Thwarted!

 As a mostly retired lawyer, the every day chores grow in importance, and coupled with my OCD tendencies about completing tasks, I take them seriously.

There are anti-vaxxers. I am a pro-vaxxer, largely because my smart doctor friends always tell me about cases of people dying of completely preventable diseases. A new jab comes out -- I'm there! Conspiracy theorists think Big Pharma is out to kill us with vaccines, or use them to monitor our thoughts. I figure when the FDA gives approval, they're pretty safe, and when the CDC says to get jabbed, I'm first, or near first, in line.

The very same evening the FDA approved this year's Covid shots, I went online at Walgreens and booked an appointment for 9/6. Later, I CVS had earlier appointments, and I booked for flu and Covid for this am.

In my doc's office, Nurse Nancy offered me the flu shot, and Dr. Rigo thought why not -- get flu, and Covid a few days later -- so if I had any side effects, they could figure out the source. The flu shot caused a sore arm of 3 hours duration.

I also checked -- was I current on Tetanus? I was. And I learned I had gotten RSV last year -- and that's a one and done.

Anyway, I fed the Special Needs Spaniel this am, and also fed Betsy, the enormous Pyragold, who is bunking with us while D2 and Jonathan are in NYC. Then it was off to CVS.

I checked in with the lovely Heather, pharmacy tech, and she took my insurance card and said there was bad news. My Obama Care plan is a PPO, and my chosen pharmacy is Walgreens, not CVS. But last year I got the updated Covid at CVS. Heather said last year the Feds were still subsidizing it -- no more.

I could have it -- for $200. It was one of those tipping point moments -- for $25 I would have just paid, but $200 is a nice meal at Capitol Grille. Also, I knew I already had the Walgreens as a backup. 

Assuming the Plague spares me for the next week, I'll get my jab at Walgreens.

Meanwhile, Canes open tomorrow at UF, and I find myself more excited than I have been in years. First, Canes look to be good, but more importantly, I understand that watching games, either at home or at tailgates, is one of my favorite things to do.

Tomorrow Norman is hosting -- grilling  and drinking for Dr. Barry, Scott, Josh, and Norman's youngest Benjamin. Indeed a league of august gentlemen.

D1 is up in the air, like the great George Clooney movie. Last I checked, she was over NOLA and more than halfway to Austin.

D2 and Jonathan are in NYC -- Jonathan at the US Open with great seats provided by some banker friends. D2 begged off -- she shares my complete disinterest in tennis -- though maybe if she knew the sick seats available, she'd have gone.

Next Saturday is the Canes home opener -- against weak FAMU. If it's a night game, maybe Wifey will come along. If not, I have to find a date.

Either way, hopefully I'll be jabbed before going. Though immunity doesn't really maximize for a week, ain't nobody got time for Covid...

Old Man's (Watch This Space)

 So several weeks ago, I developed a very noticeable paresthesia in my right arm -- I kept thinking there was a spider web between my elbow and hand, but there was none. There was also some neck pain, and my hypochondriacal mind went right to ALS, or Lou Gehrig's Disease. After a week or so, I went to see Dr. Rigo, my affable family doc.

Nah, he explained, ALS starts at the extremities and goes inwards -- he was guessing pinched nerve in my neck, and maybe get a CT scan to make sure nothing else was going on. After a comical journey through the dysfunctional world of medical charging, where the Baptist Outpatient Center said they wanted $4K from me until I actually got it done at a free standing center for $150, the results came in. Indeed, I did have a "severe" narrowing of the opening in the spine where the C5-C6 nerves come out -- it totally explained my symptoms.

Dr. Rigo said I COULD see a neurosurgeon, but I already knew for me to get spine surgery, I would need to by totally dysfunctional, or at risk of paralysis. It seemed I was neither, and so instead went for PT. I guess I had about 15 sessions in all, and felt some relief, and then, like a Lourdes miracle, the symptoms completely disappeared. Zero pins and needles, and zero neck pain.

I labeled what I had OMN, or "Old Man Neck," since that's what it was. The aging had simply made stuff narrower and more brittle -- but thankfully the symptoms cleared.

And, since being old means there's always something, a new, annoying symptom appeared -- tinnitus. All of a sudden there was a low whine in both ears -- not enough to make me crazy, but noticeable.

I decided I knew the cause -- severe hypertension. My BP is right in range, which is surprising given my obesity. I figured it finally spiked, and was causing the ringing -- I would see Dr. Rigo and Nurse Nancy, the reading would be like 250/150, and they would call 911 lest I stroke out or suffer an MI in the office.

Again -- my files at the office tend to be among the thinnest, but when I feel a symptom, I go to the worst. Burping, a few years back? Must be pancreatic cancer. Turned out it was H. Pylori, which cleared up after a week of drugs. Headaches, which I thankfully rarely get? Glioblastoma, which I swear friend and neighbor Dr. Jose cured by having me get an MRI (which was way cool as I listened to Lou Reed while they did it).

High PSA? Stage 4 prostate cancer, even though the biopsy and later MRI showed was just enlarged prostate.

So this time it was going to be hypertension that did me in.

I saw Nurse Nancy today, and sure enough, she removed impacted wax the size of rivets. She did my BP -- barely above "normal," but per Dr. Rigo, reversible by weight loss. I've been cutting carbs for 2 weeks now...

I asked him about the new weight loss injectables. He said my A1C was too low to qualify, but an aggressive endocrinologist could get me past the hump. Why not just eat better, he suggested, and work out more? Turns out that causes weight loss, too.

Anyway, Nurse Nancy gave me a flu shot. I asked about tetanus -- nope -- I had one 5 years ago, so I can go step on as many rusty nails as I find.

Friday I get the new Covid over at CVS. Ain't nobody got time to get real sick from that no more.

And then I reached out to Gastro Health -- when was my last colonoscopy, done by now retired Dr. Neal? That's a sure sign of aging, too -- when docs near your own age are retiring.

Dr. Neal's replacement, Dr. Shah, wrote me back that it was time -- it had been 11 years. D1 and Wifey use Dr. Morgan, a friend of D1's, but she's at UHealth, and navigating that system is a bear -- I think I may just set it up with the affable Dr. Shah at Mercy and hope for the best.

The good news is that at a certain age, I believe near 80, no more scopes -- they figure you're as likely to die WITH colon diseases as from it. Something to look forward to...

But for now, as usual, I thanked the Big Man. Hopefully the tinnitus clears now that the rivets are removed -- Dr. Rigo said it may take a few days. If not, it's certainly tolerable -- and a reminder that, somehow, I'm not in my 30s, or 40s, or even 50s anymore.

First World Problem -- Of My Own Doing!

 So my consuegro Ricardo had a great side hustle -- car whisperer. For a fee, he did all the leg work of researching and either buying or leasing a car for you, and he was terrific. 

When D2 and Jonathan returned to Miami from their carless NYC sabbatical, I looked into prices on Jeep Grand Cherokees -- Ricardo saved them over $100 per month on a lease. He got ME thousands back from Lexus when I turned in my girlie sedan early, and has done wonders for all of us on car transactions.

I referred him my banker friend Carole, who buys a new Benz every 20 years. A model she desired was nowhere to be found, until Ricardo found one in Detroit, and had it delivered to Miami for less than Carole thought she'd pay.

Unfortunately, Ricardo no longer does the business -- except for close family. The dealers stopped giving prices over the phone, and it's not practical for him to have to drive all over to do his work.

Still, last April, he did us another solid. After getting D1 a great deal on a Tesla SUV, we decided to buy her 2 year old Lexus SUV for Wifey -- it had low miles, and was like new. Ricardo got the many accidented older SUV sold for far more than I thought it was worth, and handled the purchase from JM Lexus, the dealership he used to lease the vehicle. It went seamless, as usual, as D1 and I and Little Man visited the dealership to sign the paperwork, and Little Man had a blast -- locking himself in one of the floor model cars and drawing laughter from all the staff. We got him out.

Anyway, I wanted to thank Ricardo, as I did when he did my other deals. Last year I got him a $400 gift certificate to The Palm, which sounds like a lot, but it essentially pays for 3 people to eat and have drinks. He and Jacqui and youngest son Alan loved it.

So this time I did the same, and sent him the e card. They went Saturday night.

Yesterday I asked how it went -- they had a great meal, but reported the restaurant said the card had expired! Being polite folks, they simply paid and left. Had it been me, I would have left the card, invited the manager to call the police, and walked out.

Ricardo sent me a picture of the card, and I was furious. How could the Palm do this? What if I was a big lawyer who had sent clients for dinner, and they had to pay? I was ready for the First World, Rich White Guy fight of the year --and called the Gift Card company.

The woman said that the card number showed it was bought in 2023, and had already been used. She suggested I call my credit card company to show I had bought a card in April of this year. I did -- AMEX Platinum has great service. The West Indian accented agent confirmed that indeed I bought a $400 card in April of THIS year! A ha! I had them.

But then I figured it out -- I had sent Ricardo the OLD card! I am a tech moron. I messed up. I had met the enemy, and he was me!

I called the company back and reported the 2024 card as missing, as it was, since I had deleted all my old emails in an attempt to not overuse my storage. No problem -- she sent it right away.

I Zelled Ricardo the money. So he had the gift, and now I had another reason to visit The Palm. I am happy I don't have to boycott them. I have to boycott my own tech abilities -- even simple ones.

So issue solved. The War on the Palm never happened. And it reminded me of a famous Miami case from the 80s -- involving Cafe Chauveron, a very classy French place near where the Ds now live.

It was owned by a German American guy. Probably 90% of their clientele were well off Jews, including one doctor, who went nearly every Saturday night. One evening, the doc didn't show for his 8pm reservation, and at 9 Hans, I think the owner's name was, gave away Dr. Rabinowitz (making up that name) table. Hans said it would be a small wait -- he would accommodate his great customer.

Dr. R, or whatever, was livid. He stormed out, and called everyone he knew -- telling them that Hans had yelled anti-semitic remarks to him, like "Get your dirty Jew ass out of here -- I don't need your dirty Jew money!"

Problem was, Hans never said any such thing, and the rich doc told all his friends. Within a month, the restaurant closed. Hans sued the doc for slander, and won -- big. I recall reading about the case in the late 80s. Serves the jerk doctor right.

Now -- I wouldn't have pulled THAT silliness with the Palm, but I would have told everyone if they had cheated my consuegros and me. Turns out they didn't -- I had sent my family with, essentially, counterfeit money!

Next time, I'll order an actual plastic card...

Great News From An Old Friend

 I met John in Kindergarten in Levittown, and we've remained friends since. I still remember, as does he, putting together a play for our second grade class in which we simulated a moon landing. For Long Island boys of that era, life was the NY Mets and astronauts.

John's one of 5 in his Irish Catholic family. His Dad was the principal of a prestigious school, and I believe his Mom had a college degree, too, kind of rare among my friends' parents. His house always had a quiet to it, as they were readers.

Alas, John underachieved very well in high school, and so started out at community college. But then he hit his academic stride, and went to Georgetown and UNC, earning BS and Masters degrees. He was working for a think tank when the Company recruited him. The Company being, of course, the CIA.

He listed me as a reference for his Top Security clearance. I remember getting a call and meeting with an FBI Special Agent, and as I had promised John, I kept my humor under wraps, never once "mistakenly" referring to him as "Comrade John."

Things got comical when they had to check out MY story, and appeared in black suits and aviator sunglasses, scaring Wifey when they had to confirm that the Miami lawyer who vouched for John was indeed who he said he was.

John met and married Barbara, who worked for an NGO. Wifey, the Ds and I met them in D.C. in, I think, around 1995. D2 was in her wild stage, and was an awful guest at dinner -- a Planet Hollywood, I think. We joke that she's the reason John and Barbara decided to not have children. It IS a joke. I think.

Anyway, we lost touch for a few years, and then one night, as I was driving home from a concert in Coral Gables, my phone rang. I think it was around 2004 or so. It was John, who I had last remembered was working on the "FSU Account." The Company calls different parts of the world "accounts." Man, Dulles was a weird dude.

I had joked with John that I hardly thought that a second rate state school in Florida needed CIA analysis. But I learned that "FSU" in the trade stood for "Former Soviet Union."

Well, John had switched, and had become an Iraq expert. So when I asked what he had been up to, he said, as a fellow wise ass Levittowner, "Oh not much. I was just involved in the capture and interrogation of Saddam Hussein."

WHAT???!!! My friend Kenny's gig as a flight surgeon on the Saratoga had been the only really cool thing any of my MacArthur High classmates had done. But now John added to that class.

A few years later, John left the Company and wrote a book, which became a best seller, called "Debriefing the President." In the forward, he gave a shout out to me and some Canes fans who had traveled to D.C. for the Canes opener at Maryland. I took us all out to a Capital Grille, and John regaled us with tales of Baghdad during the war, and it got us a mention in the forward.

We've kept in contact since that dinner, and there was interest in making the book a movie. We joked that hopefully Bradd Pitt would play John -- his lookalike, though John is taller.

In the mean time, Barbara was diagnosed with MS, and has had a rough slog. She now lives in an ALF, and John visits her every day.

When we flew up to D.C. for my nephew Scott's wedding proposal surprise, John met us for breakfast. Now it appeared that there wouldn't be a movie, but hopefully a series instead. The actor Joel Kinnamon had great interest, in both starring and producing.

Well, tonight John called with the amazing news: indeed TNT was going to feature his book as their first series, a two parter, since they became part of Warner Bros. If all goes as planned, filming will start in January.

We spoke for awhile, about our lives. There's an upcoming 45th high school reunion -- I have a wedding conflict in LA and so am out, and John is thinking about going -- he's never been to one and realizes this may be a final chance. We laughed about many of the clowns we knew in Levittown, and some of our Kramer-like friends, bachelors who still live in the original houses, having inherited them from long gone parents.

And afterwards I realized something. I was high. It occurred to me that after the well being of my family, nothing makes me happier than when my friends soar. Here's a fellow who served us all, and taught us all the true meaning of the entire Iraqi War, and now is being recognized and paid for it.

I also realized how proud I was.

A dear friend tells me that she can deal with it when people despise her. But if someone is jealous of her -- that's the most toxic -- it leads to the evil eye.

I agree. I'm never jealous of anyone. I admire those who have done better in life, whatever that means.

And I truly kvell when I hear news like tonight's. A kid from Kindergarten having his best selling book become a big series? Now that's something!

The show is due out next Fall. Maybe I'll get John to come to Miami for a watch party. I think the last time he was here was 1979 -- he and Rita, who was our friend Mark's girlfriend, flew into MIA and I fetched them, and they spent the night crammed in my tiny dorm room. The next day I drove them to the bus station for a trip to Key West, where Mark was studying at Florida Keys College. Man -- four and a half decades have passed.

But for now, Bravo John! I knew you when...

The 'Vid Still Hanging Around

 Man -- basta!, as they say in Miami. Enough! Alas, with Covid-19, it's not to be. Certainly the dread and fear of it's first year is gone -- we had a newborn grandson and I lost 50 lbs literally walking 10 miles per day and eating little, out of the fear we might perish. That dread ended, and I gained back the weight, and now walk 3 miles most days...

So D2 was the first to be stricken in our family -- last Tuesday, sick as hell. She went over to Urgent Care and fortunately had clear lungs on X ray, but Covid19. No paxlovid, since she's young and strong, but 4 days of "the sickest I've ever been." Jonathan was a little congested but tested negative until he didn't - 4 days later. Fortunately he feels fine but congested.

D1 felt off and tested -- negative -- again, until it wasn't. She tested positive the other day, but luckily had only mild symptoms. Joey, Wifey, and I were spared -- I tested on Friday since I had a test kit that was expiring soon, and figured I'd at least toss it used. Thankfully, negative.

Since I'm probably as pro-vaxx as any anti -vaxxer is anti, I checked daily for the news that the updated jab was available. That happened Thursday, and I went on the Walgreen's site and got an appointment 9/6. CVS had one the week earlier, and so Friday am, assuming I remain disease-free, I plan to get my updated jab along with seasonal flu. I'll probably get RSV and the new Pneumonia jabs later, too, on account of being as old as fuh and rather, well, not thin.

I urged Wifey to get her jabs, too, and hopefully she finds the tool she often misplaces that is essential to accomplishing tasks: the round 'tuitt.

Meanwhile, yesterday I fetched Little Man and took him to a Grandpa lunch, after a grandpa breakfast with Mike and Chris and the amazingly chill baby Teddy. I told Chris he and Rachel picked the best model from the baby store at South Miami Hospital.

D1 was the same as a baby -- chill all the time, and completely portable. Wifey and I even took her to Bern's Steakhouse in Tampa when she was one when I turned a business trip into one that included Busch Gardens -- wow -- back in 1989.

Little Man was a delight -- he ordered his favorite -- bagel and Nova with creamcheese, and I prepared it with perfectly spread cheese and fish. The busman, an affable Black fellow, watched in amazement as the 4.75 year old "killed the whole thing." Not only that, there was room for a rugelah the waitress brought for free -- she enjoyed watching him, too.

Her granddaughter was there -- Big Apple Deli in North Miami is a friendly place -- and the waitress brought the 5 year old Elianna over to meet Little Man. He is NEVER shy, but hid behind me and peeked around at her -- and she did the same with her abuela. D1 says a strikingly beautiful woman can have that effect. All I know is, the cute quotient was extremely high.

I dropped the Little Man at home, and drove home for a college football nap -- waking just as Ga Tech kicked the winning FG to upset the 'Noles in Ireland. To my homies' dismay, I LIKE the Noles, so long as we don't play them, but the result wasn't one to wreck my mood this week..

Canes open up at UF next Saturday, and in total confirmation of being old as fuh, had zero desire to travel to The Swamp for the game -- 3:30 pm in late August Gville didn't appeal at all. Back in the day, I'd have been there, as would all of my aforementioned crew.

Norman is hosting a BBQ --- and my nephew of another mister Scott is coming from D.C. just to watch the game with us. I'm assuming brother Josh will be along, too, as well as 1/3 of Norman's fine son squad.

Wifey has begged off -- Allison is due back after a LONG delay, on account of getting a full time job, to finally finish off our front porch with furniture placements and such.

All of these plans assume we stay 'vid free.

I guess like the flu, it's here to stay, and we cool, so long as it stays annoying and not fatal. Then again, I saw a T shirt that said "What Virus Doesn't Kill You Mutates Until It Does." Hopefully that's not the case.

August 24, 1992

 I tell the tale every year, which all religions do about epic events, lest the believers forget. And 32 years ago this am, I was emerging from our destroyed house ("mistroyed as 3 year old D1 later called it) because of a certain Cat 5 tropical cyclone commonly known as Hurricane Andrew.

As the ceilings all throughout the house filled with water and collapsed, and a glass atrium separating our living and master bedrooms imploded and shattered, I led the family to my car, a 1992 Mitsubishi Diamante, parked in the garage. The garage was on the NW corner of the house, furthest from the incoming winds, and sure enough, the garage ceiling held. I figured if it didn't, at least we'd have the metal car roof to hopefully protect us.

Wifey was in the passenger seat, and my 72 year old Mom, known to us by then as Grandma Sunny, was in the back. D1 was there, and Wifey nursed 6 month old D2 to keep her calm. We had left Midnight, the 95 lb Lab, and his sidekick Alfred, the 20 something lb Spaniel, outside the car, and both said "Ah HELL NO!" and comically jumped inside with us. I recall both making the high jump, but probably just Midnight did, and then we scooped up Alfred, too...

We watched Bryan Norcross on the tiny battery powered TV, and indeed he was the voice that got us through -- explaining what was coming to each part of South Dade, and when it would finally subside. Years later, I ran into him at a Canes game in Tally (he's an FSU alum, which back in the day seemed to be the most gay friendly of Florida colleges), and shook his hand and thanked him. I was one of many thousands who did the same.

Anyway, at sunrise I emerged to find a street that was truly  Hiroshima-like, and after setting up Wifey, Sunny, and the girls in the least flooded part of the house, got on my bike to ride the 1.5 miles or so up SW 107th Avenue, to check on my suegros. I dodged sparking electric lines, and trees down everywhere, and found them huddled in a closet. Their well built 1950s era house had minimal damage -- one broken window and missing asphalt roof shingles, and they were fine. I told them I would be returning soon, to pack a bag, as we would be decamping to my Mom's in Delray for the night.

I somehow drove the Mitsubishi back, and we caravanned up to Delray -- amazingly the State had cleared the Turnpike pretty quickly of all the debris, and once we were in North Dade, it was smooth sailing.

We spent a night or two there, and Wifey's friend Linda, in still one of the best acts of kindness to us ever, called -- she had run down to the rental office of her Brickell Key apartment and secured us a unit -- 2 or 3 were available. We moved there in a few days, and stayed until the end of 1992 -- it's where D2 took her first steps which immediately turned into running, and the hundreds of near death experiences each day.

My in laws went back to their electric free house and did quite well for a month or so -- they had survived Nazi concentration and labor camps -- a decent house without AC was a can o corn for them.

A long slog followed -- I was working more than full time at my the firm I was at before Paul and I started this firm 2 years after, and Wifey would drop D1 at preschool and schlep D2 to all the appointments associated with rebuilding our house -- we didn't move back until Spring of 1994.

But looking back, 1992 was an amazing year. Sure -- we lost the house and most of our possessions -- but thanks to the liberal property insurance claims processing of those days, that turned out to be "St Andrew," as our fellow well insured victims called the storm's aftermath.

Earlier in the year, of course, D2 joined the band, and we sort of dig her even 32 years later. She was the tougher toddler, and angsty teenager, at least to Wifey, but also the family's only Phi Beta Kappa, married to a man who has become our son, and amazing dog mom -- hopefully to become human Mom someday, too.

Professionally, I made my first big money, on a tragic lighter case I brought in.

So on balance, 1992 was no annus horribilis, as the Brits using Latin call it. The storm was horrible, but the rest of the year -- not horribilis at all.

Hopefully Andrew was the last Cat 5 we see. And if not, well, as Gloria Gaynor sang, we will survive.

Four And A Half Decades Gone By

 So my college friend Jean, who waited until the last possible seconds on her biological clock to have kids, is moving her daughter into UM this week. She posted pictures of unloading stuff in the rain -- she had to drive all the way from Weston, where she lives.

At the same time, Miami New Times had an article about the new, luxurious freshman dorm, Centennial Village, so named because UM celebrates its 100 year anniversary in 2025. They've just finished demolishing MY freshman dorm, then called the 1968 Complex, on account of it opened in 1968. When I moved in, it seemed far older than 11 years -- prison like, co-ed by floor, with prison-like central bathrooms.

Later on, they turned it into a "Residential College," where a faculty member and his or her family lived there, hosting cool events. Two of my favorite professors, Steve and Ross, were "Masters" early on. Steve is retired now in the D.C. area, and Ross is mostly retired after serving as Provost of SMU.

Of course, the news drew me down Memory Lane, a street quite boring to all except those who traveled it together. Poor Wifey has to endure it all the time -- most recently last Friday as Barry and I drank together on Zoom and told stories hilarious to us.

I met Barry in the Honors Dorm, a WW II era apartment building much nicer than 1968. I moved there in the Spring of '80, when someone dropped out of the Honors Program, which meant no living in Building 22. Barry had a similar experience -- he started in 1968, too, with an roommate I think was nicknamed Sharkey, with a state of the art stereo who told Barry he was allowed to only touch two knobs: off/on and volume. I think "Spinal Tap" used Sharkey as an inspiration years later, when the character told the narrator, about his special guitar: "Don't even LOOK at that one."

But back to 1968. My roommate was a small, dark fellow who was very shy, and foreign. Me, Mr. Welcoming Committee even then, thrust out my hand and said "Hey roomie, I'm Dave, from Long Island!" He shook my hand and said he was from Pakistan -- Karachi, specifically. I asked his name and I swore I heard "I'm Jed." Ok, cool -- he took his American nickname from "The Beverly Hillbillies," but whatever.

I said "Hey Jed!" and set about introducing him to the guys I had already met. Three Trinidadians, one Black, one Chinese, and one Indian: Gary, Fred, and Ved. I learned quickly that Trinidad was diverse, and in the case of at least the Chinese guy, anti semitic, too -- but that's a whole different story.

There was Peter, a Queens Irish guy who wanted to be the next Pete Breslin ("We have the same name!"), and the Daves, one Jewish guy from Shaker Heights, and the other a country boy from rural North Carolina. There was Chris Evert (his real name) a tall, blonde beach bum looking guy from Lauderdale, who was quickly expelled after trying to bring his Harley to the 11th floor via a pulley system he designed and built (he was an engineering major).

There was Bill, a VERY nice nerdy Jewish guy from Miami Beach who was a senior, and never wanted to move to a different dorm and ended up in med school. There was another Dave, from PA, and Timmy, another Irish guy from Pittsburgh, who flew home for every Steelers home game, via his rich Dad.

There was Kevin, whose Dad owned an oil distributer in New Hampshire, and who early on fell asleep drunk with his hard contacts in and woke up blind, which he yelled as he maniacally ran down the hallway, banging into the walls. I had a car and drove him to South Miami Hospital -- just scratched corneas, and his sight returned.

Another guy nicknamed Bo, from Philly, who only lasted 3 months before missing his dealer in Philly, and transferring to Temple.

There were more, of course, but those come to memory. And the point is, to each I said "Hey -- this is my roomie, Jed -- he's from Pakistan!"

I swear it was late September, 1.5 months into the semester, when Jed said we needed to talk. He was so quiet and polite. "Um, David," he said in his subcontinent accent, "you are so friendly and nice, and I appreciate how you introduce me to everyone, but I must tell you, my name is AHMJED, not Jed."

What? How was that possible? He explained when I asked his name he replied "Ahmjed," but I heard "I'm Jed." Holy Allah -- why didn't you tell me earlier? "I felt bad, and kind of started to like the nickname Jed."

I felt awful, but he said it was cool. Right before break, I came home to find him crying on the phone -- his Uncle, a government official was assassinated in Islamabad. I tried to console him, but as a Muslim he didn't drink. Poor guy.

He was an electrical engineering major and transferred to Auburn -- apparently they had a better program. We remained pen pals for a few years, and lost touch. I tried to look him up, but Ahmjed Mohammed Khan is like John Smith over there. I wonder if he introduces himself as "Jed."

I grew up with little diversity, in white, ethnic, New York. The vast majority of my peers in Levittown and Wantagh were Italian, Irish, or Jewish. There was the occasional Protestant -- I remember one friend, Lee Ann, saying she was Episcopalian, and we all found that hilarious since her denomination had the sound "piss" in it. Yeah -- real cosmopolitan. 

But at UM, it was instant diversity, and I took to it. I learned there were particularly exotic creatures called Latin Jews. What??? Jews lived in the Northeast, Chicago, California, and South Florida. Colombia? Venezuela? Cuba? Get the F out of here!

Fate would hold that 45 years after learning of these black swans of the Hebrew world, to my naive self, at least, both of my Ds would marry them! And boy has that been an amazing blessing.

So four and a half decades ago, I was carrying my Pioneer receiver, turntable, and two speakers, and one suitcase, to my room. I let Jed, later Ahmjed, play whatever records he wanted -- I was no Sharkey! And he did -- his family sent him a few LPs of dudes singing in Arabic. Did my American friends and I play them when Ahmjed was away, and laugh our asses off? Maybe...

So here's to the new crop of Baby Canes -- may most, if not all of them, enjoy the U nearly as much as I did. And I will continue those strolls down that boring Memory Lane -- sorry, Wifey.

Capybaras and Monkey Pox

 So D1 signed us, or most of us, up for a Capybara Encounter at Jungle Island. I have never been to Jungle Island, which was the attraction given to the family who used to own Parrot Jungle in Pinecrest, before the neighbors decided they didn't want noise from the weddings, and so taxed us all to make it a Village park.

Jungle Island has a nice banquet hall, and the Ds have attended proms there, I believe, but somehow I have never been. But D1 knows I dig capybaras. Who doesn't? They're among the friendliest critters in the world -- essentially 50-100 lb guinea pigs. In a few weeks we take Little Man -- Baby Man is too young, apparently.

The best part is that we had to sign a liability waiver, in case the docile rodents go rogue, I guess. D1 signed it for all of us.

Coincidentally, today, two friends, Jeff and Norman, reported their kids just bought expensive books to begin law school studies -- Jeff's girl at Northwestern in Chicago and Norman's boy at New York Law in Oklahoma. Ha. In NY!

My witty friends and I started riffing on law books, and Barry got in his usual dig at lawyers, wondering if "there are enough bus benches for all the new lawyers." I said a law degree can be helpful, like when you have to read and analyze a waiver for capybara injury.

Barry asked if there was a rider for Monkey Pox. I read the Times article -- now they call it MPox. The outbreak is in the Congo, still primarily among gay men there. I will definitely avoid any "Gay Sex With Congolese Men" encounters. Capybaras are cuter, anyway.

I somehow got in my three miles walking this am, despite the heat and humidity. I realize I walked 10-12 miles per day during the early months of the pandemic -- out of boredom and anxiety that the plague was going to kill my family. At the same time, I ate a lot less -- also from the plague fears. I lost probably 50lbs.

Unfortunately, as I realized Covid would likely NOT kill my family, my college boy-like appetite returned, along with those 50 lbs. 

I DO move -- a lot -- days I don't work out with my trainer, I walk at least those three miles, but need to eat better. Maybe the herbivorous capybaras will influence me positively. I'll find out in a few weeks.

Closer in time, D1 bought tickets for Little Man to see a live action Paw Patrol show up at the Broward Theater. Wifey and D2 were there on Monday when D1 told him -- he reacted with pure glee -- he was really going to meet, live action, the characters he loves on his IPad?

D1 and Joey are going, along with the two abuelas, Wifey and Jacqui. D2 and I are pressed into babysitting for the Baby Man while they're gone. It should be a chill Saturday, and I need to remember to replenish Joey's vodka stash, as last week, during cocktail hour, I polished off the last of the Zhyr vodka arm I bought last year.

Summer slouches along, though tomorrow is FDOS in Miami Dade -- First Day of School. I used to love that day -- taking the Ds to Leewood Elementary, and meeting their teachers. FDOS is like Opening Day in baseball -- no one has screwed up yet, and even the dunces haven't dunced.

This is Little Man's last year of preschool -- next August comes kindergarten.

FaceBook (tm) came up with a memory today -- my Dad and I, on Long Island, in our kitchen. I think I was about Little Man's age -- maybe a tad older. Sunrise, sunset. I sure wish I had my Dad around much longer -- but he lives on in Little Man, whose middle name is after my Dad.

I wonder if my Dad ever saw a capybara. Likely not. So each generation learns more...

Warren's Wisdom

 I have long admired Warren Buffett, and not only for his investing prowess. He's such a cool, folksy guy, and the supplier of so much sage life advice.

He was long married, and also had a long term mistress. The three of them agreed divorce would be silly and costly and complicated -- so they all became friends, and the wife lived in a gorgeous Malibu Estate until she died. I think the mistress is still alive.

When my friends and I visited Omaha, where we stayed for a Canes/Huskers game, I made sure to visit Warren's fairly modest house. We also ate at The Drover, one of his favorite steak places. I asked the waitress if she served the Wizard, and she said all of the time. Was he a good tipper? The best, she assured us, which is classic Warren. He doesn't waste money on himself, but is VERY philanthropic and generous to others.

I'm pretty sure he drives daily to McDonalds for breakfast. I used to do that after my workouts, too, until the Ds put a stop to it, in hopes I might eat a bit healthier and stick around for grandparenting duties.

Anyway, today a short video of Warren somehow made its way to my FaceBook account. Actually, I know exactly how: the AI of FaceBook knows what I like, and sends me tons of Sopranos, Breaking Bad, Jewish stuff, and 70s rock and roll. I also get lots of Warren.

The video was of Warren lecturing to a group of students, and he gave them simple and sage advice: think of your 5 best friends, and write down the 5 things you admire most about them. Then think of the 5 people in your life you like the least, and write down the 5 things you like least about them.

Now you'll have 25 positive qualities, and 25 negative. All you need to do for a better life is to try to live more in the good 25, and avoid the bad 25. Splendidly simple and elegant advice.

I realized I've been doing this at least since high school. My Dad was my biggest hero, and I tried to be most like him -- putting family first, taking care of business to support us, and always being the "family psychiatrist," as he liked to say.

When I got to UM, I realized I brought with me a heavy Long Island accent, and I didn't like it. I met several Midwestern guys, and realized I wanted to sound more like them and less like the sweathogs I grew up with. And so I set about to do so.

Today, I don't sound Midwestern, but I do sound far less Long Island than I did in 1979. For that, I mostly thank the Marks -- two major stoners I lived with freshman year -- one from Cincinatti and one from New Castle, Indiana. The first became a radiologist in Broward, and the second disappeared to the winds. But I took qualities from them I liked.

Wifey and I had linner today, at Flanagans. After a marital pedicure, we walked to Flanagan's, where the only time there isn't a long wait is around 3, when we visited. We talked about toxic people.

Wifey had to endure toxicity from her beloved mother, who she loved, but was often very difficult. Still, Wifey fulfilled her duty to care for her, often coming home exhausted from her visits.

I told her some of the qualities I can't stand in the people I DON'T admire are negative attitudes, and the "I coulda been a contenda" explanation about why their lives turned out badly. I also can't abide envy.

Wifey reminded me I never was envious. When we bought our first tiny house, for $86K, we used to ride our bikes north of 124th Street, where there were houses probably worth $250K or so, on bigger lots, with larger living areas. We never said "Bastard rich people," but rather "Wow -- maybe someday we'll be able to afford a house like this."

I still feel this way. When the Ds visit amazing friends places on the Bay or ocean, I think -- wow -- how cool for those folks -- never "Why don't I have a place like that?"

My old friend Stuart used to love the quote that if Bill Gates woke up one day with Oprah's money, he'd have to jump out of a window -- how could he deal with being that poor -- a mere billionaire, maybe.

But back to Warren -- a man who is an expert of stock, precisely because he always TAKES stock -- of his life. Long may he run -- to 120 --as the Italians say.

Meanwhile, as I age, I need to do more of the same -- who to leave in, and who to leave out, or at least devote less mental real estate to.

It's simple wisdom.

By Any Other Name

 So our dear friends Mike and Loni's grandson had his Hebrew naming today. Typically it's done at the time of a bris, but the family decided they wanted the cuttin' done at the hospital, and so held a naming party a few months later.

Baby Theodore James is now, per the female Rabbi I never speak to, Shea Yacov.

Chris's suegros are very nice folks, with a beautiful house in North Pinecrest. Wifey thinks it's worth probably $5M, but then again, these days, everything is absurdly expensive round these parts.

We drove over and caught up with Jose and Vivi, old mutual friends of Mike and Loni's who handled D2 and Jonathan's closing. They asked how things were in Miami Shores, and we told them all was well.

I also got to caught up with Jeannine and Ray, Mike's sister and brother in law, who I really dig and get to see too infrequently. They live North of Orlando, and took the Brightline, which Ray, an engineer, helped to build. Ray's off now in Baltimore, on a cool tunnel project he told us about. We made plans to drink together in October in LA, at Amanda and Daniel's wedding -- along with D2 and Jonathan, who will be joining us.

Baby Theodore napped quietly in Chris's arms during the blessings -- turns out that not cutting a baby keeps him a lot happier. Rachel's grandfather, who is 82, spoke movingly. He had a bottle of RonRico rum, which he said HIS parents opened at HIS bris 82 years ago on Miami Beach. Though the rum has been replaced, the bottle remains, and as each generation of a boy comes along, toasts are shared. It was a beautiful ceremony -- from generation to generation.

The house was filled with light, both from the huge windows, and in the hearts of the attendees. Chris came by and we talked of a crucial thing -- the upcoming Canes and Dolphins seasons. Theodore is a 4th generation Cane!

We came home, and both Wifey and I napped, to some awful new Matt Damon/Casey Affleck movie, that was literally a sleep aid.

I suggested to Wifey that since we're kind of dressed up anyway, maybe we go to dinner tonight, instead of our usual Uber Eats in. She agreed.

My FaceBook and old actual friend Eric in Levittown posted a picture of some sauce he's making with his sister in law Rita's Dix Hills grown tomatoes. I am SO easily suggestible. I called one of our go-to places, Salvatore D's, and, alas, they are closed for vacation until August 15.

I decided to get creative. Where haven't we been, locally? I found Caffe Portofino, a mere few miles away. I told Wifey I would surprise her -- so we'll check it out. The reviews are all good, even with the extra "f" in the name.

So there's a new boy in the Tribe. The girl Rabbi, who for reasons Wifey and I can't place, ALWAYS ignores us as if we had insulted her, despite Wifey knowing her from the JCC years ago, read the name with Mom Rachel's Hebrew name, Nechama. Apparently there isn't a Hebrew name for "Christopher," which brought laughs from the multi denominational crowd.

It was a lovely day -- and may the Big Man bless and keep this beautiful boy. I have a feeling he'll be at tailgate parties sooner than later.

A Sloth Would Have Outrun Me Today

 So after a longer than average abridgement of my night's sleep, I fell back to slumber until after 9 am! For me, this is akin to sleeping until the afternoon. Wifey was up, on her phone, saying she was attempting to go back to sleep. Normally I would have dragged up, to let out the aging, Special Needs Spaniel, but today I made the ultimate request: would Wifey be the first downstairs? She was.

I got up soon after, and was, well, so tired. Tired like the Beatles White Album song. Dragging. Two cups of coffee didn't do much, and so I decided it would be a completely sloth-like day -- and had I raced said sloth, he would have handily won.

I played on the computer, checking finances and the news. I watched some TV. I took TWO naps -- one around noon, and the other later, as the US Basketball team was winning the Olympic Gold. 

Wifey was outside most of the day, cleaning up the prodigious number of branches that had fallen as the outer bands of pre Hurricane Debby passed by. Bo slept more than I did -- poor guy truly is an old man.

He only gets up when we force him to -- to go outside to pee and poop. But he happens to be, for that reason, a perfect nap companion.

I literally never went outside. Saturday's mail sits in the box -- nothing important, as I see online what will be delivered -- a USPS feature Wifey finds hilarious for my OCD nature. It can wait until tomorrow.

Wifey found a 1998 HBO movie she knew would drag me in -- Ray Liotta as Sinatra in "The Rat Pack." It was Eh -- I already knew the story well and in greater detail.

After that, Wifey looked for other movies -- she can watch them end to end, for hours straight. I can't -- and so I retired to the library for some WDNA jazz and more computer reading.

We fielded several adorable group photos from both Ds -- one hilarious one where D1 showed up at D2's house just as D2 was opening the front door and both Ds shrieked. D1's pup Lemon was being dropped off for the day as D1 and her men had plans -- and Lemon fit in very well with the enormous pup Betsy and Betsy's very large Retriever friend Bodie. 

Last evening was a delightful one. Wifey and I fetched Little Man from the Miami Beach JCC -- a facility that clearly has no business being in that very residential part of Pine Tree Drive. A heavily Hebrew accented guard has to keep the adjacent condo's driveways open as the carpool people wait -- he told me to "Push Back." I did -- fellow looked like he was former IDF.

We sat in the awful Miami Beach traffic as Little Man talked, until he passed out like someone threw a switch. When we arrived home, his neighbor friend Riley was waiting, and woke him -- there was fun to be had and Riley's birthday to celebrate.

Baby Man was adorable, and D2 and Betsy were there, and left when D1 and Joey returned from their 7 year anniversary stay cation. Jonathan stopped by, and Joey, Jonathan, and I had a drink, and then tried out Joey's new 4 hole putting green. I can see that feature being the scene of a lot of family fun going forward.

After some Mexican take in, Wifey drove us home, and I went to sleep one very cool, happy, Daddy in the USA.

I texted a note to my family as a Good Shabbos message: "We're all so fortunate -- don't let us, any of us, F it up." Not elegant language, but heartfelt.

Tomorrow we have a baby naming. Mike and Loni's grandson had his circumcision in the hospital, and their consuegros are hosting a get together for the naming. It's called for 11, and Wifey has already requested we "NOT GET THERE AT 11." I told her I would leave our house at 11 -- if she wished to go later, she could easily make the 10 minute drive on her own.

As I age, wisdom teaches me there are very few marital hills to die on -- and arrival times at parties, when one of us (me) is excited about seeing old friends while the other partner (Wifey) would rather not -- well -- sometimes you just go your own ways. We'll see.

But today -- well -- one of record laziness, and I enjoyed it. I don't wish to make this sloth a habit -- but once in awhile, it seems ok. Yawn...

I Should Have Known Better

 So last evening, Wifey and I were sitting and treated to a bit of family tensosity -- nothing serious, but enough that I felt I needed an adult beverage. I never like to drink alone, but made an exception -- pouring a nice Ketel and sitting on the sofa, where Wifey and I ordered Uber Eats from Carrot Express.

The tensosity was accentuated by a call from a friend whose adult daughter was giving her some kishkes eating as well -- of a far more serious type. I'm well aware that turning to alcohol to deal with things can be a bad idea -- but when I turn to Dionysus, she often treats me very kindly.

A text came in, not unlike many texts I get lately -- from one of Wifey's OLD friends. With rare exceptions, Wifey doesn't return her friends' texts or emails promptly, if at all. She has narrowed the roster of people she truly likes to deal with to a very small one -- as is her right.

But these women end up contacting ME -- sort of as a recording secretary. I dig that role as much as I enjoy unclogging toilets. I typically ignore the calls, but I was one tall Ketel in, and I thought it might be fun to "Surprise" Wifey by calling this friend -- she can be funny, and dramatic, though she gave up booze and drugs years ago, which makes her far less fun.

So I called her, and she cheerfully answered, and Wifey realized who it was. We were then treated to about 40 minutes of non stop talking all about her ailments, past activities as an "undiscovered" actress, etc...

I got in a few questions edgewise, asking about her husband and sons, and she told us, but the conversation quickly circled back to how those men relate to HER, and her situation. She repeatedly said she wanted to know all about our lives, but never truly did, but my now working well Ketel made the affair sort of entertaining.

The Uber Eats arrived, and I sent Wifey to fetch it. Luckily, the friend had to take a call but promised to call right back. And then Fate stepped in.

After we finished our wrap and turkey burger, I got a text -- from a woman we know, out knocking on doors for votes for re-election as Pinecrest Commissioner. Shannon and Skip are friends of Ken and Joelle -- they met when Skip repped them over a Chinese drywall case, and we've been out with them.

I asked if they'd like to come in for a cocktail. They were at the end of the night's canvass, and would love to. They did.

They're both Texas born and raised Cubans, and movie star good looking. They have a law practice together, and 3 grown kids. The girls go to UVA and Georgetown, I think, and the son graduated Oregon as a lacrosse player and will be starting FIU Law this Fall.

I poured Shannon a few Aperols and club soda, and Skip was a vodka martini man, like me. We talked of politics -- both staunch Democrats -- and about raising kids, and their son's upcoming legal education. They both went to SMU, where they met.

They stayed a solid hour, and it was delightful. I had my drinking buddies, and the talk was lively and timely -- I don't think any ailments were discussed -- just the future of our kids and country.

Shannon's going to coast to re-election it seems, but she did draw an opponent -- some 35 year old lawyer put up to the race by a MAGA Trump guy who encourages the removal of ANY Democrats -- even in the supposedly non partisan Village elections. 

I told Shannon she was smart to still work for the seat, unlike our former Congresswoman Donna Shalala, who lost a solid seat assuming she was so great and popular she didn't have to campaign. She lost to a Spanish language newswoman far dumber than Shalala, but who did the foot work by meeting constituents and going to Spanish language events. Shalala couldn't be bothered -- showing the hubris that has consequences -- like Ruth Bader Ginsberg staying on SCOTUS too long -- giving us Mary Coney Barrett.

We walked them to their car. The call backs and texts from Wifey's friend went unanswered -- Wifey will decide if she wishes to engage again.

I turned to a favorite post drinking activity -- playing DJ with our Sonos. I was in the mood for Joe Jackson and Elvis Costello last night. When I got up to go to bed around 1130, Wifey , without the Sonos App, said "But who will DJ now?" I left her with another 10 songs in the Sonos bullpen -- after that she could switch to TV.

So it turned out to be a fine Thursday night Happy Hour, and maybe I learned a lesson again: avoid talking to people who suck out your energy rather than replenish it. Life events have way of sucking out energy on their own -- one needn't look for more vacuums. I should have known better...

Miami Spice

 So August in Miami is not the most weather-friendly time of year, though so long as the hurricanes leave us alone -- we ok.

A few years ago, local restaurants decided to start Miami Spice, which is a program where they offer special reduced prices menus in August, and now September. Norman suggested Barry and I go with him to Perry's a steakhouse in the Gables, and last night we did.

You have to ask for the menu -- why would they voluntarily tell out of Miami people about the great deal? We say, and Barry noticed the table next to us had a fellow in his 70s with a very hot woman in her late 20s or early 30s. "Father and daughter," I noted right away, and we all three laughed, as the two acted in no way like a father and daughter, unless they were from, say, West Virginia.

So the deal was for $60, you get a salad or soup, entree, and three desserts. We decided to act like 3 gay guys and get the three offered desserts, cheese cake, a chocolate tower, and creme brulee. All were great. Barry had scallop pasta and a caesar salad, Norman had french onion soup, and Norman and I each had the 8 oz filet, wrapped in bacon and topped with crabmeat lumps. The food was delicious, and over cocktails we solved the problems of our families, and medical and legal systems. If only more people would listen to us!!!!

I'm the only grandparent. Norman has one married son, who is going back to law school in NYC at the end of the month. Barry's oldest is marrying in March in D.C. I hope both get to experience the exquisiteness of grandkids, too -- our two have been as great as advertised.

Speaking of which, D1 and Joey are celebrating their 7th anniversary early -- headed to a Miami Beach hotel tonight. D1, with military precision, has all camp pick ups and drop offs planned, and my consuegra Jacqui is spending the night.

Wifey and I are assigned pickup of Little Man at the Miami Beach JCC tomorrow. D1 and Joey will be home later, and we will celebrate shabbat together. Ought to be lovely.

We did make big plans last night. Our beloved Canes open the season at hated Gatorland on 8/31. Norman's going to grill and host -- should be a great game -- Canes are favored to win.

When football starts, it's a breath of fresh air -- sort of affirmation that the dog days of Summer are nearing a close. Of course, we've had plenty of hurricanes in September and October, but at least the end seems in sight.

In November D1 turns 36!!!! The following month her oldest turns 5. Man, that Father Time is a stealthy bastard.

I recall driving D1 and Wifey home from South Miami hospital with total clarity, and introducing the beautiful baby girl to Midnight and Alfred, our Black Lab and Cocker Spaniel. They both licked her head -- and sure enough, a life long love of dogs began. Same thing for D2 -- she sort of knew right away she was joining a human/canine pack.

Today Dan the Gate Man just left -- replaced a gate arm. He was apologetic, but it wasn't his fault. "Stupid Chinese made crap -- doesn't last like it used to." That's ok -- I'm just thankful we can afford home repairs.

Back in 1987, a $1200 bill would have freaked me out. These days -- not so much.

So August slouches on -- humid and hot -- but with Miami Spice a nice treat. Maybe Wifey and I will partake Saturday night -- on a just the two of us date -- like back in the day.

In-Surance

 Back before Hurricane Andrew, Homeowner's coverage was cheap and easy to get in South Florida. We had a mortgage then, which required the coverage, but I switched it so I paid it directly, so I was free to shop around. We had Prudential, and I think the premium was about $500 for the year.

Well, it was a good thing to have. Our house was totally "mistroyed" as D1 malapropped, and Prudential paid out a total of nearly $500K. Back then, claims were fast and loose. Paul still recalls being with me when the adjustor met me at the Bennigan's on US 1, after a brief drive-by, and handed me a check for nearly $200K. "Wow," Paul noted -- that's a big check of tax free money.

They also paid us retail for all of our furniture and crap, as I called the possessions -- turning knick knacks into, later on, tax free muni bonds and shares of Apple stock. As the final coup, they were paying us nearly $2k per month for loss of use, for the expensive, by 1992 standards, apartment we rented on Brickell Key.

I called the claims manager and proposed a deal -- we would close out that monthly claim for a lump sum of $15K, and the manager agreed. That was the money we used to buy my Suegros' house, where we lived until our much improved "mistroyed" house was finally ready to move home to -- in March of '94 -- some 19 months after the storm.

For many, from a financial standpoint, the storm came to be known as "St. Andrew," and we were one of those -- turning crap into real money, and ending up with no mortgage, a much improved, essentially new house, and a rental house that led to the meeting of Rabbi Yossi and Nechama. Pretty, pretty, pretty, cool.

Well, post Andrew, stuff changed. Claims were far more scrutinized. After Wilma, our neighbors Pat and Susan needed a new roof, which cost, at the time, like $80K. The insurer offered them $7500K, and they fought, using a public adjuster, for years, until finally getting paid.

And worse, it's far harder to GET coverage. Our fine GOP legislature and governor spend so much time on cultural stuff, like no abortion or "Saying Gay" or shutting down drag shows, they seem to not be bothered with the true crisis -- homeowner's insurance.

When we moved to Villa Wifey, we had Lloyds of London for general peril and liability, and Citizens for windstorm. Our combined premium was about $7500K. About 12 years ago, I found a local company called Frontline, which gave us AL coverage for about $10K. Also, Frontline had a great perk: each year you had them, they decreased your windstorm deductible 10%, so after 10 years, it was essentially no deductible.

Would Frontline actually pay claims if it got nailed in a big storm? Who knows? They weren't "registered," which meant that if they failed, the FIGA, or agency that covers failed Florida companies, would not pay up to $300K.

Still, I was happy to have the coverage, especially as neighbors started paying premiums of close to $50K for our absurdly valued houses. I kind of figured it wouldn't last. It didn't,

A few months ago, an inspector came by. I was nice to the young Texan, but knew he was essentially a death panel for me, to borrow the term for what Obama care was supposed to bring for older Americans.

Sure enough, I got an email yesterday -- since our roof was 27 years old, Frontline was dropping us -- they only insured houses with roofs 20 years old or less. Whomp.

I discussed roof replacement with the nice Andrew Palmer guy who was here a few months ago to fix a leak. He said I had probably 5 years left on this roof, and to replace it with either the existing clay tile or go to metal would cost about $150K.

Metal now costs the same as clay, on account of materials. I guess they ran out of the Latina women who used to bend the warm clay around their thighs to make the tile in the Caribbean. Really.

So I'll be going without windstorm coverage. I'm guessing a general peril and liability policy will cost about what I was paying. And truthfully, I'm far more concerned about liability than I am about fixing the house -- I can always sell the land and move if a Cat 5 or Cat 6, as they're talking about adding in this era of Climate Change, and move away. If Wifey or I kill or cripple someone by accident, well -- the damages can be devastating. And I need the underlying $300K coverage to keep in place my $6M in umbrella.

I spoke to Norman and Jeff -- they both only have the Fire and Liability coverage, too. Mike still has both -- he put in a new metal roof about 10 years ago, but his carrier constantly hassles him about whether his windows are truly "impact."

So it'll be adios, Frontline. Unless...

If a devastating storm hits before December, Frontline may in fact have to buy us a new roof. I'm sure I'd have to sue them for it, but I'd win. And then, they would renew us! At least in theory -- assuming they don't go bankrupt, which they probably would.

Yes -- insurance is a gamed industry. I'm just glad I won at it early -- in the 90s. Now it appears I'm leaving the table.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

 So my truncated bachelorhood continues. Friday night I met my sister of another mister Mirta at Titanic, and we did NOT sit at the bar, but rather the corner where we shared some fish, chips, and jambalaya.

Mirta doesn't drink, and I didn't either -- good to keep it to a few time a week at most. We caught up about good times and riches and son of a bitches -- mostly trying to figure out some of the bizarre people we've had associated with our law firm since Mirta joined in 1998.

We recounted the journey -- she was originally hired by our roommate Mark, a comically cheap guy, to be our receptionist, but Mark saw an opportunity -- he used Mirta for all manner of personal stuff. She became, essentially, the case manager for Mark's declining mother.

Paul and I happily paid half her salary nonetheless, and Mark would always be the one asking us to chip in for more and more bonuses. We did. Over time, Mirta started doing more extra-receptionist stuff for us, and Mark was not as happy about the bonuses. Oh well.

Eventually, Mirta became our full time employee, and we grew close as friends, especially the final 11 months of my Mom's life, when Mirta was her most frequent visitor at Miami Jewish Home. Anyway, it was a great evening, ETOH free.

Yesterday D1 and Baby Man and Wifey came over -- in the rain! D1 was invited to Alyssa's parents -- Alyssa and Freddie were house and dog sitting -- and we were invited, too, but Wifey and I figured we'd stay with Baby Man instead. He was a delight. We put on "Milo and Otis," which his mother was obsessed with three and a half decades ago, and he kind of watched, as he played. 

I took him for a wagon walk before a rain band from pre Tropical Storm Debby came through, and he helped Wifey clean out some sticks from one of the beds -- I sent a pic and said he was learning the family business! 

I ordered DiNapoli, and he devoured some pizza and a meatball, like us, and D1 arrived and bathed him -- which he did NOT enjoy.

We FaceTimed with D2, who he calls Tia D2, who was home fighting a cold. But it was still a lovely day, and the ladies and Baby Man left before sunset, and it was already dark with the passing storm clouds.

I watched the Marlins beat the much better Braves, and went to sleep.

And now it's Sunday am, and I have a big mug of coffee as WDNA plays jazz on the Sonos, and the elderly, Special Needs Spaniel Bo sits on the couch behind me crunching his kibble and Publix chicken. We figured that since he's in his "golden years," we would make his meals more enjoyable, and indeed he scarfs down his food.

Oh -- forgot to mention that the new dog in town, Lemon, D1's skittish Cavalier, was over, too, and is warming up to the humans bit by bit. He's an adorable little skinny guy -- he got some Publix chicken, too.

I have to make a trip to the cemetery to sign the papers for the real estate we bought from artist Leah. Wifey bought me a great T shirt, from "Spamalot," which says "I'm Not Dead Yet." I will absolutely wear that over the the "parlor," as Herman Munster called his place of employment.

I figure for the huge fees we paid, I ought to be entitled to some more of my dark humor. We'll see how Kenny, the affable salesman, reacts.

After that, a stop at Walgreens, and maybe a breakfast at Crema, a new small chain place that opened in Sunniland, and is an immediate hit. They may be too packed, though -- and if so, I'll skip. Yeah -- I am become the old cranky guy who avoids crowds. I avoid a lot of stuff these days.

Joey and Little Man are having a blast in Colombia -- they have a park with zip lining! Tonight is their last sleep there, and they're do home tomorrow.

Little Man starts a week at a different camp -- the Beach JCC -- run by my old friend Paul. I already emailed him to give him warning of a 4.5 year old trouble maker on his way -- hopefully we get to see Paul when we fetch Little Man Friday.

So thankfully all is quiet around Villa Wifey -- as it ought to be. Debby flew past way to the West, and is set to become a minor hurricane as it hits the Florida Panhandle. Hopefully none of her relatives visit us this season.

It's hard to enjoy jazz on the Sonos and morning coffee without electricity.

Perspective

 So my first night of temporary bachelorhood went well. Wifey got a later start than planned to D1's house, but arrived for some adorable story time with Baby Man. Little Man and Joey were being spoiled by Joey's family in Bogota -- you could tell Little Man was having the "best day possible" as he would say -- reprising the precocious language of his Mom, D1.

I went over to Sea Siam and pulled up a stool at the bar, and ordered a Ketel martini. Having dinner at a bar is my signature temporary bachelorhood move -- watch TV, or talk to the bartender, and enjoy the feeling of not having to worry about anyone else's comfort for the evening.

I had texted Norman, whose wife has been in Canada all Summer and is staying for most of the Fall -- would he care to join me? He would, and we had a great meal and great conversation, as I had my second drink and, somewhat concerning, Norman drank only iced tea. I need to follow up with him on this dangerous trend -- the older we get -- the more we ought to drink, it seems to me.

I came home and called back Paul, who was himself enjoying an adult beverage, and he conferenced in Lou, his dear Philly friend. I poured myself another, since I wasn't going anywhere, and we all talked happily for an hour -- of times past and present, and still to come when Lou returns in November for his SnowBird stay in Hallandale.

And it struck me: Lou is by no means rich -- he owns the North Philly townhouse he inherited from his parents, and doesn't have huge savings -- but is amazingly happy with his lot.

He loves to gamble on the horses -- never too much -- and loves playing music with and being with his friends. He never married, and savors his friends' kids and grandkids, but has none of his own.

But he laughs often and loudly, and is a pleasure to speak with -- despite the age related ailments I know he battles.

We hung up, and later on I received another call -- this one from someone not at all happy, in fact bemoaning the very status of life. I know this will pass -- the person has a lifelong habit of going too high and too low, and my prodigious blood alcohol content allowed me to speak and listen, mostly, for over an hour.

And it was right there: two people who have plenty to be down about -- and one who is absolutely thankful for each day on the planet -- while the other, at least presently -- not so much.

Now my sad conversation companion has never ending tsuris from a middle aged son, and I certainly appreciate the aptness of a lyric from FIU Professor and former Soul Music star Sam Moore: "When Something is Wrong With My Baby...Something is Wrong with me."

When the Ds have gone through tough times, I find myself quite anhedonic as well -- now THERE'S an SAT word! Fortunately, it passes.

Just last month, around my birthday, I  had the blues, or ennui, as I liked to call it with Wifey, but it lasted just a few days.

The point is we all have reason to be happy, and reason to be down.

But to the person on the other end of the phone -- man -- it's a chore when you're talking to an eeyore, even a temporary one.

My PT Dr. Jorge discharged me after our session -- I seem to have reached maximum medical improvement with my OMN, or Old Man's Neck.

I still cycle through the right arm parasthesia and neck pain -- it either hurts, or causes my arm to tingle.

I sure wish it would go away. Hopefully it will. If not, well, what are ya gonna do? I know I'll try real hard to NOT complain about it.

Tonight I think my bachelor tour will continue with Titanic, next to UM. I don't think classes have begun yet at UM, and so it won't be very full. In another week or so, the place will be packed with parents moving their kids to campus, or the surrounding areas.

It's funny -- I never had that. I got into my car in Delray, my Dad handed me an "emergency $20 " bill, advised me to not get anyone pregnant, and to enjoy the college experience -- something post War economics kept from him, as he worked 3 jobs to support Mom and my two sisters.

As I recall, none of the parents were there -- we were all 18 and proud to be adults -- the thought of Mom or Dad schlepping our stuff to our dorms would have been infantilizing.

Times sure have changed. And that's ok. I hope I'm around to see how things are for my grandsons, in a decade and a half, or so. Maybe their stuff will be dropped off by drone. Maybe all college will be virtual by then -- who knows?

But it sure would be grand to see -- grandkids starting college? Do I dare dream that? I do dare...