I always joke that I have become one of those curmudgeonly old guys who sees little need to ever drive out of his home County. I joke because it's true -- everything truly important to me is in the 305 -- though it's also the 785 and, I just learned, adding 645. Oy.
My family, of course, and all of my essential cultural inststitutions, like places the Canes, Heat, Marlins, and Dolphins play. The Panthers are in Broward, and I appreciate going there with Norman, but not other than that -- I don't know I would be a hockey fan anymore. Too many white players.
Dear friends live in Broward and Palm Beach -- but we get together on Zoom, or, more sacredly, during the High Holidays, which are tailgate parties at Joe Robbie Stadium during the Fall.
Alas, today is a rare exception. Mike's boy Chris scored we three lawyers tix to see John Fogarty at the Hard Rock Live -- the arena owned by the Seminoles. I was there months ago for a fine Springsteen show -- it happens to be a terrific theater. And I love Fogarty -- saw him 2 times already.
The first was also in Broward -- at the then newly opened theater Downtown Lauderdale. This must have been in the late or mid 90s, and he was terrific. Even better, two Novembers ago, for Kenny's 60th, we went to Key West to see him at the wonderful ampitheater they have there, on land deeded from the US Navy. It was a magical trip -- I bored Joelle and Kenny with my Key West tour facts, including drinks at the Chart Room where Jimmy Buffet and Bob Marley first played, as well as a smattering of Hemingway, Capote, Williams, and McGuane.
Fogarty plays with his son now, and is in fine form for a guy in his late 70s. It still cracks me up how many fans think he's a Cajun guy because of his songs -- he was born and raised in SF.
Anyway, the plan is to fetch father and son at Mike's house at 4, cruise the man sized SUV to Anthony's Runway 84 for a big Italian dinner, and then Uber over to the Hard Rock. Parking there is a Bear, and not the Sitting kind. Lord -- can't I ever get away from the bad Indian puns? I cannot -- I am a devotee of Mel Brooks, and to Jews, Indians doing stuff like speaking Yiddish, or explaing the origins of the Fuckawee Tribe are always funny. Recently, I heard a Mumbai comic say that when he tells someone he's Indian, they ask "Computer or Casino?" Racist? Yes. Funny? Yes -- and this is from said comedian.
Chris is a third generation Miami lawyer, and always had, and still does, an old soul. He has tons of friends his own age, but loves being around we old guys, too. Watching him grow up, his relationship with Mike used to bring tears to my eyes -- it reminded me of my relationship with my own Dad.
To this day, Mike calls him "Son," and Chris calls Mike "Father." It always cracks me up -- though I'm guessing after several adult drinks at Anthony's, Chris will revert to the more simple "Dad and Dave."
Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan send daily videos from Heaven, also known as Lake Como. They checked into a hotel and got upgraded to a suite fit for George Clooney, on account of the manager's wife was Venezuelan and Jonathan sweet talked him into the suite. The photos are amazing -- the two young-uns are having an awesome time -- they leave tomorrow for Majorca.
Dog sitting the enormous puppy has been ok -- but she is just such a PRESENCE. Yesterday I took her for a 1.5 mile walk, thinking that would tire her out, but it seemed to energize her. She's loveable, but not a "Background dog," as Wifey says.
In other news, my trainer Juan, who is my favorite MF, on account of I really like him but loathe working out, is off for greener pastures. This new full service apartment/gym called Lifetime has hired him to manage their staff of 40 -- trainers, pilates, swim instructors, etc. I am thrilled for him -- we hugged on Thursday, and I told him all kidding aside, he has truly kept me stronger and more agile -- the better to chase around the very active grandson, and his on deck brother.
It should be a seamless transition for me, though. There's a young trainer named Jonathan who I'm friends with -- a Palmetto grad and Sephardic Jew -- he and I are the only ones who greet each other on the Jewish holidays -- and he has happily taken on my large carcass for continued attempts to keep me upright. We meet Tuesday.
Monday I have a grandson pickup after camp -- and Tuesday old friend Vince returns to the practice with Stuart. I plan to visit the office more -- he and I relate quite well -- and he needs more collaboration than the mentoring Stu's associate had.
Problem is, he no longer drinks -- but that's ok. He feared, I guess, following the path of many of his Irish American relatives who lost their functionality with the old ETOH, and so avoids the stuff. I'll sip my Tito's in the office evening alone -- or with Stu, if he attends.
But tonight, ketel martinis, sausage and peppers, and the best Italian bread South of Brooklyn/South Philly await, followed by some great music -- with two awesome friends.
As my late in laws would have said: "Could be voise."
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