Well NYE was lovely -- first we drove to the Gables and met Barry, Donna, Scott, and Sam. The men were tux shopping, and decided to go upscale with an old school shop in the high rent district. Sam noted they "Said yes to the tux!," a reference that went WAY over reality TV averse Barry -- but we all laughed.
We had a few pops, and then they headed to Motek for a 615 dinner. Wifey drove us to Joelle and Kenny, where a nice, eclectic group of professors, scientists, and musicians were gathered, drinking and chatting. After my second martini I thought about saying "Ya know -- Trump is actually starting to grow on me," but then realized it was probably better to start off 2025 alive instead of dead. These were NO red state folks -- one lady, an artist, was telling me she was seriously considering moving to Colorado to get away from the climate here (political, not weather). Promblem is, he husband has one of the cushiest jobs known to modern academia -- law professor. They stay on forever, and I think the fellow kind of likes his gig at UM. I was laughing with him that there are still a few profs there from MY years -- and I began law school 41 years ago!
Anyway, we left around 930 as the vodka was having a soporific effect on me, and I was well asleep before the ball dropped in Times Square and the Big Orange rose in Downtown Miami. The latter has become the better show over the years -- salsa and hip hop artists instead of Ryan Seacrest. But that's just my opinion.
Alas, I was up coughing most of the night. When we had Little Man sleep over the 2 nights before WifeyMas, HE was coughing at night, and I think I picked up his bronchitis, but with my 63 year old immune system, it;s worse. I actually called my dog Rigo NY Day, and asked about him sending in a scrip for a Z pack, to zap this thing, but he correctly noted it was probably viral and Z packs are worthless -- and he opposes prescribing too many antibiotics lest they lose effectiveness.
I get it, but it's now 8 nights of suffering -- I figure I'll call Monday if the cough persists and ramp up the intervention.
I'm lucky -- bronchitis, among the most annoying non fatal conditions, rarely affects me. Probably 20 years ago it did, and Dave, my then doc, prescribed an inhaler to open up my lungs and it worked like a charm. For some reason, it is fated that I begin the year with a nasty bout.
And that had an effect on another milestone: yesterday Wifey and I celebrated our 38th anniversary. By celebrate, I mean that Wifey went to Whole Foods and fetched me a Zak the Baker challah and chicken soup -- I sat on the couch most of the day resting. But we did walk back down Memory Lane -- just a couple of kids, as Patti Smith wrote, at a big party required by Wifey's parents since they had attended MANY affairs for their Survivor friends' kids and their only child was having nothing less.
And it WAS a fine night -- our friend Pat Travers, who had 3 gold records, actually got up and jammed with the very South Palm Beach Jewish party band -- Harry Frank and his Mirthmakers I think they were called. OK, so maybe I stole the "Mirthmakers" part from a Norman Lear comedy -- but Pat jamming with them was something to see. Wifey's FSU friend Eileen was VERY lit and she decided to join the pros as well, but sang "Good Lovin'" as Pat led the band in "Gimme Some Lovin'" and I watched how the true pro Pat sort of led her back to the right song.
Afterwards, Wifey and I retired to the Hyatt's honeymoon suite, and Wifey donned lingerie for the first and only time in her life. We got into the marital bed, and began the age-old ritual of Jewish couples that truly solemnizes a marriage: we opened all the gift envelopes to see who had given us what.
The Survivor crowds' checks were VERY generous -- some like $500, and this was 1987. My aunts and uncles' and my mother's American friends' checks were comically cheap -- one family, who I'll call the Schwartzes, since that's their name, gave a gift of $25 -- and 10 of them attended! My late Aunt Florence had pulled me aside and solemnly told me she had a special gift for me -- kept all these years from my grandmother for each of her grandkids' weddings. It was a savings bond for $20. I like to imagine Anna walking into the bank in either Spring Valley or Miami Beach (she was a snowbird) and laying out the $10 to buy this bond for her youngest grandchild (me) as the clerk (Italian or Jewish in Spring Valley, probably Cuban in Miami Beach) rolled her eyes.
But luckily Wifey and I both knew the marriage thing was a game best played long. We spoke the other night -- I asked her of the 38 years , how many were negative, sort of cumulative. She asked me and I said 2. No -- she said -- more like 4. OK, the epigenetic Survivor trauma wins out in understanding negativity better than my more benign, Woody Allen-type non Survivor Jewish anxiety, and so she's probably more accurate.
Still -- the long game has brought us to literal afternoons in the golden sun -- sitting at Greer Park in Pinecrest while our probably illegally adorable grandson plays with such joy. And his little brother is coming along, too -- from mute to loquacious, as Dr. Barry has noted.
So hopefully this virus or bacteria in my lungs leaves sooner than later, whether naturally or with some meds, and I can get about the business of savoring 2025. To steal from my idol The Chairman, let it be a very good year.
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