Any Man's Death Diminishes Me

 So on my birthday last month, I mentioned to Jeff that I was planning on having breakfast at Wagon's West, a local greasy spoon soon to close, to no sadness from me. The owner Walter is a crusty old guy, the food mediocre, and on said birthday he always promised a free breakfast, which he refused me since I didn't respond correctly to his FaceBook offer. Putz -- glad he's closing.

But Jeff was there, to meet an old friend of his, and he invited me to join them. About 20 minutes later, a tall, thin, older fellow came by -- Avron. We liked each other immediately.

Jeff's known Avron for years through their work in the local Jewish community. Avron was late 70s,and had a great career as a Dade County Schools Music teacher, and later as a cantor and musician at local temples. He has a parrot that recited the Shema in Hebrew.

We played geography, and knew at least 50 people in common. It turns out he taught music to several of the Ds friends, and most of my friend Norman's kids and nephews and nieces.

He was a gentle soul, and extremely bright and well informed. He told me that he was "huge" and 10 years ago had bariatric surgery -- it changed his life. I noticed he ordered egg whites and dry white toast. I told him one of my girls was a dietitian, but, alas, I was not one of her good clients.

We must have sat for 2 hours, and I enjoyed it tremendously. Avron had also taught at UM Music School, and had great tales of his time there.

He had never married, and had no kids. I asked Jeff later -- I kind of assumed he was a closeted gay man. But who cares? He affected literally thousands of kids in such a positive way, and was still doing it as of last month.

I told Jeff to invite me next time he met Avron for a breakfast or lunch -- though not at Wagon's West -- that bastard.

Well today, I checked FaceBook (tm) and saw a post from Avron's page -- he died today! Oh man. I only just met him that one meeting, but I was still shocked and saddened. 

I guess one of his friends had access to his page, and shared the sad news -- his funeral is tomorrow, at the funeral where my suegros are buried.

I called Jeff -- he had just heard the news as well, and didn't know any circumstances. Clearly it was something sudden -- heart attack or stroke, or maybe aneurysm. Who knows?

I'm glad I got to meet this terrific man, but feel a bit cheated I didn't get to know him better. His memory will be a blessing.

And once again, the sage words of Warren Zevon, spoken after he got his terminal cancer diagnosis: Enjoy every sandwich.

I fully intend to.

MIA Pickup 1984 versus 2023

 So the magic of FaceBook (tm) brought up some old photos today, including one of my favorites of Wifey and me. It was two of us wearing Panama hats and aviator shades in Cancun, in May of 1984, standing in front of a Mexican grocery.

Strangely, today I will be off to MIA to fetch said Wifey, now nearly 40 years older. I got older, too.

Cancun in 1984 was still Cancun -- a sleepy tourist spot on the Caribbean -- just a few hotels, and a famous restaurant called Carlos and Charlies. Later, it became Daytona Beach -- filled with places for American time share tourists -- with even a Wal Mart, I think. But in 1984 you could still make believe you were Malcolm Lowry, drinking and writing and hiding out.

The trip was historically significant for us. Wifey had broken up with me for the second and final time, on account of she was 4.5 years older than I , and ready to get more serious about life, while I was a 23 year old rising 2 L enjoying my status as a rooster among early 80s Miami hens, so to speak. I wasn't ready to get "exclusive,"  as Wifey tells the Ds, which for some reason, I guess her Brooklyn pronunciation, they find hilarious. So in April of 1984 she moved to North Miami from Kendall, and told me to never call her again. And even then, before the Dude became one of my heroic characters, I abided.

Well, Jeff was dating Cheryl, and Cheryl's step Dad was a rich Mexican who had a gorgeous villa right on the sea. They invited me to come right after Finals, but before our Summer jobs began. They told me to ask Wifey, as the four of us had double dated. No -- Wifey told me to toss off, I responded. Well then, Cheryl said, ask one of your other lady friends. And so I set about that task.

It was comical. I asked friends, former girlfriends, you name it. I think I asked 10 different girls, and all were unavailable, for reasons like "just had surgery on my face -- can't go in the sun," to my ex serious girlfriend Silvia, who was trying to woo a rich young doctor at Mt. Sinai. I REALLY wanted to go -- I had never been to Mexico, the Mexicana flight was all of $150 round trip, and the villa was free! We'd eat cheaply, drink Kahlua (I was honoring the Dude even then) and see the sights, like Tulum.

No, said Cheryl -- no 3rd wheel. Ask Wifey again. And I did, and the Big Man must have had plans, as Wifey was on vacation that very week and had no plans. Linda, her best single friend who had warned her away from me (properly, I might add) said "What the hell. Go with him, have a blast, and then just break up a third time."). So Wifey agreed, and indeed, on that Yucatan Peninsula, probably on the Isla Mujeres, which Jeff and I re-named Isla Mujeres Facil, I fell in love.

We worked stuff out when we returned to Miami,and moved in together a year later and then married in January of 1987. We actually traveled again to Cancun with Cheryl, this time without Jeff, as his parents put the rush on him to break it off with her, and also Mike and Loni. Hilarity ensued, including a fight where Mike ended up in his underwear on the roof. The details are fuzzy now, but not the sight of my dear friend trying to climb down after Loni had locked him out. That image is burned into my memory.

So fast forward nearly 4 decades! I'm off to MIA this afternoon to fetch Wifey, returning from Colorado and Atlanta, following the wedding of her BFF's daughter, a party the BFF uninvited me to following untoward circumstances, so absurd that they tend towards the unbelievable. But that's ok -- I have overcome the greatest insult by someone in our cohort, and even embraced it.

Years ago, the aforementioned Jeff was long married to Lili, and the aforementioned Cheryl asked me to say hello to him. The years had gone by, and each had kids -- Jeff had 3 girls, and Cheryl 2 boys. Each live in 7 figure houses, and are married to fine partners -- Cheryl really hit it big -- her husband is a leading recording producer in LA and they are RICH. So I emailed Jeff, "Cheryl sends regards." To my horror, I learned Lili reads all Jeff's emails, and wrote back "Dave -- you're an asshole -- why would you stir things up like this?"

I defended myself that I hardly rented the two a room in a hotel, I was simply sending along greetings from one old law school friend to another. Lili apologized right away -- saying she had been "off her meds" for awhile and snapped at me for no good reason. For my part, I kind of enjoyed it -- telling her I often AM an asshole, and precious few people in my life call me that epithet -- so we cool.

So it's good for my ego, I guess, to be insulted every once in awhile -- although this one was next level. EVERYONE I talked to about Wifey's absence was in disbelief that she actually attended an affair where her husband was excluded on account of I might act the drunken lout and "ruin the entire affair."

It was particularly funny, as other attendees had histories of far worse vices than a few too many martinis.

But -- that's ok, except for one thing that isn't: Wifey needs a wheelchair to travel home today, on account of her bad back has flared up terribly. This is the third time it's happened -- I call these periods her intifadas -- and this current one appears very bad.

So I assume there'll be a Delta man in ATL pushing her to the gate, and one in MIA wheeling her to the curb. As I said -- 4 decades can make a big difference.

Still -- I know she will recover -- she has before. I figure there's a miniscule chance that her problems are structural and need surgery. The overwhelming likelihood is that the stress of the past months -- put into a no - win situation where she would either greatly hurt her spouse or a lifelong friend -- is taking up residence in her lower back.

Therapy will, hopefully, kick it out, and Wifey can go on to savor her manifold blessings here at home: 2 amazing grandsons, 2 daughters and sons in law who all love her and live in the 305, and even local friends who still want to be with her even though she tends to not return their calls.

We have a nice Fall trip planned for late September to Philly. I hope she can go -- it includes a cocktail party at the gorgeous Ritz Carlton there -- a converted historic bank -- I've stayed a few times. Paul and Patricia are going, as well as Barry and both boys and future daughter in law, as well as Uncle Lou and some of Paul's awesome Philly crew. There's also a terrific Jewish Museum, which bears another visit -- we were there several years back while attending the wedding of the daughter of another of Wifey's friends -- I wasn't uninvited to that one.

I bought trip cancelation insurance in case Wifey is not up to it. It seems to me that as we age, have aging relatives, or young children, trip insurance is a good idea.

But I hope come 9/22, I can put on Frank singing "Come Fly With Me," and there'll be another trip to MIA -- no wheelchairs this time.

I guess the Big Man will decide...

She Didn't Start The Fire?

 I spoke recently to a good friend, who shared with me an issue regarding a dear friend, and I seriously wondered whether I could call the Guiness Book of World Records. She asked me what I think is the World's Stupidest Question of All Time. I didn't make the call, since I realized such a "record" would be highly subjective, and unable to be verified. Still, I was left gobsmacked.

The friend has another friend who essentially lit a huge fire at her house, metaphorically speaking. Not just a fire -- but one of those barn burners that causes catastrophic damage. After the fire was raging, with flames shooting into the night, the fire starter came over with hoses and fire extinguishers, in an attempt to dampen the inferno. Lots of damage was done, unfortunately, but even the arsonist must have been surprised at how much wreckage there was -- and so took some steps to quiet the flames.

But here came the Guiness moment: the woman asked me -- wasn't the cause of the terrible conflagration a true hero? I mean -- she had nicely brought fire suppression materials to the scene, right? As I said -- I was gobsmacked -- to use that fine Anglo term.

I couldn't even answer, and instead directed the conversation to matters of repair -- there was a badly damaged house to be dealt with, after all. The burn victim could lionize the arsonist/firefighter later, on her own, I figured. Right now, there were still plenty of hot spots that needed to be extinguished.

Meanwhile, things here are quiet. Wifey remains out of town, and I find the bachelor life quite tolerable. A dinner I had planned was canceled on account of trial with my companion, and last night, after a day of working on Brickell, UberEated in some delicious sushi from Sea Siam.

Tonight, I plan to Uber over to the Gables to meet two fine gentlemen -- Dr. Barry and Norman, at Ruths' Chris. Norman will drive me home afterwards, so I just may have that extra martini.

I was supposed to fetch Wifey at MIA tomorrow afternoon, but sadly untoward events involving back pain may keep her from traveling for some more days. I guess she'll let me know tomorrow if Daveber (Uber by Dave) has a fare, or not.

I was comparing tales of drunkenness and cruelty (to steal from a favorite Kinks lyric) with a dear friend, and he reminded me of something that gladdens me: Canes football kicks off in 8 days! The first game is on a Friday night, a very unusual scheduling quirk. Apparently in the years before I moved to UM, Friday night games were common -- I still recall bumper stickers with the U saying "Friday Night Live." The team was so mediocre then, and the thought was that holding games Fridays might get them more media coverage as the only college games taking place.

I had hoped Wifey might come with me -- she had said she enjoys games that don't take place during the heat of the day -- but that is up in the air now. If she can't go, I guess I'll just have a little more tuches room in the Club seats. But the main thing is the tailgate party -- that'll be a sight for these sore eyes!

Into each life some rain must fall, as my dear late Mom Sunny loved to remind. I guess it's a benefit when such rain helps extinguish the fires of despicability.

The Kinder Leave

 So yesterday D2 and I put in a "complicated order" at Joanna's, ahead of the arrival of D1 and her 3 men. She accompanied me to the local gourmet market -- the owner is actually one of the Zabar granddaughters, and we learned the sad truth: they had run out of plain bagels, which is what Joey and the ravenous toddler had ordered. No problem -- except they offered sesame, which the toddler is allergic to. "No!" D2 and I almost shouted in unison -- white baguettes would have to do.

Anyway, for some reason the usually well run Joanna's was discombobulated, and the 11 am pickup, which of course I was on time for, turned into 1140. It gave D2 and I the chance to do some sociological observation of some of the Pinecrest grandmas -- late 60 to 70 year old women trying desperately yet ultimately futilely to look like they were in their 30s. D2 was much nicer than I about this -- but could tell she got a kick out of some of them as well.

Man. Just gracefully age! I have gray hair and a prodigious belly -- I wear both with the pride that comes from having lived into my early 60s. One woman passed, having had so much plastic surgery, that I wondered how she didn't melt in the Miami summer heat.

Finally, the order was ready, and there was an extra California sandwich -- with turkey and avocado. The cashier asked if I wanted it -- it was huge and cost $17.99. I replied I would take it for free, and she agreed, and so I felt I was properly compensated for the mess ups and delay. I will wait a LONG time for a free gourmet sandwich.

We returned home, and soon the house was lively -- with the world's best baby, and energy producing toddler. I took the bigger one to feed the fish and turtles, and he talked and moved nonstop -- switching from English when he was with me, to Spanish when Joey was there. He is, to my completely subjective eye -- absurdly adorable.

After lunch, where we sat around the kitchen table, a granite circle we brought from our old house, games of hide and seek were played, videos were watched, and basketballs were shot -- and we were told by the toddler each time he made a basket, all of us, Mommy, Daddy, Grandpa Dev, and Tia D2, were to say "Yay!" Ah -- a first born. We complied.

The baby went in for a nap, and I poured Joey a beer and myself the last of the huge bottle of Stoli Elit D2 and Jonathan bought me. I have another from D1 and Joey as a spare. Joey and I took the toddler on a wagon walk around the block, seeing lots of peafowl, before the rain started, and the toddler said it would be "a good idea" to return home. It was indeed.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was up in the air, returning from Arizona, and Wifey was in her room in Colorado. Around 1 pm her time, I guess she remembered us, and responded to a text, and we FaceTimed with her. I could tell her back pain was apparent -- I just really, really hope it lessens and this is NOT the beginning of a third intifadeh.

I took the name for the Palestinian terror periods to describe Wifey's 2 past periods of debilitating back pain. One was, I think, from '04 to '06, and the second was during much of D2's college years -- '10 though '14. During those two intifadehs, Wifey was mostly homebound -- weekly trying different modalities of therapy, physical and otherwise, and seeing just about every good neurosurgeon and orthopedic surgeon in Miami. To help along recovery in the first intifadeh, I think it was, she went to Orlando for an intensive every day PT regimen, staying at a hotel, where her friend Elizabeth, and then I, visited.

She missed out on so much, including just about all of D2's college visits. It was a dark time. Since the second intifadeh ended, in '14 or so, most of her back tweaks last just a day or so. This one started a few days before she left for the wedding I was uninvited to, and still persists, now going on day 10. Hopefully she improves. Unlike the last 2 intifadehs, where the Ds were grown, mostly, now Wifey is needed for active grandmother duty, and it will really stink if she misses out. I hope this doesn't happen -- especially since I know it will have been brought about by the stress of such a silly thing.

Anyway, at about 4, D1 and her men left for home, and the Sunday night rituals before a school day today. D2 stayed a bit longer, we each ate some of the remaining sandwiches, and then she left for Miami Beach, with the enormous dog, after she straightened up the place. Jonathan was due home soon.

D2 reminded me she was around all week, if I got lonely, and I assured her I have a full dance card -- dinner with different friends each evening, and a work day or two in between. Tonight I meet Mirta -- probably at the Falls, and I have a strong feeling the week without Wifey will fly by quickly.

As I was enjoying the quiet of the post visit evening, Paul called, from Long Island, to ask after me. He said it sounded like I was doing just fine -- and once again reminded me how lucky I am to have both my kids living in the 305. I am unendingly aware.

So this am a walk in the heat and humidity beckon, and then a few errands out and about.

The house really IS quiet this am.

Naked Shabbos

 So yesterday was a banner one. D2 and I took Wifey's SUV, on account of it has a child seat installed, and drove up to Shorecrest, where we played with the BBITW (best baby in the world). And then D1 joined us -- for an instructional trip on picking up the adorable toddler at preschool.

We drove to the lovely charter place. Earlier, I had told my friend Joel about D1's plans for the school, and Joel was aghast. You CANNOT do that, he said. He sent his kids to Ransom and Gulliver, and through that they made connections with the local billionaires. One must do that!

Ha. Just the opposite, in my view. Public schools give kids a taste of the real world. Years ago, Fortune published a study -- the vast majority of CEOs attended large public colleges -- places where they learned the people skills necessary to lead large companies. The Ivies produce academics and investment bankers...

Anyway, the toddler bounded out, happy to see us, and we stopped at UPS on the way home. When we arrived, more play time with the little brother, and later neighbor and his bud Tommy, the Venezuelan boy across the street.

Joey came home, and we poured a few pre shabbos drinks. I then texted Dr. Barry -- would he care to stop by on his way home? He would -- knowing how bereft I must be with Wifey out of town at the wedding that banned me.

He arrived just ahead of the Ubereats ordered Italian food, from a great place in MiMo - -D1 and Joey's mostly gentrified 'hood.

D1 spread out the adult beverage offerings. There was a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Wow -- where did that come from? "DAd --you bought it for us for Valentine's Day!" So I did, and now it got cracked open, for Barry and Joey to have a few fingers' worth.

D1 put the baby to sleep, and Joey took the toddler upstairs for his nightly bath, while D1, D2, Barry and I ate the delicious pizza, calzone, chicken parm, and gnochi. It was exquisite -- he has known them their entire lives, and gets the same thrill seeing them as grown ass adults as I do being with his boys.

We talked about Scott -- who is in Greece with his future suegros. Wow. My suegros never even paid for one of my meals once I finished grad school -- let alone spirited me to Santorini! Ya gotta marry right.

It got dark, and Barry was ready to leave, but I hoped he might wait for Joey and the toddler -- so we could light shabbos candles together, which they do each Friday. 

Sure enough, down bounded an ebullient naked child -- squeaky clean from his bath -- Joey following. He loves being naked, like many toddlers, as well as, I pointed out, his late great grandmother.

My mother, at home, loved being without clothes. My Dad used to admonish her: "Sunny -- get dressed -- David will think all girls look like you naked -- it will turn him gay!" These were pre-politically correct times. And it didn't turn me gay -- I was able to learn that in fact young women didn't look like my dear old Mom sans clothes.

So the toddler climbed into his ladder seat, D1 lit the candles, Joey, Barry, and I donned our kippahs, and the prayers were said, followed by a rousing "Shabbat shalom, Hey!"

I had only had 2 small Ketels, but I felt the presence of the Big Man -- surrounded by my sacred people. I wished Jonathan was there, too, but he was in Arizona with his buds. I'm guessing there were no naked shabbot candle lighting -- at least I hope not.

We drove home, and I collapsed on the couch. D2 noted maybe I ought to go to bed, and she was correct -- I slept from 10 straight through to 6 -- 8 hours uninterrupted! That's no easy feat for my aging tuches.

And then, at 6, I thought -- why get up? And I slept more -- until 930! It was the most and best sleep I've had in awhile. I think the special shabbos had the effect.

Today, D2 and I have no plans -- just hanging with the 3 dogs -- maybe a walk later, if the heat isn't too oppressive. I'll convince her to have dinner at one of my favored "old people restaurants" -- maybe Captain's Tavern.

Tomorrow, D1 and her men are due over, and the toddler has already put in a request for "bagel...with SALMON!" I shall comply -- there will likely be wagon rides in store for both boys -- I'll prepare a few to go cups for Joey and myself as we navigate the iguana and peafowl infested streets.

D2 and Betsy and D1 and her men will leave -- and then I get a full week of bachelorhood. I already filled my dance card -- dinner each night with different friends.

Like the great 70s disco song, I will survive!

And last night's naked shabbos -- well -- that one was as adorable as it gets.

FDOS -- The Next Generation

 Today in Miami-Dade County, it's the first day of school, or as I acronymed it, FDOS. I used to really love this day when the Ds were small.

I would always walk in one of them, at least, and loved the energy in the air at Leewood Elementary School. None of the dunces had yet failed -- everyone was an A student -- the desks were all clean, and the kids well dressed.

The Ds knew how important education was to us, and they seemed to share in the happiness of the day. Also, as an academic dilletante, the day had meaning. I never saw myself in my fantasies strolling into a courtroom. I always saw myself like Mr. Chips, encountering eager students on some English Quad somewhere.

Well, even grad school FDOS times are in our family's rear view mirror. D2 graduated in '15 with her Masters, so her last FDOS was in 2014. 

So now the attention has turned to the adorable toddler, and his FDOS. His preschool requires uniforms, and if anyone can see a photo of this little man in his and not say verbally "awwww," well I don't know about that person.

D1 had him pose in his pants and polo shirt, along with a blue sweater I KNOW Joey insisted on, as he is always concerned about his boys being too cold -- even though we live in Miami, where it is a PRIVILEGE to feel cold -- and a rare privilege at that!

He has two years of preschool left, since you have to be 5 to start kindergarten, and so that will be the '24-'25 school year. But as D1 and Joey are seeing first hand, the years have a way of flying by when you have kids.

Meanwhile, last night was my first without Wifey. After a visit to the office, I had a serious choice to make: do I do my bachelor thing and order dinner alone at a bar, or order in and eat in the company of my dogs. I chose the latter -- and DiNapoli via Uber Eats brought some fine linguine with clams.

As I was getting ready for bed, Wifey called -- not sounding too ebullient. Her back was acting up, and I think she is fearing the Third Intifadeh. The first two were extended periods where her back pain kept her close to home, and began a cascade of unpleasantness. The second intifadeh ended nearly a decade ago.

Her back started bothering her a few days ago. I told her the over 5 hour plane ride followed by two hour car ride from Denver to Estes Park couldn't have been good for it. I hope she improves and things don't decline.

Meanwhile, I was pressed into service this am. I got a text from Rabbi Yossi -- he needed a 10th man for a minyan, so he could properly say kaddish for his late father. I did it a few weeks ago. I had a workout session at 9, and was just going to do laundry, anyway, and so I drove over to Chabad's temporary HQ next to Shorty's.

Several of the long time guys were happy to see me and surprised, knowing I'm not observant at all, and I told them my presence meant Yossi was truly scraping the bottom of the barrel.

One modern Orthodox guy noticed I wasn't wearing a wedding ring, and he had a "beautiful, recently divorced" daughter he wanted me to meet. I thought about at least seeing her picture before acting too hastily, but instead told him I was in fact married going on 37 years, and just stopped wearing my ring when Wifey stopped wearing the one I gave her from Grandma Sunny, since "it didn't fit right" anymore. I told her I would re-ring when she did, and in the last 5 years or so she hasn't gotten around to re-sizing her ring -- or she may have lost it, which I suspect.

The longer one is married, the more acutely one learns to ask fewer and fewer questions.

Anyway, the minyan was fine, and we celebrated Rosh Chodesh, which is the beginning of the year.

After that, I headed to the gym, and asked my trainer Jonathan, showing him my arm with the tefilling marks, if he knew what I had done earlier. He in fact knew right away -- he's a Sephardic Jew and long time friend of Rabbi Yossi as well. We shared funny stories about Jacob, a very loud and hilarious Jewban who I call "The Bishop of Chabad."

I then got a text from Dania -- she had a cancellation at 11 -- would I like to come in for my monthly haircut? Indeed, I was starting to look like a gray haired Bob Dylan circa 1970, so it was time. I stopped into House of Bagels, and enjoyed a quick nova breakfast, and got a black and white cookie for Dania.

I arrived at the salon and asked if she had been a good girl. She replied that she had absolutely NOT been -- so I gave her the cookie. Ha. Grandparent humor, the Ds would probably say.

I now await the arrival of D2 and the enormous dog Betsy -- they're staying for 3 nights, as Jonathan is headed to Arizona. Joelle and Kenny may come by for dinner later with their new rescue, Moxie, so we will have a true hotel for dogs if that happens.

And I realized something: I haven't had an adult beverage in over a week. It's funny -- I was uninvited from the Colorado wedding based on the fear that I would get drunk and wreck the affair, and I haven't even drunk anything!

Maybe I can remedy that tonight, as the dogs play. And I plan to raise a toast to Erica, the lovely bride who will be hosting a rehearsal dinner.

And I will toast my Ds, and all the joyful FDOSes they brought us -- with more to come with the next generation.

Living Alone

 So I set my alarm for 5 am today, and awoke out a VERY deep sleep, and then woke Wifey. She had an early flight -- MIA to ATL to DEN. She usually insists on leaving later in the day on trips, but when it involves her BFF events, exceptions are apparently made. So I scared some sleeping dogs, made coffee, and then we were off to MIA.

I dropped her to a LOT of questions. I typically handle all logistics when we travel, and she was asking me if they had her TSA number on her boarding pass (no idea -- she booked the flights) and was the carry on properly identified (no idea -- she picked it from the closet and packed it). After the last question, I kissed her goodbye and reminded me she was a BIG girl and could do this on her own. I kind of half really believe this -- but I guess we'll see. As of last text, she was on the plane and ready to begin her solo journey -- and I will be living alone for 10 days.

And it occurred to me: I have NEVER lived alone, truly. I went from college roommates to moving in with Eric for grad school. Two years later, I switched over to Wifey -- we lived together for 2 years before we married, and we have lived together now closing in on 4 decades.

I surely don't regret much about my life, but wonder what it would have been like to truly live alone. So I get a taste of it for the next week and a half. I guess I'll see...

After my post MIA drop constitutional, I ran into my neighbor Steve and his boy. His son is clerking for a local law firm, graduates college in December, and then is off to teach English in Spain for a year, before returning home to attend law school.

I told Steve I admired that call. Another minor regret: not taking a gap year between college and law school. I could have, of course, but it just seemed I was on a track: graduate in May, party that Summer, and then start law school the next Fall.

After my first year as a lawyer, I knew I didn't really enjoy the profession. I DID enjoy my two semesters teaching English while I was in law school, and one day in 1987 I got a solicitation in the mail -- come to Japan and teach English. The salary was actually higher than what I was earning as a first year associate at the anti semitic firm, and Wifey was all for it.

Our three parents were by then largely independent, still, with the exception of needing help with administrative and financial issues. So I wrote back, to get more information.

Ultimately it never progressed further, and soon enough, D1 was on the way. But I wonder -- how would life have turned out differently, if at all, had I taken that Asian detour.

It's funny -- other than cuisine from China and Thailand, the only Asian country I have real interest in is Japan. And I guess I passed it along: D1 and Joey honeymooned there, and had a wonderful experience -- we now only buy Japanese whisky.

So it's day 1 of bachelorhood. I wish the circumstances weren't rife with tensosity, but they are. Wifey said in many ways she dreaded the trip -- but I'm sure once she's there, she'll come around.

And I think that I may just, like Mary Tyler Moore in Minneapolis, make it after all. I don't have a beanie -- maybe I'll walk out to SW 66 Ave and toss my Canes ball cap into the air.

Blunt Reality

 So I spoke with Mirta last night, my sister of another mister, on my way from toddler sitting to Kon Chau.

D1 had asked for some help on account of it's the week between camp and school, and so I fetched the energetic tyke at an art store, with plans to visit Target for some Grandpa toy shopping. Alas, he PTFO in the car, and when I got to the North Miami Target, he briefly awoke, but then his eyes closed again. I knew a nap was better than anything, and so I drove him home, as he blissfully slept.

Anyway, when I left, it seemed my SUV had a mind of its own, and exited on Bird Road heading to the dim sum place Wifey doesn't really like, on account of it was last updated during the Reagan Administration. I love it -- the dim sum is, I believe, best in the city. But back to Mirta.

Mirta always tells me I have given her deep life lessons -- in dealing with others, and her family. But it occurred to me Mirta has taught me something, too. She and I are opposites: I am a people pleaser, and Mirta always tells it the way it is -- effect on the listener be damned.

As I age, I am coming far closer to her side. Whereas I used to always pause and find a way to sugarcoat a message to loved ones -- now I'm just direct and honest. And it turns out people don't like it!

Mirta always jokes that her mien is why she doesn't have tons of friends, and her family is often annoyed at her. But she keeps in little resentment -- she tells her sons when they are acting like boys instead of men -- and to me, that's far more healthy.

So many of our relationships are based on blocking. To some extent -- it needs to be that way. If Wifey shared with me EVERY trespass I daily make against her, or vice versa, our marriage would be a version of "Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf?"

Instead, we keep a lot inside, and it tends to build pressure like the tanks on an old steam train. Every so often, there has to be a venting. Mirta's approach is the vent often, as needed, and that is indeed more healthy.

Lately, I keep returning in my mind to a scene often played out in college. Barry and I would have over our frequent apartment crashers -- Eric and Jeff G. We four would spend hours sitting around a formica table, often with a few beers, planning out and philosophising about our futures -- the type of girls we should marry, and career paths. We were pretty mature, and thought we had lots figured out.

Last night, I did a thought experiment with Wifey: imagine 62 year old Dave being present with 21 year old Dave -- telling him things that would indeed come to pass over the ensuing 4 decades. 21 year old Dave wouldn't have believed a lot of it.

Sure -- health challenges, good times and riches and sonofabitches were foreseeable, but some events -- zero chance.

But that's made the journey exquisite -- and hopefully it stays exquisite.

Unfortunately, for those near and dear to me -- dealing with crotchety old man Dave is a lot tougher than dealing with chill -- everything rolls off like the proverbial duck's back Dave.

I think everyone can get through it.

The Final Tally Is 8

 It's really a bit of a shock when we learn that the death of someone considered so important turns out to be not much of a big deal to many others. And today, I checked on something: the number of people who left messages on the online obituary of my former boss, Ed. It was 8, including me.

My larger life's mentor, also named Ed, died in 1994. He's my dear friend Mike's father, and died of lung cancer that had spread, at 63. Ed had hundreds of friends in the local legal community -- including fellow mentees like me, who owed him so much for advancing our careers. And when he died, and still at a time when LOTS of people read the Herald obituaries, I recall being taken aback at how small an article reported his passing -- just a paragraph or so.

Ed was far better known locally in the legal community than I would ever hope to become -- and it was just a small paragraph. Years later, my friend Norman responded to my comment that he's probably the top med mal defense lawyer practicing now, with his self deprecating "I've had a pretty long, mostly mediocre career."

The truth is, other than to our friends and family, most of us are pretty mediocre.

Years ago, a comedian, maybe Denis Leary, had a bit about funerals, where he noted that if you die without kids and grandkids, really no one truly cares about your death. Oh sure -- close friends will cry and grieve -- but other than your kids and grandkids, everyone gets over a death pretty quickly.

So I guess the trick is not worrying about legacy, but rather savoring the days of life. And boy, as another mentor Judge Murray used to say, I give that my level best.

Yesterday D1 texted -- Joey was taking the toddler golfing -- were her elder parents free? We were -- even though my young friend Michael offered me tickets to see the Marlins play the Yankees -- a game that ended up with a walk off win for the local Fish. She brought the world's best baby, as we call the 13 month old, and I ordered in lunch, and we played with him. 

Later, I took him in a covered wagon D1 bought -- the heat allowed one time around the block -- the little man just sat happily, looking at the trees  and occasional peafowl or lizard that happened past.

We came home, and Joey had texted. He planned to take the toddler to MIA to watch the planes takeoff and land, but the toddler had fallen asleep on the way -- maybe he should just come to our house? Of course he should -- and he arrived with the ebullient older brother, who raced inside to wake his baby brother from HIS nap.

We sat in the living room, and the toddler banged notes on the piano, trying to sing "Crocodile Rock," one of his favorites. He famously, in our family, asked Wifey, in then accented English, "Do you like Elton John?" Wifey told him she did.

So it was a simple Sunday afternoon, and I felt like the luckiest Dad and grandpa around. Maybe there won't even be an obit when I leave this mortal coil -- but I know I get at least 2 generations after me that I know I mattered to. After that, it'll be just family lore, about the quirky things I may have done or said -- ancient history to any great grandkids the Big Man may be kind enough to provide.

Today I'm heading up to D1's 'hood, to fetch the toddler from a local art camp. He resumes preschool on Thursday, and I told D1 I would keep him out of her hair for a few hours this afternoon. 

Wifey is busy scurrying around, or will be after she wakes before noon, getting ready for her 10 day trip to Colorado and Atlanta. She lost her driver's license recently, and I think is going to try to get it replaced today, lest she have to use her passport as ID for her 4 legs of domestic flights.

I exchanged emails with the bride to be, who I have always felt very fondly about. I've known her since she was born, and watched her grow into a very cool adolescent before becoming a beautiful, accomplished young woman. I told he I was sorry "untoward" circumstances prevented me from attending -- a word I best heard used years ago.

Wifey had an old friend Rosie, whose brother Mark was a Key West lawyer. Rosie's Mom was VERY Southern, and when I met her, was rehabbing a B and B up in Jacksonville. I knew that her son Mark was disbarred, and had fled to Central America after stealing money from the estate of some of his gay clients who had died young of AIDS. This was a big thing in Key West in the 80s. Rosie's Mom, Virginia, when learning I was a lawyer, said, in an almost Tennessee Williams way: "Oh -- our son Mark was formerly a member of the Florida Bar, until untoward circumstances in Key West had him change careers to journalism -- he currently resides in Costa Rica."

I LOVED that. As a New Yorker, I would have expected to hear "Yeah -- my boy stole from the dead faygellahs, got busted, and had to lam it." But "untoward" sounds so much nicer.

So yes, Erica realizes the untowardness of my missing her wedding -- she used the term "Sticky situation" which is also good. She told me her fiance Adam enjoyed meeting me at D2 and Jonathan's wedding, and was looking forward to getting to know me better. But we both agreed that would still happen -- here in Miami -- sometime in the future. And she promised to look after her frail, elderly aunt, who is Wifey. She didn't put it that way, but I inferred the message.

I just know I wish her and Adam the best -- years of good health and laughter.

Because it's all about living life. Even those with an outsized influence may get only 8 or so mourners after that becomes that.

Jewish Geography Over the Decades

 So Thursday I was at the gym, waiting for my trainer Jonathan, and I noticed 2 children sitting by the water cooler. As I am Casper the Friendly Dad (Now Grandpa) per the Ds, I asked Jonathan's whose kids they were. He didn't know, but then a woman came over and happily said "They're mine."

I correctly guessed that she had brought them since we were in the break between camp and school starting -- I knew this because my toddler grandson goes to a "Stopgap" camp in Aventura. The young Mom said I was indeed correct, and we started chatting.

She was a Rheumatologist, and sure enough knew our neighbor who shares her medical specialty. Her husband is a lawyer for Burger King, and I know his boss. We exchanged names as we greeted, and I heard her say "Lipson." Wait --was she related to Rabbi Norman Lipson? Indeed she was -- he was her father. "Guess what? He married my wife and I nearly 37 years ago!"

I told her the story of our fake Rabbi, who I call Mark Kram, since that's his name, and how I knew Mark from UM's Hillel. Mark was all excited to perform our wedding -- even made Wifey and I (she wasn't Wifey yet) have pre marital meetings before the ceremony, with him and his comically named wife Mindy. Get it? Mark and Mindy? It was funny at the time.

Anyway, after all of his platitudes about the importance of our now shared Jewish community -- he dipped one week before our wedding -- for a free trip to Israel, since a Federation participant had gotten sick. I was in disbelief. Had he never been? Oh -- many times -- but he REALLY liked going.

Ok -- who would he recommend as a replacement at this late date? No one -- as a Hillel rabbi, he really wasn't "connected " to the local Miami Jewish community at that time. Asshole.

Anyway, I called Eric's Mom Norma, and she knew Rabbi Lipson. He was very nice, and incorporated the Bob Dylan lyrics we wanted into the service. We never saw him again, but learned he had a nice career up in Broward. Indeed -- he founded a Weston temple, and now is retired in Parkland, according to his daughter the doctor. I asked her to send regards and thanks. She said she would.

Wow. Nearly 37 years -- that anniversary is coming up in January. And this week, in anticipation, Wifey is making me a bachelor for 10 days! She's off to her BFF's wedding outside of Denver. I was uninvited on account of I may act like a drunken lout and wreck the whole party -- so I get a taste of single manhood for a week and a half.

Well -- not totally. As Fate had it, Jonathan is off to Arizona for a pre wedding, REAL bachelor trip, and so D2 and the enormous dog will be moving in for the first weekend. Hopefully that Sunday D1 and her 3 men come over, and I host an epic single Dad afternoon. Alcohol will be involved -- but I don't think I'll wreck that party.

The final week, I plan on several incidents of what I really love -- dinner alone at a bar, watching ESPN. Mike, the bartender at Captain's Tavern, may see me, as well as the Asian young lady at Sea Siam who always remembers me as "the first coolest Jewish guy from Levittown, LI." Lou Reed is 2nd, and Billy Joel is third.

Also in the small world Department, today I was on my hot and humid constitutional, and I saw the rich widow Judy chatting with a woman with a chocolate Lab. Turns out the Lab Mom is the daughter in law of Sarah, who recently died after only several months of widowhood from her husband John. Turns out, she's a worker's comp defense lawyer in Broward, and uses my friend Jim as her main mediator.

I need to get her contact information -- I am on the lookout for your friends Mike and Sari's quest to join the Pinecrest area as young parents. Having them 4 houses away would be awesome!

Ah -- Miami Geography...

Dadber (Betsy Version)

 Years ago, I politely gave up driving people to, or picking them up from, the airport, on account of I never ask anyone to do it for me and it's just easier to use Uber. The exception is those who share my DNA in some way.

Last night, D2 and Jonathan returned from Europe, and we've been dogsitting 95 lb Betsy. They live on South Beach, and told me not to bother, but I was, atypically for me, very awake and energized at 9 pm.

Saturday night, we returned from a great dinner at The Palm, and I went to sleep, waking at 230 with my mind refusing to shut down. I popped a xanax, which almost always works, but at 330 I was still wide awake, dealing with the minutia of my life. So I took another half, and it did the trick. Boy -- did it! I slept until 1130 am, a feat I don't think I accomplished since I was in my 20s!

And then, since it was hot as hell outside and I saw no good reason to leave the house, I napped from 3-430 as "Mayday -- Air Disaster" played on TV. For reasons probably related to my strangeness, it's my favorite show to fall asleep to -- maybe it's the slow, ominous music they play as the FAA investigators find the bad screw that caused the heavy jet to fall...

Anyway, I was alert and energized as I tracked in the TAP plane to MIA, and I texted the young-uns that I was coming to fetch them, and return their bear-like dog. TAP docks at a sleepy part of MIA, if there is such a thing, and they flew through Customs and got their bags in record time. Betsy and I didn't even have time to park at Latin Cafe, my waiting area, when D2 called that they were ready for pickup.

I really like driving in Miami when there's no traffic, which is just about never. As I made my way up the Palmetto, old friend "Uncle" Lou called from Philly -- Paul told him we booked a trip there in late September. The Canes play at Temple, not much of a game, but Paul's birthday is then, and my nephew of another brother Scott and his lady (I think maybe now fiancee but I await official word on that) plan to attend. So Paul and I decided to host a cocktail party in Central City, and make it a lovely weekend. Lou is very happy, though he declined my offer to attend the game -- he's no longer able to navigate stadium steps.

Anyway, I fetched the curbside millennials, and heard all about their trip. They loved it, of course -- Italy and Spain. The only subpar portion was the trip home on TAP -- an old plane with no WiFi -- a contrast to the better service AA gave on the way there. But that's ok.

I dropped them off on Miami Beach, and Betsy was in no way happy about exiting the SUV. She prefers Pinecrest, with our big yard she has access to all the time since she learned how to open the doors. But she was back with her parents -- and will be returning in a few weeks anyway. When Wifey goes off to the anti-semitic wedding, D2 is coming to stay for a few days while her man is in Arizona for a bachelor weekend -- hopefully one of the last ones for his cohort. They've gotten old, as all these events do when you've attended scores of them.

I received 5 Stars from my passengers, so DadBer keeps on trucking. My other unpaid job, distributing D1's frozen milk, which I call Leche Dave, is on hold -- D1 needs to follow up with her latest customer and arrange a visit. Our garage freezer is literally bursting at the door with this product.

Today we're meeting Joelle and Kenny to see "Oppenheimer" in South Miami -- the theater where Tom Cruise showed up a few weeks back to thank fans of his latest "Mission Impossible." Maybe a physicist or two will make an appearance today. We can only wish...

Efficient Germans

 As I age, I've become more OCD about some things -- and finances are one of them. I love giving away money, and treating my family and friends generously, but I can't stand WASTING money.

This am I got an email from Chase saying that our account was debited for $1400 and change, on a "returned item." Hmmm.... I checked the transaction history going back several months -- sure enough -- no deposits for that amount. Was it a fraudulent debit?

I called the Chase number, and was placed with a succession of folks whose accents Wifey would NOT have understood.  Each told me I was in the wrong department -- after holds of about 10 minutes.

Finally, I got a fellow who said he COULD help. He told me right away that the item was a remote deposit (I make those from my phone all the time) from a YEAR AGO. What? As he continued his research, I expanded my search of the transactions -- sure enough, there was a deposit on August 4 of last year -- a check from the German government.

When the fellow came back on, I told him problem solved -- I knew what it was, but was it Chase's policy to simply believe a payor without contacting the payee? No -- but they did here, he said. They first heard from the German government in May, asked them for more backup, and just got it.

Damned Huns were correct!

My late suegra got monthly payments from Germany on account of the Nazis killed most of her family and made her a slave laborer. The payments were about $1400 per month. And now I recall what happened: she died on June 22, and the payment came in July 1. What the hell, I told Wifey -- the least they could do is make one extra payment -- they got away with her not dying 9 days later anyway -- then they'd have owed for July.

The truth is, many Survivor's families DO abuse the program -- collecting checks for decades after the Survivors die. I wouldn't dream of that, but figured one extra check wouldn't hurt -- and so we deposited it into the checking account.

Sure enough -- they realized they made the extra payment -- since Rachel died 9 days "early." Nazi bastards!

I guess these days, with so much data collection, it's not surprising. Our business with the Germans is now completed -- the helpful Chase fellow said we would be getting a letter of explanation from the German government explaining. Hopefully I'll be sober when it arrives and don't reply with Mel Brooks-like sarcasm. They have plenty of problems there anyway -- bet they wished they persecuted someone other than the Jews, in hindsight...

Meanwhile, I got a delightful call from my old friend Todd today. He lives in Colorado, and used to do work for my old boss Ed R. We swapped some classic Ed tales, and caught up on our families doings.

I told him he ALMOST got a call from me about meeting in Denver, where he lives -- I was going to be passing through there for a wedding, but I got disinvited, on account of my loutish behavior towards the mother of the bride. He laughed louder than I ever heard -- he just THOUGHT he knew me, I guess.

But as usual, he nailed the issue with our man's passing -- sometimes you hear about the death of someone from your past and just get along with your day -- but Ed was truly larger than life, and his passing demands more reflection.

I told Todd Paul and I would do that tonight at the Palm. He wished he could be along.

But Saturday OCD issue was solved -- thanks to the helpful phone agent at Chase. Ha. F-ing Germans. They got the last laugh.

RIP, Ed, A True Man in Full

 So it was September of 1988, and I was working away happily as a drone at an insurance defense firm in the Grove. Wifey was pregnant with D1, and we were preparing for the birth, as well as what was to be a 3 month loss of Wifey's income as a flower sales rep. She was making $50K a year, and my salary was $36K, but three months with just my salary was going to be doable. As it turned out, the three month sabbatical lasted decades, other than a part time gig in the late 90s to early aughts.

I got a call from my mentor Ed, my dear friend Mike's Dad. Ed was the top appellate lawyer in town, for PI work, and said "There's a seat open at Ed R's office -- I think you ought to take it."

I knew who Ed R was. He was a wildly successful lawyer. I had gone to law school with his daughter Randy, who worked at the firm doing probate and guardianship work related to the PI claims. Ed was ironically called "Mr. Nice" since he was such a badass MF to litigate with.

I met with Ed, and his minority partner Frank, as well as the senior associate, Paul. I've toldl the tale often of my initial reluctance to leave the stability of where I was, even for a nice salary increase, but the absurd haughtiness of my senior partner, who I'll call Cal David, since that's his name, proved too much for my already keen bullshit meter, and I made the jump. Later, Cal would join a firm in Lauderdale and then be disbarred.

I fit in right away. Paul became a big brother, Ed a father figure, and Frank sort of in between. We lunched together daily, and socialized often. And Ed -- well -- he was the closest real person to Jay Gatsby I ever met.

He was a Brooklyn kid relocated to Miami Beach and a Korean vet who went to UM on the GI bill. He opened a firm with an early devotee of marijuana, but with sheer brilliance, moxie, and force of will, built an amazing practice of huge cases. He was fearless. He was one of the true geniuses in Law I ever met.

I always remember the time Bill S, who referred many Mexican nationals to the firm, brought in a poor worker who was in a wheelchair. The fellow had been working on a roof of a house in Doral, picked up a piece of plywood, which acted as a sail when the wind gusted, and pulled the hapless fellow to the ground. I saw it as a clear Worker's Comp case, but Ed decided it was more -- the builder, a major corporation, should have had netting up to protect workers.

This was Ed's standard of care, not Florida Law's, but with sheer force of will, and putting the fear of an eight figure verdict into the mind of defense counsel, we settled for seven figures. I was amazed. Ed said simply: "David -- I create castles in the sky. When the defense lawyer argues with me about the color of the drapes, I know I have him."

It was one of many lessons I never forgot.

Ed was also a world class hunter and fisherman. Luckily, I avoided having to go hunting with him, but did go on his yacht many times -- fishing locally and the Bahamas. Paul, who used to have to tag along, was happy I replaced him in that regard -- he was no fan of fishing at all.

Ed also had planes -- an Aztec, later a King Air, and finally a Lear. I came pretty close to death in the King Air, on a routine flight to Tampa, and it taught me that when I actually DID face death (Ed's friend and experienced pilot Bill, who had been in actual crashes, said later it was the closest he had come to dying, too), a calm came over me, so that I needn't fear death again.

Once, during one of the many absurdly expensive meals Ed paid for, Paul asked how he could afford to always order the finest food and best wine. Ed replied: "You can't afford NOT to."

He lived big, based upon, as Fitzgerald wrote, his own Platonic creation of himself. And I learned to truly savor the good life from him -- to this day, flying Business, and eating well.

His long time secretary Dolores called today, to share the news that Ed had died. He actually passed on July 21, but the Herald obit was coming out today, and Dolores knew I was a reader of them, and felt I should hear from a fellow friend, instead of the paper. I appreciated it.

Paul had a long chat with Ed probably 5 years ago. I think we last spoke over a decade ago.

In 2002, after Wifey and I moved into our huge ass house, Paul and I hosted a party for Ed, his family, and some close mutual friends. We had just settled a big burn case together, and Paul and I were feeling in the chips as the saying goes.

I had a glass trophy made, that said "Ed -- thanks for the life lessons and memories." I hope he kept it.

Ed wasn't charitable -- except to his family. His views were more Darwinian -- society benefits when only the strongest survive and advance -- let the losers lose. Paul and I disagreed with him on this point. I remember once Paul asked why he didn't establish a scholarship at UM Law -- to help a poor kid like he was in the 50s when he attended there. Ed laughed -- nah -- if he could do it, so could anyone. Scholarships would only help the weak.

Still -- he was, like Tom Wolfe wrote, a man in full. He invented the concept of the bucket list, and it was a deep one. He flew on the Concorde, and returned on the QE II. Was had been, like the Johnny Cash song, "Everywhere, man." And he did it all first class.

Tomorrow night, Paul and I are taking Wifey and Patricia to The Palm -- a restaurant Ed approved of.

We shall toast the man and his memories and lessons. Paul clerked for him starting in 1973, and so worked for him over 20 years. They were closer than Ed and I were -- and I can tell this is a death that will affect Paul greatly.

Still -- bravo, Boss, for a life well and fully lived. May your memory be a blessing.

Welcome Back, Vince!

 So Stu lost his young associate last month -- the fellow decided to open his own firm, and moved up to Broward, with long term plans to relocate to Boca. Stu needs help, and decided to reach out to Vince, an old partner.

I adore the guy. Crazy Joel brought him in after his Judge sister Dawn sang his praises as a tough, smart, Assistant State Attorney. Vince handled criminal cases, and learned civil as well. Over time, he worked more and more with Stu.

Vince is Irish, from Orange County, LA. His parents, though, were LI folks like me -- Dad relocated to the Left Coast for his job with a record company. Vince went to USC, and then lived in Atlanta for awhile, before coming here for UM Law. He is unfailingly honest, and indeed very sharp. He's also fearless about going to Court -- a tool a plaintiff's firm needs to get the best results.

Right when Covid started, Vince left for a firm in Deerfield -- they offered him a nice salary and a share of the fee profits. He's spent the last 3.5 years honing his civil chops -- trying cases and mostly winning.

Stu offered him something the firm that desperately wanted to keep him would not -- a chance to take over the operation as Stu ages out. Vince took a pay cut and came back to Brickell. And yesterday Paul and I took Stu and Vince to lunch at Trulucks, our old unofficial clubhouse.

It was delightful. We had years of memories to re-live. Vince isn't an "I told you so" guy, but he always did have great mistrust of the man we came to call Fredo. Joel did, too -- the guy just always seemed furtive about his practice, and would lock his office door at night -- the only one of our group who did.

Vince is 45 and I think, a lifelong bachelor. He has many close nephews and nieces from his big Irish family, and dates a Russian beauty who visits often. Years ago, I fixed him up with a more mainstream lady --a friend of D1's. He was a perfect gentleman, but knew he wasn't looking to settle down. I applaud his self awareness -- and the schadenfreude a single guy gets from hearing the many tales of marital woe.

We also toasted to the future. Vince will kick ass, no doubt, and Stu can comfortably assume his role of maitr'd, as Paul noted. It should be nice times ahead.

After lunch, Paul and I walked into our old building -- 777 -- our office address for the golden age of our firm. The Brazilian Brothers, who bought the building from SunTrust, finally renovated the lobby -- but it is eerily empty. The old safe deposit corner is now a company called "Private Vault," and we chatted up the lovely Latina who was standing in front of it. She explained that to become a customer, and use their safe deposit boxes, you had to go through a rigorous screening process that included "not being a wanted fugitive." She said that in all seriousness. I love Miami.

We tried to get up to the 4th floor, but new elevators require a security pass, and we didn't want to freak out the nice young security guard. But we sure did have memories of good times and riches and sonofabitches there, as Buffet sang.

So here's to the return of the semi-native! May Vince soar again here in the 305. He has condos in the Gables which he rents out, and lives in Hollywood. Looking around at the fauna on our way to Trulucks, he realized he may need a place on Brickell, too. I KNEW he was a smart guy.

A Martini Colder Than My Ex Wife's Heart

 My Dad barely drank -- maybe a beer with dinner, occasionally, was it. I never saw him drink a cocktail. My Mom barely drank most of her life, either. When she got drunk eating rum soaked fruit from a punch in the Bahamas, during a business trip with Dad, it was memorable for me. Later in life, she got into vodka to help her sleep, and overdid it a bit, but then went dry again after a visit from my Cali sister videoed her.

I fell far from that tree -- I greatly enjoy several adult beverages. In college it was mostly beer, and the once in awhile grain alcohol punch at parties, and later, even before the Dude, I got into Kahlua during a trip to Mexico. In law school, my mentor Ed, Mike's Dad, introduced me to the vodka martini, which has been my drink since.

I rarely try a craft cocktail. I appreciate them, but always revert to my mean -- a freezing cold Ketel, or Stoli, or Stoli Elit, if I'm feeling like spoiling myself, do the trick.

Today's Times has a lovely story, about the retirement of the long time bartender at Sardi's. I was served by him a few times -- an evening of Ketel martinis, and a NY Strip, followed by "Book of Mormon" is my favorite Broadway experience. D2 was with me -- and we both laughed so hard we may have peed a bit.

Another all time bartender, though I only met him twice, is Marc at Gibson's Steakhouse in Chicago. The guy is out of working class Chicago Central Casting -- probably 6'3" and teller of great tales. The first time I met him and ordered my usual, he asked "You want I should make it as cold as my ex wife's heart?"

Fate and my deposition schedule had me back in Chicago the following year -- in April. Marc recognized me "Hey -- Dave from Miami - welcome back!" This time he seated me at a table where Frank sat, and regaled me with the tale of how Ole Blue Eyes saved Gibson's by his visits in the early 90s.

Locally, my man is Victor, at Trulucks, which is located where our office was, on Brickell, for many years. Victor is a lovely Peruano, and his favorite celebrity customer was Paul Newman. Back when the handsome guy raced cars, he was often in Homestead, and came all the time to the Benihana in South Miami. He and Victor would chat for hours -- Newman in shades and a ball cap -- no one recognized him. Man -- Wifey would have enjoyed being at the next barstool.

Sunday night, Mike, Chris, and I were at Anthony's Runway 84 in Lauderdale. It was a fine dinner, with a couple of martinis -- and then a trip to see John Fogerty at Hard Rock Live. I tried to get Chris to be a vodka martini drinker like his late grandpa -- but no dice -- he's a Manhattan man.

Fortunately I'm not an alcoholic, except in the eyes of one person, who has banned me from attending her daughter's wedding on account of she thinks I'd get drunk and "ruin the whole affair." Hey -- as the great Ricky Nelson sang -- you can't please everyone!

My friends find this hilarious. Serves me right, they figure, for a popular guy to be intensely disliked by at least someone! Barry keeps bringing up another example -- Stephanie in college. Stephanie lived on the first floor of our 3 story apartment, and when we would toss a football or baseball, and it would roll near Stephanie's window, she accused me of being a peeping Tom! I wasn't -- but the chick just couldn't stand me. Barry found this endlessly entertaining, and so I did, too.

But the groom in the wedding I'm missing also expressed some pretty obvious anti-semitism, even though his intended is full blown Jewess. So it's become a thing now -- "Hey Dave -- when is the anti-semitic wedding you're not invited to?" Yeah -- my friends can indeed be assholes. I love them.

So sooner than later I'll be raising a glass. I wonder -- had Dad lived longer, would I have turned him into more of a drinker? Probably not -- but my Mom DID have uncles who could tie a few on. I guess I carry on their tradition.