A Day To Remember A Wonderful Man

 So Loni's Dad, who died last week, was the subject of yesterday -- first a Mass at St. Louis, and then a Celebration of Life at the UM Sports Hall of Fame. Wifey was surprised I was attending both -- but I cared greatly for Don and his family is very close, so for me it wasn't an issue.

Actually, the memorial started Monday evening. I had come from my annual physical with unexpected news: according to my doc, and the absurdly detailed blood and urine analyses they do at MDVIP, I am "his healthiest patient of my age in his practice." Strangely, every value wasn't only normal, it was "optimal." For example, my cholesterol is 110. My lung capacity if 115% of expected for my age -- but that's attributable to my profession -- lawyers are FULL of hot air.

Dr. Rigo just kept shaking his head at each number -- keep on doing what I'm doing, he said. I pointed to my ample belly, and asked how that was consistent with these findings. He said of course weight loss is a good idea, but my daily walks and twice weekly training sessions are doing the trick, he said.

Now I know a neoplasm can sprout like a mushroom after a rainy night, and something like 40% of heart attacks have as a first symptom sudden death, but for now, the news was wonderful. Since my liver numbers were also optimal, I thought it appropriate that I celebrate the news with a cocktail, but it was Monday, and I don't drink alone. Chris texted -- meet at Fox's at 545 -- his aunt Jeannine was in for Don's services. It was kismet, and I ubered over -- to meet Mike, Loni, Chris, Rachel, Jeannine and old friend Chris. We sat in the back room telling Don tales -- Loni really appreciated being around those who loved him.

Chris and Loni drove me home,and I brought them in to say hello to Wifey -- camped out on her recliner as I expected , and we chatted awhile.

Tuesday am I headed over to St. Louis. I had been there 3 times before: Mike and Loni's wedding, where I was Mike's co- best man, Amanda's baptism, and Chris's baptism. The service was moving -- the young priest, with long hair and a beard and blue eyes, looks like every Euro depiction of Jesus ever seen hanging on my Catholic friends' walls. He was great -- if the dude wasn't a priest, he'd get plenty of dates...

I sat next to Norman and I dared him to go up and take the communion wafer: "You KNOW you wonder how it tastes!" He declined my offer of Hebraic apostasy.

I came home, napped, and summoned Wifey to tell her it was time to come in and get ready. We headed over to UM. I had never been to the sports Hall of Fame, and it was quite impressive. They had set up a bar, and some food platters, and moved Don's stuff to the center stage. His son Greg, widow Marcia, Loni, and 2 old friends spoke. And I mean OLD! Holmes Braddock is 99, and Ed Rubinoff is in his 90s, too. Both shared tales of when they all met, in the 50s.

Marcia pointed out how her husband played such a violent game, and played it violently -- enough to make the College Hall of Fame, and be a Pro Bowl player with the Redskins. And after his career was over, he was THAT gentle, and loving, and caring -- always with a grandchild baby in his arms.

Loni said he taught her humility and resiliency. When I met him, in '83, I already knew who he was -- and as a rabid Canes fan, was a bit taken aback. Nah -- he wanted to know all about ME and my life -- and I was a garden variety law student then. I saw how he took care of his family -- MY kind of man.

It was a privilege to be able to honor him.

After, Wifey and I stopped for a late dinner -- at Guadalejara, a local Mexican place. We left after 8 -- making fun of ourselves -- usually 8 for me is pre-bed time.

So a great man has passed, and was honored appropriately. His cremains are in a Catholic cemetery next to ever more famous Jackie Gleason and Don Shula. Talk about an august resting place...

Soccer Team Owner

 I am comically old school American when it comes to sports. I love baseball, football, basketball, and when the Panthers are winning, hockey. To me, those are the "Big 4," and other things that get huge followings, like motorsports, golf, tennis, and especially soccer -- well -- that ain't me, babe.

Well, Fate has a wicked, probably peri-menopausal sense of humor, and D1 married a Colombian born man -- to him and his family, there is ONLY golf and soccer -- especially the latter as spectators. Joey's brother Bob, and exec at Zumba, the exercise company, recently followed his childhood dream -- he BOUGHT a soccer team! He had put a LOT of his substantial money, and all of his efforts, into a new team in Naples, Fla -- FC Naples. I think I just learned a few years ago that FC stands for "football club," that's how ignorant I am about the game where nothing really happens for hours and then you think it's over but it's not because of "extra time" that seems to be at the sole discretion of refs who flash red or yellow cards for some reason...

Anyway, Joey got involved as an investor, and younger brother Alan is involved, too. Bob has heavy hitter investors, and Naples is thrilled. Years ago, they built a stadium with bond money called Paradise Sports Center, hoping to attract pro teams, and Bob's is the first. Naples is welcoming him like they welcome rich, Midwestern WASPs moving to the gated communities of that upscale city.

I watched and cheered from afar, and then at Rosh Hashanah Bob approached me -- would I like to be involved as an investor? Truth is -- not really -- but Bob called a few days later and said they were in the midst of another traunch of investments. The dollar levels were WAY above what I considered, but Bob said friends and family could get in for a much smaller amount -- and so I was lured in -- mostly to be able to make the 1.5 hour drive with my son in law and grandsons and feel I was a part of the excitement.

Sure enough, today the docs arrived online via DOCUSIGN, which I actually can navigate, and tomorrow I will be visiting the bank to wire the funds.

I texted Bob the confirmation, and said I looked forward to toasting with him when the team scores its first touchdown! I made sure he knew I would be Consultant in Charge of Non Soccer Jokes -- and he loves that. But the truth is, I AM excited -- mostly for him and his family, but now because I will have a financial as well as rooting interest.

Do I expect to make any money? Not really, though the demographics are solid. Turns out, from Naples, the closest pro sports team is the Panthers, in Sunrise. Florida is so long and narrow, Naples is closer to NW Broward than it is to Tampa. Who knew? Probably anyone with any real sense of geography.

And Naples is growing, and the locals must be looking for stuff to do other than golf and drinking and fishing, I would guess. And I also realize I am in the minority -- people LOVE soccer -- so much that a recent match between South American rivals caused major vandalism at Joe Robbie Stadium and many arrests. Even Canes/Notre Dame didn't cause that much passion.

So I say Dale FC Naples! Joey and Little Man are headed there next weekend, and the weekend AFTER T Day, D1 and Joey and both boys are going --there's some resort called Wolf Lodge nearby, which is supposed to be tons of fun for kids. 

My mind always goes back to college with my boys -- Eric, Barry, and I and a rotating cast of characters like Mike, Mark, Jorge, and Colin (really Wing Wong Wei -- his real name) sitting around the formica table in the WW II era apartment building, discussing life. We thought we knew SO much then -- and had clear paths set for our futures.

I guarantee that even the germ of an idea that I would invest in a soccer team with my Colombian consuegros didn't exist. So you just never know...

Stayin In Your Lane

 I was on my Friday Zoom last night with Dana, Eric and Barry -- a tradition started with the Plague, which we happily continue. Eric and Dana host at 6 -- their extended families -- kids and grandkids, Dana's wonderful Dad Ron, one of the last of our parents' generation, and usually at least one of the consuegras. Eric's sister and bro in law in Jersey attend, with their grown daughters, and we go through the shabbos rituals -- candles and blessing of bread, and the blessing of children. It's lovely -- sometimes I have a vodka or two during the meeting -- often just some selzer -- and it's joyful to watch the growing families. Eric and Dana now have a grandson and 3 granddaughters -- and the kids talk to each other during the meetings.

I host the "after Zoom party," which is typically Eric and Dana having dinner, Barry driving home from Jackson, as he rarely leaves before 7 or 730, and Wifey off to the side -- she HATES Zooms. I joke that she listens to us, "silently judging."

Anyway, last night we got on to the subject of my increasing curmudgeonliness -- how I was always the most easy going, everything slid off my back like water on a duck kind of guy, but that's changed. And as I explained it, as I age, I demand people stay in their lanes with me.

On Friday night, an old friend who I rarely see but joke is my hero on account of he's been mostly a schlepper lawyer now living high as the boy toy of a RICH divorcee, made fun of my less than GQ dress. Now, if one of my close friends or family say to me -- "Wow -- you're going to be mistaken for homeless," it's fine -- their lanes are VERY wide. But this guy? He happens to have always been an impeccable dresser -- even before he had the patron who I imagine goes to stores with him and hands her credit card -- plenty of balance from the decades her ex spent building a publicly traded company. Yeah -- he's out of his lane.

We have a neighbor who is mentally ill who I'll call Riva, since that's her name. She is truly nuts --always complaining and calling the Village about fellow neighbors. She has ZERO lane with me -- when I see her during my walks, I turn around. If she happens to catch me when I pass her house, I grab my phone and say "Sorry -- judge on the line." That resonates with her as her husband is a lawyer.

The other day, a lovely neighbor I'll call Daria, since that's her name, was walking her dog, and told me she just "got an earful" from Riva about another neighbor who regularly rents out her house for commercial and movie shoots. I find it kind of cool -- and power to Denie for the lucrative side hustle. But Riva DEPLORES it -- how dare the trucks part on the street for the day -- paying Denie and her husband while Riva gets NOTHING?" Daria told me Riva has called the Village, County Commission, etc...

I asked Daria why she didn't simply avoid and ignore the malcontent -- what right did Riva have to share negative energy with Daria and ruin her mood and walk? Daria was taken aback -- and then thought -- yes, you're right! Daria is a bit younger than I, and still nicer -- but it's about keeping people in their lanes as you age.

My friend Stu's Dad is 89 and in the hospital -- life threatening stuff. I really dig Bill -- such a warm and wise man. Bill has long espoused the philosophy of giving zero craps about anything except those he holds near and dear -- and his beloved Eagles, too. I hope he pulls through.

But the point is, even if you make it that far, as Wifey has repeatedly observed, those final years tend to suck. So I'm in the last stage of being able to walk a lot, move serviceably, and, unless the martini load exceeds 3, think and speak clearly.

And this period will NOT abide assholes anymore. I am most assuredly NOT The Dude...

It Was Thirty Years Ago Today...

When I heard the opening lines of "Sgt. Pepper" and the reference to TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY I was a boy, and 2 decades seemed an eternity. Well, you just got to get more decades under your belt, and you get to reminisce about THREE decades past...

So Paul and I took offices at Quantum, a very early version of Burro, or We Work.  We had fielded calls from our advisors, including Paul's estate lawyer friend Malcolm, and they suggested proper partnership agreements, and key man agreements, and all manner of legal marriage. Instead, we opened a new bottle of Stoli, got 2 glasses of ice, and I made this toast: "On the memory and honor of our late fathers, George and Hy, we pledge to treat each other well and honestly." We clinked the glasses, drained them, probably poured a few refills, and that was it.

And man, were those heady times. Our motto was "Whatever it takes," and it took a LOT of effort -- lawyering from 8-6, and then networking and rainmaking most nights and weekends. We had some great contacts -- tv lawyers and their former employees, and they were kind enough to refer us clients. And I did an early favor -- for Dr. Barry's unit secretary.

She was looking to buy fans at a local K Mart, and when she pulled one off the shelf, the weight fell out onto her foot, breaking a toe. Since her insurance had a deductible, she came to see me about a claim -- just looking for her $250 back. In record time, I got K Mart to agree to pay her $5K, and had her into the office -- it was right before XMas. I told her the news, and she said how great that was -- and our fee was, what, $2K? No -- I explained the fee was zero -- she was a friend of Barry's and it was our pleasure.

She began to bawl -- no one in her life had ever given her a gift worth $1K, let alone more than that. This meant she'd have the greatest Christmas ever. We hugged. Thereafter whenever she encountered someone needing a lawyer -- she referred them to HER lawyer. And it led to a rather healthy amount of fee income over the ensuing 2 decades -- sadly the biggest case coming from her own family -- a tragic fire involving her great niece.

Anyway, nothing stopped the 34 and 45 year old lawyers. We hosted judicial fundraisers, and fundraisers for politicians, and never asked anything in return, unlike most raisers of funds in our fair city. We were able to give generously to charity. One tale that stands out in memory was of our bank teller Fernie.

He was a great guy -- we called him our private banker. He would always take great care of our clients, many of whom were negotiating large checks for the first time in their lives -- he made them feel like they were well off.

Fernie came to us -- his daughter played basketball for Northwestern High in Liberty City -- any way we could contribute some money towards new uniforms. We were in the chips that week, as Paul used to say, and we bought them all. We got invited to watch the girls play in a playoff game, against a squad from a Catholic school consisting of much shorter Latina players than the taller Liberty City girls. The Northwestern team lost! The Catholic girls were coached absurdly well -- no one made a mistake. Hopefully our uniforms weren't the bad luck...

Again, in the chips, in June of 1996, we took 20 people to Vegas for a Firm Retreat. No one paid for a single drink -- limos everywhere, top meals and shows. We had just settled a huge case against a rental car company, and decided to treat our people like royalty. It was the trip to remember.

No one paid for a meal, or hotel stay, when they went with  Paul and me. And it's funny -- POST the salad days, no one, or only rarely, do we seem to be on the receiving end of acts of generosity. And that's just fine -- we wouldn't have had it any other way.

Rabbi Yossi just brought things into focus. His shul and Friendship Circle were beneficiaries of our largest gifts. He hit me up for another pledge a few years ago. Coincidentally, I got my friend Jeff to start attending minyan -- the prayer group of 10 men needed to do it right. Yossi said "David -- you bringing Jeff to us is MORE significant than all the money you and Paul have donated."

Really Rabbi, I asked, does that mean I needn't make any more large contributions? "Well let's not get CRAZY" was his response.

Anyway, our banner dinner last Saturday was the celebration. I hope to now look forward, instead of sitting around talking about the glory days. Hell, as Springsteen sagely noted, I probably still will.

But today, I say to Paul, it's great to be your partner. Let's keep running, or at least limping along, awhile longer... 

Without FaceBook (tm) I Need More Outlets for My Brain Droppings -- So A SECOND Post Today

 Miami is indeed the smallest town of a big city there is. And I just got one of the funniest examples of that in a good while.

Tuesday night, Wifey and I had dinner with Paul and Patricia and Joelle and Kenny at a place in the Grove that only serves one dish: veal Milanese. Turns out, it was so delicious even the anti-veal Wifey ate some and enjoyed it, making believe it was chicken.

We pre-gamed at J and K's Grove condo -- some vodka for me, and wine Paul brought. We walked the 15 minutes to the restaurant over on Grand -- across from the long gone Grove Cinema, where they played Rocky Horror and Wifey and I saw "The Gods Must Be Crazy" and "Vanilla Sky," back when we did cooler things.

I drank a good amount of chianti, and then realized that this hyperplastic prostate man had to pee. When an older guy with an oversized gland has to pee -- he HAS to pee. I walked to the restroom -- only one -- unisex, and it was occupied. So I waited -- a server told me a woman was inside. 

Of course, the minutes dragged on, as things became more dire. A handsome young fellow came to the door and tried it -- locked. I told him someone was inside. With the vigor and confidence of a young man -- he wasn't going to wait -- he walked out the rear open door, walked next to a  dumpster, and let fly. I chuckled to myself, but realized I couldn't wait much longer unless I wanted my SUV to take on the scent of a NYC subway station when we drove home.

The young fellow came back in, and I summoned my best Denzel, and said "My MAN!" and high fived him. He laughed. I then followed his lead -- walked to the same spot, and enjoyed an Austin Powers-like pee -- a top 10 pee of the last year or so.

It was good I did -- when I returned, the woman inside was just then sauntering out -- still fixing her makeup.

So the story ends -- except this is Miami.

Today, D1 texted, and asked why I didn't tell her the hilarious tale I shared with one of her friends! Sure enough, my urine inspiration was none of the than Rob -- son of a prominent med mal defense lawyer Mom and general lawyer Dad -- I happen to like them very much. He's married to Marissa -- D1's dear friend and a fellow dietitian -- she wasn't at the restaurant or would have certainly come over.

Rob could tell I didn't recognize him. By the time the story got to D1, Rob and I were peeing together at the same dumpster. I assured D1 all penises were holstered when we high fived -- or maybe the story would have been funnier.

I always seem to run into Rob's parents Richard and Ilisa at restaurants, or local hardware stores. Now I get to tell them that their Duke grad son is, among other accomplishments, a true leader of men -- even those much older, and suffering the ravages of age...

Kvelling For Our Friends

 So after Hurricane Andrew "mistroyed" our house, as D1 malapropped, we ended up buying Wifey's parents' house in Kendall to live for the more than a year we knew the rebuild would take. It was a fine retreat -- room for us and the dogs, and D1 started Leewood Elementary while D2 was at the nearby JCC Preschool. When we moved back home, in March of 1994, the house let me re-pay some of the debt I had to my mentor Ed.

Ed was in the final months of life from mets from lung cancer, and his treatments were over at Mercy. Problem was, he and Joyce had moved to North Palm after selling their wrecked Andrew house. So I offered to let them move in, rent free, of course, for the last months of Ed's treatment. I like to think that made things easier -- Ed eventually went to a nursing home in West Kendall, and died there -- Joyce returned to North Palm where she lived another decade or so.

Anyway, afterwards, we decided to become landlords, and our realtor Joyce found us a lovely family -- Baptist missionaries from Texas, the Greens. They stayed a year, and then the next tenants moved from Crown Heights -- young Rabbi Yossi, his wife Nechama, and baby Mendel. That led to a lifetime friendship, where Wifey, the Ds, and I were literally brought back to our religion.

They soared, and that's an understatement, and last night was the VIP opening of their new Center -- a shul, of course, but mostly Friendship Circle, a facility for special needs kids that serves thousands. Paul and Patricia and Wifey and I were invited -- humility aside, we have donated BIGLY over the years -- the second tier of giving, and the tiers are large. Paul and Patrica begged off, on account of the absurd traffic from Aventura to Kendall -- they had come the night before and it took well over an hour, and Wifey was hosting mah jonng. I joked with some of the guests who asked about her presence whether I find this mah jong thing, so much of my mother's life, triggering or strangely erotic. We settled on the former.

Anyway, I arrived to an amazing affair -- full bars serving Bacardi ( one of the donors) products, so I had to make due with Grey Goose, my least favorite vodka. I survived. Butlered apps were high level.

I caught up with my hero in life, Craig, an old friend who never worked very hard at lawyering, and lived a very middle class life, until...He took up with a VERY rich divorcee, and now their photos went from the Magic Kingdom to REAL Europe. He is a smart dresser and always had the affectations of a rich guy -- and how he has the sponsor. Some guys have all the luck...

I was literally swelling with pride for my friends. They led tours of the amazing, 2 building center, which has amazing features for the kids -- kitchens to teach life skills, play areas with quiet centers for the many autistic kids needing breaks -- offices -- top drawer banquet areas for affairs, to help pay the huge cost of upkeep.

Of course, as my Dad's son, I had to stir up a little trouble, and told a few guests that the food wasn't really kosher -- that Yossi is quite the prankster. I later admitted the truth. I also had a few guys believing there was an after party in the mikveh. I hope they didn't stick around waiting for that Diddy-like event in a sacred space.

I drove home so happy for these dear friends -- true community leaders, who we met way back when they were pishers, to use the expression.

Lili was playing, and I offered her a cosmo. Since she had walked over, she accepted, and we toasted again.

After Monday, I told Wifey my bar for being happy with people was lower -- if they didn't tell me to F myself and tell me they didn't care if my family and I live or die -- well -- net positive.

And last night reinforced the truth -- I'm happy when people I hold dear soar -- and such is the case with Yossi and Nechama. It was a banner night.

Adios, Donkeys -- You Ambled Away From Me

 I was born into the Democratic Party. My grandparents were all of the old school, Jewish immigrant, closer to Socialist group. My Mom recalls being sent to a camp run by Workmen's Circle -- that told me everything.

My Dad, though politically incorrect like I am, was solidly Dem. Republicans were for war mongers and country club elites. We were neither. My Mom? She volunteered for the Atlantic Democratic Club -- the solidly Blue bloc of voters from the retirement condos of Delray Beach. And when I registered to vote in July of 1979 -- there was no issue for me -- Dem all the way.

It's funny, though. My first presidential election, I voted independent. Jimmy Carter was an awful president, and living in Miami, I watched as Castro had his way with him during the Mariel Boat Lift. I couldn't vote for the guy we college kids called Ray-gun, so I voted for John Anderson. Of course, Reagan won and it was morning in America, according to him.

Florida had amazing Dem politicians back then. Dante Fascell and Bill Lehman and Claude Pepper were among the most powerful Congressmen -- they brought pork to Miami like they were hog butchers -- Metrorail before it was needed, new highways to the Keys, amazing construction projects.

Dems were centrist and allied with my feelings. I LOVED Dollar Bill Clinton, and couldn't care less what he did with interns of age. Obama -- kind of cool that we elected a Black president, but I was always leery of him and his friendship with the anti semitic Farrahkan types from Chicago.

Later, I joked with friends who pointed out that as a rich white guy, I ought to vote GOP. Nah, I said, again politically incorrectly -- there's the issue of fags and fetuses. I was pro-gay rights and pro- choice, and so much of the GOP was opposing these issues.

I could in no way support Trump --I was shocked the very qualified HRC lost to him, and relieved when the kindly old codger Biden beat him in '20. But the Dems sang -- hard. First, we were supposed to accept that the obviously declining Biden was fine -- until he clearly wasn't -- acting like the guys at a nursing home while debating Trump. And then, the lightweight Harris was foisted on us without a real convention.

Meanwhile -- there was pandering to The Squad, who scare me more than ultra conservatives. And Harris's comical campaign seemed to say "We're smart, America, you're idiots -- you CAN'T vote for Trump," until a majority of Americans did -- caring more about the economy and the border than they did about letting trans folks get surgery in the military.

Well, yesterday I made the move that's been coming -- I switched out of the Dems, to "No Party." I can't imagine becoming a Republican, but the Dems have left me behind. When I literally had to hold my nose when I voted for Harris -- I knew it was time to go. I looked skyward and asked my Mom for forgiveness -- to her, Republicans were Fascists. But times have changed.

I came home nicely buzzed and full from dinner with Joelle and Kenny and Paul and Patricia. We ate at a place in the Grove that serves one entree: veal Milanese. It was delicious.

I took a pic of my new information receipt, and sent it to Rabbi Yossi -- like most of his black hat brethren, solidly GOP forever. I said "Look -- a partial conversion. But I'm stopping before the second Bris." He texted back "Did your neighbors come out of shiva yet?" We were making fun of the limo Liberal gay neighbors who are acting like the Trump victory is akin to the end of the world. I responded that shiva must be over, due to the lesbian activity again occurring at the house -- with an admonishment to His Holiness to not engage me after vodka.

So that's it. Wifey remains a Dem. My votes will probably remain the same, though I can't vote in primaries for Dem candidates anymore. That's ok, they tend to be a confederacy of dunces, anyway.

Since I'm off FaceBook (tm) this blog is my only outlet for political jabs. I'm sure my quiver will be full.

But unless and until the Donkeys come back to reality -- adios. It's been a multi-generational ride.