 years have been -- mostly because of the plague. That finally seems endemic, even though in my circle it's picking off everyone who never had it before, despite the jabs. I know of FIVE friends, previously Covid virgins, who finally got it -- though thankfully not dangerously sick.

So, as every woman of a certain age's anthem says, I will survive. We all will, mostly. I'm just glad I'm not a Court clerk this week.

There Are Places I Remember...

 So since that stupid trial last week, and it's stupid preparation, the week has been one of reflection for me. I use the stupid term in honor of my late father in law Richard.  That was a go-to English word for him. He once grew frustrated while trying to figure out how to fix something, and said, in his heavy Polish/Yiddish accent: "This is a stupid house. Nothing works here!" It's become family lore, and whenever the Ds or Wifey or I are frustrated, we say his funny words.

I wrote Wifey an email yesterday, after D1 and her family left, and I told her that I've been talking so much I can't even stand the sound of my own words or even thoughts anymore. But they're still around.

It was a lovely Sunday. The hilarious toddler ate an enormous bagel  -- happily and quiet. D1 put the amazing baby down for a nap, and then D1, Joey, and well fed toddler left -- to visit comically wealthy friends in Pinecrest. The toddler got to ride in their 4 year old's mini Lambo, and played all over their gorgeous estate.

When the baby woke, Wifey and I spent the most glorious time with him -- redirecting his crawls towards danger, and partially fending off the many face licks he got from Betsy, a weekend dog guest, and Vienna, a regular. Dog saliva comes with being a baby in our family -- it's how the Ds were raised, and the tradition continues -- even though Joey, not a childhood dog owner, sometimes cringes. D1, the dietitian, assures him it's great for their biome, and she has won that battle.

The baby's family returned, and then left for home, with a bit of tensosity -- Joey's wallet was missing. We swept the house, but he had been all over our acre property, as well as the rich friends' acre, and they're due to leave for Bogota Tuesday. I tried to calm the uptight D1 -- all you really need is a passport -- but I could tell my poor son in law was in for a rough few days. And then came the great news -- the wallet was found! Funny how losing stuff like that seems monumentally awful these days -- I guess with all the electronic data on everything, it is.

As Wifey did her rock gleaning outside, I wandered into the living room -- trailed by enormous Betsy, of course, and sat for a bit and looked at our wedding album . Of course, it was over 36 years ago, but it was stunning to see how many of the guests at that happy night have left this mortal coil. Of course, they were old then -- early 60s like I am now -- and it was to be expected.

And then I looked at our bridal party -- a snapshot in time of who was closest to us then. I realized how lucky I am. Eric, Barry, Mike, and Jeff -- best friends from college and law school -- are still very much my brothers. Jeff and Mark, now docs in Central Florida and NY, are doing great, but I hear about them and vice versa only through FaceBook, and very infrequent visits. My nephew is now my ex nephew, as I refer to him.

Wifey did worse. Her friend Linda is still a friend, but they talk rarely and meet almost never. My niece, a courtesy to me addition as she was only 15, is also gone forever from our lives. Mimi lives locally but we never speak. Only Jeannette remains -- and Wifey spent a glorious day with her Saturday -- Jeannette and Bob live with their daughter Samantha, and her 2 kids, and Erica came by with her beautiful baby and a big belly -- grandchild number 4 is on the way!

I guess the obvious point is people come and go from our lives, from different stages and activities -- and that's ok. If we're lucky, we keep close with some for decades. When we lose them it hurts -- deeply.

Meanwhile, the Canes won and are headed to the Sweet 16! They've never gotten further than the Elite 8 -- it would be terrific if they made their first Final Four. Speaking of friends, we were all active on our Canes Squad chat group last night -- sharing thoughts of the game along with grossly politically incorrect humor. I enjoy the chats as much as the games, to tell the truth.

I look forward to our Little Men and their first airplane experience. I'll ask the Big Man to return them home safely from that terrible beauty that is Colombia.

And to borrow from the late, great John Lennon...in my life, I've loved them all...

A Stroll Down Checkered Memory Lane

 So the trial mercifully ended Friday, and I got the "restorative justice" the newfangled experts all say we should seek. The defense rested, and the Judge asked if he could question Fredo, who was on Zoom. Our lawyer agreed, if he could cross examine anything he said, but his own group objected "Well -- since we're not calling him, cross would be improper." The Judge was annoyed, but said forget it --  I don't need to talk to the guy, and he took a break. And then came my restorative justice.

Fredo was on Zoom, and Saul Goodman, his former boss, smarmily asked why we didn't want the Judge to question him. I responded that since the guy was such a liar and fraud, we couldn't just let him speak without challenge. Saul said "Well those are strong words." And I responded: "Saul -- we admit we screwed up in trusting Fredo. Look where we are because of what a POS he is. We admit it. You FIRED his ass in March of '20, as I knew you would -- so why don't you just admit he Bernie Madoffed you, too?"

Saul stiffened, as much as a 75 year old looking like he's rapidly nearing death can stiffen. "David -- how about you just don't talk to me anymore." I said fine, and clearly "I guess I struck a nerve."

Again -- more sound and fury signifying...nothing.

After we were done, Paul, Stu, Scott and I retired to Novokov, a VERY expensive Russian/sushi spot on Biscayne. We drank martinis, ate delicious sushi and peking duck and other delicacies, and talked about life. It was terrific. I often truly do prefer the company of men.

And as I reflected over the past week, it came again into very clear focus. I never liked being a lawyer, I did it full time for 20 years to earn a very nice living to support my family, more successfully than I ever could have dreamed -- but it ain't me, babe. It ain't been me, babe, for quite awhile. If I never step foot into another courtroom in my life, it'll be just fine with me.

Also -- it was striking to me how empty the place, and surrounding streets, were. This Zoom thing really caught on. There were zero waits for the elevator. The Italian iteration of Sally Russell's, the famous restaurant and bar where ALL the trial lawyers ate and drank, is shuttered.

The plan is they're building a new high rise courthouse, and selling the 1926 model for a developer to turn it into a hotel or condos.

Seems to me this is a huge waste. Zoom has shown us we don't really need major couthouse facilities anymore. But too much money has already been spent, on lobbying and such -- and we'll be left with a new huge building that I predict will be seriously under utilized. Whatever.

Yesterday, D2 dropped off the enormous puppy, for a several night stay while she and Jonathan attend a wedding in Boca. Today D1 and her family are coming for lunch, and to drop the elderly spoiled Spaniel to stay while they visit Joey's native city, Bogota. The toddler is MUY excited -- to go on his first "Avion" to see his "primas."

We'll have the "House of Misfit Dogs," as Jonathan has described it -- Bo, who walks like a raccoon, and Vienna, who appears built out of spare parts of other dogs.

As I drank my morning coffee today, I caught up and "unpacked" with Dr. Barry. I love these new uses for words -- like "triggering." He was on service in the Peds ICE last week -- really no place for a nearing 60 year old doctor. We compared notes on our lives -- something new to us. We've only been doing this since 1980.

And I concluded, for whatever reason, the Big Man has placed me in the happiest time of my life. By far. To talk like my brother Paul, I know who I am. I know who I am NOT.

I know myself better than ever -- with great clarity. If I saw a therapist -- I would explain to THEM how to improve their lives.

No doubt fate will throw some more curveballs, changeups, and sinkers. And that's ok. But to the extent I can control things, I plan on the simple wisdom of surrounding myself with only the good, the happy, the positive. Those bringing tensosity need not apply to be anywhere near me.

And I plan to stay out of court...

Day THREE! of Trial

 So back in 1981, after 2.5 years of college as a pre med student, it became crystal clear that I wasn't cut out for med school. I got through Organic Chem, typically the weed out course, and had a wonderful mentor, Dr. Bob, who was confident with my ok grades and stellar recommendation letters, I would get in to some med school. But I took Embryology, which the professor announced was most like the first year of med school, and I was so bored and bad at drawing chick embryos, that it finally came to me - I would switch my major to English.

Dr. Bob's wife, Judy, was my my freshman English professor, and another fine mentor. She just turned 80. I went to her to ask about which grad programs for English I ought to consider, and she had a heart to heart. She reminded me I was a nice Jewish boy who would someday marry and have a family to support -- and that wasn't easy on a liberal arts professor's salary. Plus, it was the tail end of the Baby Boom, and academic jobs were in short supply -- she knew Harvard and Stanford PhDs waiting tables.

Well -- what should I do? "Go to law school. You can read and write critically -- that's all it is -- and you'll be able to make a nice living." My immediate reaction was negative. Most of the pre-law students I knew were assholes -- self important, nonstop talkers, thinking they were far smarter than they were. I didn't wish to be among their number. But I was, and, of course, it worked out precisely how Judy predicted.

But I never wanted to be a lawyer, and the last 3 days has brought that back into very clear relief. I was a passable one when I practiced full time, and a top 1% rainmaker, which in a small, contingency fee firm is critical -- but the non stop prattling, and fighting over miniscule points -- oh -- I'd rather get dental work.

Still -- in our pursuit of what is right -- a fair share of a fee on a case that was stolen from us by a treacherous former associate -- it's going ok. The judge is smart -- local Cuban guy -- FIU and UM -- wants to be a federal judge someday and may well be, when the GOP is in charge again, I suppose. He seems to get it.

Our lawyer, who I met, strangely, the same time and place I met the man I call Fredo, who has caused this whole mess, is smart and passionate about our case. He LOVES being a lawyer -- last night, as we were packing up, he said he feels guilty being paid by his share of any recovery -- he should pay US for the fun he was having. Oh boy -- talk about different strokes.

The relief was that this whole annoying, craven fight was to end yesterday, but our enemies' expert prattles on and on, and as our man Scott cross examines him, the judge has to continue to remind the old greasy guy to answer the question. So this am the cross will finish, and that may be it for the TV lawyer, who I call Saul Goodman's case. Scott showed how Fredo not only stole the case, but totally lied under oath about its handling before he stole it.

I was looking forward to his being grilled about his affidavit, but they announced last night that he would be heading home to West Palm and probably not testifying. No surprise. But then the judge told him to be available by Zoom -- I wonder if His Honor has his own questions.

I was on the stand Wednesday afternoon and yesterday. The guy who crossed examined me is a lawyer for Better Call Saul, a local Puerto Rican former cop who went to our local Harvard Law, St. Thomas. Salt of the earth guy, well prepared, but as I grew more annoyed by his cross, I started to subtly torture him. Instead of referring to "when the case left the firm," I would answer my question "After your client John STOLE THE CASE FROM US..." and that seemed to back Tony off a bit.

Later, the judge in explaining something, said "After the case switched firms, or was stolen, as Mr. A said..." so I got my point across.

Hopefully it ends today. The judge won't rule -- he keeps urging us to settle, but they won't budge from the offer that was 4 times what they claimed they would never budge from. So we're going to let His Honor make the call.

In a way we already won. Paul and I have tons of free time. Stu works part time, though he doesn't admit it. But the other side, major TV advertisers, have taken SO much time away from their little factory it hurts them far more than us.

I feel bad for having to have taken the time of a dear friend, who was our expert, and Scott, who may get paid very little. But then again -- he says he loves it anyway.

On the other hand, as Tevye said, this shows me I COULD suit up and do it again, if I needed to  -- just have to either lose weight to fit into my many old lawyer suits, or buy some new ones.

Nah. Life's too short to be constantly surrounded by assholes.

For Da Boids!

 So last Wednesday I spent an entire day at law work -- Zoom deposition attendance from 8 am through 4 pm for our and our enemy's experts. This craven lust for filthy lucre between lawyers is finally set for a hearing this coming Wednesday, so I have been doing an unusual amount of lawyer work lately. I have concluded that, if I was required to practice law full time to support my family now, I would become a barista instead, a word my Ds tell me I misprounounce as bareeeesta instead of barista. Whatever.

Fortunately, my side has the far superior expert -- probably the top med mal defense lawyer in Florida, who has graciously, spent many hours getting to know our case and putting together opinions that make my side look much better than we are. I feel terrible that this fellow has been roped into this, and hope to make it up to him someday.

The good news is that I told my doctor friends that, heaven forbid they ever get sued, they really, really want our expert on their side, as he truly has wisdom and skill. Hopefully that doesn't happen.

The opposing expert is a has been who basically opined that his opinions are what they are since they are his opinions. He seems like a nice enough older shaygetz kind of guy, but listening carefully to both sides, it was Supreme Court Justice versus Traffic Court Magistrate -- though indeed there ARE idiot SCOTUS members and, I'm sure, pretty bright Traffic Court Magistrates. But still...

So Wednesday I have to squeeze into one of my lawyer suits, head to the courthouse, and take part in the hearing. Hopefully we finish up in one day, but in my experience, if a lawyer can say something in one hour, it takes two, and so we will probably take the judge's time into Thursday.

This case should truly have settled last year, but the firm where Fredo took the case when he stole it is led by an advertising executive with a big ego. I learned, while awaiting my bivalent jab, from a young Cubana lawyer next to me that he did, or tried to, do the same thing to her -- a client left for his firm and there was a fee of $3000.  She was entitled to at least half, and he said she was "lucky to get $500." Alas, the smarmy jerk forgot to honor her lien, and so set himself up for a Bar complaint, and so he paid the half after all. He must figure if he can bully a young lawyer, why not bully us. Not so fast, dude.

The funny thing is, Paul and I have plenty of time -- and Stuart makes time, too. Our opponent is running a major ad law firm and I would think him loathe to take his staff away from new business to fight over significant, but not huge, dollars. He thinks I'm apathetic and sarcastic. Whatever.

Meanwhile, Sunday was a delightful day. D1 ordered Boulangerie from Uber Eats, and it arrived as she and her family did. D2 came with the enormous puppy -- Jonathan was with his family. We missed him, but will grab him next time.

Joey and I had a few cocktails, and the toddler and I headed to the pond. He is completely fluent in English, but when Joey comes, switches to Spanish as easily as flipping a switch on a TV. It is remarkable to me. The 8 month old well performed his task of being adorable, and the toddler hugged the enormous puppy. "Awwwwwws" from all present resulted.

Yesterday, Kenny and Joelle, always the fun couple, suggested we watch the Oscars together, and brought Indian food from Saffron in the Grove with them. I only saw one of the films up for the award, but their company was great, as usual. Joelle's brother, who we really dig, is putting together a trip for December: Buenos Aires, Mendoza, and Patagonia. Joelle is inviting anyone who wishes to tag along -- make your own plans -- here are great hotels where we'll be staying.

I've always wanted to visit Argentina, and think we'll be participating. The web page for the resort in Patagonia looks pretty terrific. And it's great beef and wine (and I'm sure, vodka). So it appears we'll be visiting our second South American country -- Colombia was first.

Speaking of Colombia, D1 and Joey and my consuegra Jacqui are taking the boys there in a few weeks. Jacqui's Mom has never met her great grandsons. The toddler is SO excited, about flying on "un avion" and meeting his "primas!"

We get to watch the ancient Spoiled Spaniel while they're away -- sweet girl, still going pretty strong for her age.

So -- back to depos to review. Law. Yuck. As our dear, late friend Elizabeth used to malaprop, I can only take it in small dosages.

Stuff Versus Charity

 So on our recent trip to KW, Wifey's BFF Edna brought up the issue of living well, with our many blessings of financial success. We're rich -- not private plane flying rich, at least for only a few  years -- but all of us in places where we don't worry about paying our bills.

The Canarsie Crew was making fun of me -- how I never want to buy anything for myself, and even when I had expensive watches, gave them to my sons in law. So Edna asked: if I won a lotto, or otherwise came into money where I had a BILLION dollars, what would I buy for myself?

I immediately started talking about charity, and moving my Ds and their families into paid off gorgeous houses -- but her inquiry was JUST ME. And I honestly couldn't answer -- there is no material possession I want. Finally I was let off the cross examining hook by saying that I guess I would lease Gulfstream jets and fly my Canes friends to away games -- paying all expenses at the best hotels in whatever city we were in. I guess a judge would have ruled that my answer wasn't truly responsive. 

This am I spoke to Mirta, my sister of another mister. She just had a birthday, and we're going to have a late dinner to celebrate this week. She told me she spent her birthday weekend inspired by me -- doing stuff for others. She helped a Mom struggling at the beach to put up an umbrella while corralling her kids. She was at DQ behind an obviously working class family -- and she stepped in to pay their bill -- $15.

She said the Mom hugged her -- their $15 meal obviously was more costly to them than Mirta, and Mirta felt so amazing. 

I told Mirta I surely hadn't come up with the concept, but I first thought about it while reading about a long dead Miami lawyer: Ellis Rubin. Every birthday, he would invite all comers to his office and give them free legal advice. He was a wacky and successful lawyer, and probably got some good cases out of his pro bono day, but still -- the thought resonated with me.

The Big Man gave us our lives, and to fail to celebrate our birthdays is a sign of ungratefulness to Him , according to my sage friend Rabbi Yossi. And to celebrate with charity -- well that might just go to another Rambam-like level -- though biblical scholarship is way above my pay grade.

Anyway, Paul is off to bury his best college friend, and today I will send a check from our firm to Friendship Circle, the organization founded by said Rabbi and mostly his wife Nechama -- which pairs special needs kids with other kids in a variety of wonderful activities. I think Frank would have appreciated the gesture.

I headed over to meet Juan, my trainer who is a frenemy. I love the guy, but hate the workouts. I skipped last week on account of Key West, and was NOT looking forward to resuming today. And alas, it was not to be -- Enrique met me and said poor Juan had a terribly allergy night -- eyes essentially swollen shut -- it's mango bloom season, and apparently it got to him. So no work out!

Enrique, the co-owner, said he never sees a client look so happy who drove to the gym only to learn his session had been canceled. Ah -- gotta go with the flow.

So I drove to Walgreens to pick up one of the several old man's prescriptions I take (cholesterol, prostate) and then had breakfast at Wagon's West.

On my way in, a homeless guy asked if I could help him out. I told him I would, when I exited. Sure enough, the fellow was there -- looked to be about my age, sunburned, with a Cuban Miami accent, but fluent in English. I handed him a $5 bill. His face lit up. "Now I can eat today -- I don't buy drugs like the other ones," he said, pointing across US 1 to the Busway where more homeless congregate.

I answered that what he did with the money was his business -- I just encountered a fellow man who asked for help, and I was easily able to give it. My breakfast cost twice what I gave him. "Ay, so you are a true man of G-d then," he said, pointing to the sky.

I said "Well, we should all try to do what the Big Man would like. Or Big Woman, as my wife says."

"Ay -- Big Woman scares me -- like I wife I had back in Santiago de Cuba who used to punch me!" We both laughed heartily, and I shook his hands, wishing him well.

And so it was a fine morning. I promised myself I would walk miles to make up for the missed workout -- somehow that hasn't yet happened on account of my laziness. But it shall, now, even though today is record hot for March 7 in Miami .

I read recently about a hipster Orthodox Rabbi, asked if he could update the famous Rabbi Hillel quote about the Torah. Hillel said that he could recite the entire Torah standing on one leg -- in other words, succinctly , and he essentially recited the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The hipster Rabbi took the challenge, and said it comes down to this: "Don't be an asshole." Like many simple yet sage pieces of life advice -- that's very tough sometimes.

RIP, To A Man in Full

 My brother of another mother and law partner Paul and I share something sacred in common: we keep friends for a lifetime. One of the joys of our relationship is that, mafia-like, my friends become his, and vice versa. And so it was with Frank.

Paul met Frank the very first day he moved into the dorms at GW, in the Fall of 1968. A tall, lanky, nerdy guy came to Paul's room asking if he had an extra pillow. Frank, then and forever absent minded, forgot to bring one from his LI home. Paul indeed had an extra, and so began a brotherhood that lasted until yesterday -- nearly 55 years.

After school, Paul came to Miami for law school, with his young wife Joanne, and Frank went out west to become a podiatrist. Joanne had a close friend Beth to whom she introduced Frank. Beth was also LA bound -- for law school. The two hit it off and were married all of these years -- with 2 daughters, one in LA with her 2 kids, and the other in Boston with her 2 kids -- they created an amazing family and life.

Frank was a diver, and came to the Keys often, sometimes alone, and sometimes with one of his girls. During these trips, I got to know him very well. We celebrated his 50th birthday together at Joes's on South Beach -- what a time that was!

Paul and I had some business in LA, and after we completed it, Frank met us and took us to a gorgeous place in Malibu -- Geoffrey's. I still recall that afternoon -- 2 60s era guys, and this 70s era guy walking the beach, talking of life. A beachball crossed our path, and one of us bent down to catch it. A striking blonde woman with an Aussie accent came and got it, and thanked us. It was Olivia Newton-John! Ah. A brush with fame. This was over 22 years ago.

Paul and Patricia and Frank and Beth traveled together. A few months pre pandemic, Wifey and I joined the 2 couples for dinner in Aventura. It was lovely.

Tragically, Frank was diagnosed with glioblastoma, a terminal brain cancer, around 2 years ago. He sought aggressive treatment, but I knew the outcome. Surgery to reduce the tumor mass gave him some more time, but an immunotherapy that may someday work, didn't. But he got to meet his 4th grandchild a few months back, and celebrate a 70th birthday. He died Saturday morning, and Paul is broken up.

Eric and Barry, my brothers from college who remain so close over the decades, reached out to Paul. He really appreciated it -- hearing from the generation behind his. Barry had met Frank, and Paul's daughter Tracy's wedding in NYC. That led to my favorite memory of Frank.

I guess the wedding was 12 Summers ago. We all stayed at the Ritz Battery Park. There was a vodka fueled rehearsal dinner at Sammy's. The wedding was gorgeous -- Brooklyn Botanic Garden, which Stuart made memorable for nearly missing it, and running comically ahead of the wedding procession to just make it to his seat ahead of the first parade member -- sweating in the NYC July heat.

The day after the wedding, Barry and Paul, and Frank and I ended up at a table right in Battery Park, drinking coffee. The two dear friends and roommates from GW and the two dear friends from UM, 11 years younger, comparing notes on parenthood and careers. There were no grandkids yet.

It was a cool (for July) foggy morning. We sat for a few hours. Barry and Frank shared tales of modern medicine, and its shortfalls. But mostly it was a fraternity of 4 men who knew our true measure was how we take care of our families. And we were all elite in that regard -- the 8 kids who had us as Dads were, and are, fortunate indeed.

It remains such a happy and wistful memory for me -- the way I'll always remember a great natured, brilliant, loving, and funny man -- above all, a great Dad, husband, and true friend.

Frank's memory will be a blessing.

Back From Key West And Out of Social Media Jail

 So we fetched Edna and Marc and MIA and  drove to D1's house, so Edna could meet the marshmallow 8 month old. D1 had asked for a quiet entry, as the little guy was napping, but Wifey and Edna came in full Canarsie Hot, as I called it. Afterwards we ate at nearby Blue Collar, where the food was good but the service slow, allowing for some "Is ANYTHING OK?" jokes.

Then Key West and Willie Nelson, who at 89 amazed us. He played a full 90 minutes, and sang and picked the HELL out of his guitar. It was something to see. A woman in her late 50s with her cowboy hat boyfriend decided to put on a show before Willie came on. She was WASTED, and wearing a T shirt that said she was a proud stoner. She was. The boyfriend got her from row to row, and in the one in front of us, she let loose. Clearly she had chosen the hot dogs WITH chili from the food truck. The boyfriend got her out, but her products remained. 

It being Key West, there were no mops, but finally an enterprising usher showed up with paper towels and bleach spray. The show went on!

I had a dinosaur moment at the hotel yesterday am. I was waiting at the coffee bar to take one up to the room for Wifey. I had already been up, eaten breakfast, and had my coffee. A fellow was in front of me, preparing 2 cups. He was middle aged, overweight, and dressed like a slob, so I assumed he was a fellow put upon husband. I said "Wouldn't it be nice if our wives brought US morning coffee?" He responded "James never wants to be called my wife." I had an Edith Bunker pause moment, and said "Oops -- my bad. Sorry about that." He chuckled and walked away. I wanted to say "You are the least gay looking gay guy of all time. Dude! Work out. Get some stylish neat clothes. Straight, old, cis white guys like me are allowed to look like crap -- but you guys?" Instead I made a mental note to keep my words to myself these days -- sort of expanding the "Never mention a pregnant woman's appearance to her" to essentially everyone I meet.

We made it home much faster than the drive down -- which was 4 full hours.

And then I went back on NextDOOR Pinecrest and found I had been reinstated -- but ONLY if I promised to be a good boy. So I posted that I favor cute puppies, believe that children are our future -- in short -- attempted to ape every cliched Miss America answer about her beliefs. Geez!

The great news is that the election is over this Tuesday. Mayor Joe is predicting a 3-1 victory for the Nos, and keeping our representative democracy here in Pinecrest, which has worked out quite well so far. If the Yes camp wins -- well -- it'll just prove that Trumpism has come to our privileged 'hood, and I will do...nothing.

I can't handle the rejection of another social media ban.