Like Finding a $20 Bill In Your Pocket

 As a young guy, certainly through my mid-20s, there were few small thrills as nice as reaching into your jeans' pockets and finding cash -- either a 5, 10, or 20 dollar bill. Man -- even though it was your money, it was like finding it on the street -- assets you forgot you had.

Yesterday, Wifey and I had an updated version of that, in the form of "dormant accounts." Years ago, Wifey started a jewelry business, where she bought really cheap costume stuff at a mart near MIA and sold it to friends and visitors. It started to make real money, and I told her she needed to incorporate and start paying taxes -- lest we invite an IRS audit from her fun hobby. That put the kibbosh on her business, on account of she didn't want to go to the trouble, but she had opened a checking account that we funded with probably $10K, at the newly formed BankUnited.

I had also opened a checking account with them, at the request of former SunTrust folk who started the bank -- probably just $1200 or so. In all honesty, over the years I totally forgot about MY account, especially since the interest was so low as to make it non taxable,and so no 1099s came my way -- same for Wifey's account.

Wifey WOULD get notices from time to time that she needed to do something or the account would go "dormant," and money eventually turned over to the State. She would go in and make a small deposit -- she thought the last time was last year. Turns out it was over 2 years ago.

I got a notice from BankUnited about dormancy, and I thought it related to Wifey's account. I had asked her over the years to simply close it and take the money, but on the advice of divorced friends, really one friend, she was told to always keep her own account -- I guess in case I somehow took all of our money and fled. Or in case she needed to flee without my knowing -- I didn't have, or care to have, any online access to her "In case Dave goes off the air" account.

Well yesterday I got Wifey to go with me, and we went to the BankUnited in Pinecrest, where a friendly teller checked my letter and closed the account -- balance of $1400. That was nice, but Wifey knew her account was larger. Sure enough, there was a "restricted" account in her name --restricted since it was dormant, and after a 30 minute wait for BU's "operations" the teller learned the balance was well over $17K. Wow -- found money!

It took another half hour or so, and a sign off by the manager, but we got our second check, and the accounts were closed. Nice! Nearly $20K of "found" money -- the updated version of finding the $20 bill. Of course, the trip we just took had an Amex bill that took care of the found money -- yes -- found amounts are bigger, but our expenses are, too. Wifey and I laugh at how somehow expenditures have changed since we were first together -- and neither of us really buy STUFF!

Anyway -- we celebrated by walking next door for lunch at Chipotle, where it was crowded with VERY young people -- even some Pinecrest cops clearly in their 30s. One neighbor, Walter, stopped by to chat -- he's in his early 50s and about to take his wife and 2 young daughters on an Alaska cruise -- we told him about our trip when WE had young daughters, too.

We had more banking to do. Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my suegra's death. When she passed, she had one Bank of America account, payable on death to the Ds, with a balance of $100.15. After I got her death certificate, I filled out a comically long series of papers, and sent them with the certified certificate to an operations center in Tampa, so the Ds could each get their $50 and change -- and we would close the account.

We never heard back from BOA, and for the last 3 years, we get monthly statements showing the balance. 

Yesterday we went to the Sunniland branch, and I showed the certificate and statement to the nice, corpulent bank officer. He said the Ds would need to fill out forms, and together visit a BOA branch to get the account closed -- though Wifey has POA, the Ds are beneficiaries.

So I'll turn over the paperwork to the Ds -- and leave it to them. Honestly, the time it may take with absurd BOA to get $50 each may not be worth it -- it'll be their call. If they leave it be, eventually the money WILL escheat to Florida, and someday they can apply to get it from the state.

Time, even for retired guys, is precious. Recently a friend told me he and his wife attended a time share lecture in Atlanta to get free tickets to the aquarium. These folks are millionaires, with multiple properties in Miami, and a new townhouse up north. I thought he was kidding -- he was serious.

Hey -- different strokes, I guess.

But Wifey and I are now hopefully done with dormant accounts -- though if it turned out that there was more forgotten money somewhere -- well -- that's a nice little thrill...

Cats Champions!

 What a night! Norman, OG Panthers season ticket holder, had his regular 4 seats and 2 Club seats for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Final (no S, as Norman explained) and generously invited Barry, his old friend Jim, and me to go. The Club seats went to his boy Benji and Josh, Barry's son.

Norman and Jim came here, and we flew up the Palmetto to meet Barry at a sushi place near his house in Pembroke Pines. Barry and family often go to POC (either Port of Call or People of Color, depending on who you ask) which is an all you can eat sushi buffet. I'm not finicky, but refuse to go there -- since sushi is expensive, to me that place is salmonella waiting to break out.

Instead, we went to Blue Ginger, which was fine. Jim told us about his job as a former Federal PD -- he currently has ONE client, like Tom Hagen. His client is an accused Islamic terrorist who has been tortured and held at Guantanamo Bay for 20 years!!!! It is amazing -- guy is truly a man without a country.

After dinner, it was up to Sunrise. No one else was in the mood to drink, but it seemed to me that if you can't have a pop or two at a potential championship -- when can you? I made the aging bartender laugh with my tired line "I forgot my ID" and got my vodka. Later, Jim felt bad I was drinking alone, and he got a G and T at the bar right behind Norman's seats. Barry and Norman tee-totaled it. This concerns me.

The arena was truly electric, though the Panthers jumped out to a 2-0 lead, and the game was really well in hand. They scored 2 more times, and the low energy Oilers (Ha!) managed only one in garbage time, and the Cats won their second Stanley Cup.

There is truly no better award in sports than that silver chalice, with each player hoisting it high and kissing it and skating the rink. We stayed for the entire presentation, as did just about every other fan. Josh and Benji met us, and when the crowd thinned out, we decided to grab a late dinner meal -- it was now midnight, and we were hungry fans!

Well, Broward, at least the West part, is still kind of sleepy, and there is no 24 hour Pinecrest Bakery to visit. We settled on a Waffle House, which NEVER closes -- even during hurricanes, and drove our 2 SUVs there.

The staff was sitting outside -- they were "closed for cleaning." We discussed alternatives, but Barry was ready to go home -- he had a 730 Zoom meeting. The closure gave me grist for politically incorrect humor -- I decided the Black staff was discriminating against we cracker hockey fans. Not true, but why not play the victim of being a white fan of a VERY white sport?

We dropped Barry, and took 75 to the Palmetto, to see a sign that it was closed near Okechobee -- for resurfacing, it appeared. We jumped off at 103 Street and made our way through the heart of Hialeah, to LeJeune, and the Dolphins, and back to the Palmetto.

We got him nearly 2 am -- and it was worth it.

It's great when a region's team wins -- everyone is a bit happier, and high fiving about the ring, or in this case, Cup.

I thanked Norman for his generosity -- he could have sold our seats for thousands each, but chose, as I would have, to savor the evening. It's nice when we mules get a special night out.

So the Marlins are the third worst team in the Majors this season (and for foreseeable years to come), and the Heat were bounced from the playoffs first round. The Dolphins don't appear to be poised for greatness -- hopefully our beloved Canes can do it this year.

Just over 2.5 months until the home opener -- hosting hated Notre Dame! 

Maybe Norman and Barry will have a cocktail or two at that tailgate. The events are fine -- alcohol makes them better!

For now, though, I saw my first championship other than 3 Canes Orange Bowl ring winners.

It was quite a night!

When Life Throws You A Canceled Appointment; Make Chik-Fil-A

 So I had my old man errand logistics all planned for today. Get to Tire Kingdom at 8 for an oil change and tire rotation, and walk to my gym at 9 for my hour workout, and then back to TK for the fetch. I dropped off my man sized Caddy and chatted up the affable TK fellow -- a Cuban from Jersey who is a Yankees and DOLPHINS fan. He was born 4 years before Dan Marino started playing, and asked rhetorically "Who WOULDN'T have loved the Dolphins then -- Marino, Duper, Clayton?" I told him one of my dearest friends --that's who. Despite moving here in high school, Dr. Barry maintains his love for the Jets and only animus towards the Dolphins. I think it's part of his masochistic tendencies.

Anyway, as I walked outside and started West in the warehouse district, my trainer Jonathan texted -- he was "under the weather" and needed to reschedule. Of course, I COULD have still gone to the gym and worked out myself, but instead I took it as a sign from the gods of food, and instead turned around and headed towards a perilous crossing of South Dixie Highway. Actually, they say not to call it that anymore, on account of it insults the decreasing number of Blacks in Miami Dade (migration to Broward) for using "Dixie," and instead the road is now Harriet Tubman Parkway, a name I have heard NO ONE use.

Using the cat-like reflexes honed during my workouts (okay -- a very OLD cat) I crossed US 1 (I think that appellation is still allowed, though it may insult those who despise America) and got to the other side, where, a few blocks North, Chik-Fil-A beckoned.

I had never had their breakfast sandwich before, and, it was quite delicious. Just Saturday Loni had told me about their iced coffee, a daily post Palmetto teaching treat for her. Indeed, that was delicious, too. The comically friendly counter girl (in Chik-Fil-A you can still say girl) brought my order, and I DID say a prayer acknowledging Pride Day before I dug in. Man -- that was one fine fast food biscuit and chicken and iced coffee.

Since it's Summer and it was after 9, the aforementioned US 1 was not at all crowded, and my trek back across was easy -- and this time I made my way to the Busway.

This is a classic Miami Dade boondoggle. Since Metrorail was too expensive to extend from Dadeland to Homestead, they built a dedicated pair of lanes with new fangled busses that you board from raised platforms -- to make them train-LIKE. There are even crossbars at the intersections with the East-West streets, which so far have made traffic even worse!

Since everything is political, the busway is no different. Turns out that to Black people, busses are politically charged, and the community opposed the Busway -- they wanted trains, too. Well everyone does, but there didn't seem to be an extra few billion dollars around to build them. I guess I understand -- busses bring back memories of having to sit in the back of them, and signal poor people ridership instead of, I guess, middle class folks riding trains.

Then again, to MY peeps, trains can be triggering -- recall the packed boxcars on their way to Nazi camps. I guess we got over that.

Anyway, I fetched my car, and was told they repaired 2 nail holes! I hadn't known they were there -- but the man showed them to me. I was thrilled no new tire was needed -- the man sized Caddy is a lease, and due back September of 2026 -- with my reduced driving, this may have been my last oil change.

But I drove home and told Wifey this adventure, and as expected was greeted with "And you didn't bring ME anything from Chik-Fil-A!!!???" I explained that no, there was a walk, and an unknown wait, and so I opted to forego her "language of love," which she has made clear is being brought food and coffee -- particularly when she is in bed or enveloped in her recliner chair. No -- she would have to actually drive to the Jesus chicken place herself...

Dan the Gate Man is here, replacing our old system, and then in early afternoon I expect Norman and Jim here, to begin our journey North of the Miami Dade-Broward line, something I do less and less as that cranky old man I have become.

In case the Ds forgot, I reminded them that my number one criterion these days for a restaurant is whether or not they have easy parking -- that is more important to me than the cuisine or atmosphere.

But soon -- it's Go Cats! It sure would be fun to see them win the Cup.

My Sonos

 I always proudly proclaim that I don't care much about stuff. Except... I really DO dig my desk top computers, which I can type well on, the big screen TVs Wifey convinced me to get, and the Sonos, which Wifey also convinced me to get.

I'm really not at all how Sonos works, but I choose whatever music in the word I want to listen to, on one of 3 outlets. One is in the Family room, a sound bar under the TV, one is sets of speakers in the living room ceiling and under the front porch eaves, and I have a portable Roam device I can take anywhere.

Our routine is typically Wifey watching shows or old movies, and if I'm not napping or watching sports, I turn off the TV and turn on the music. I typically listen to WDNA, which has jazz and blues and Latin music, or a series of stations on Sonos Radio or Sirius/XM.

Tonight, I have on The Bridge, which is a Sirius/XM station featuring singer-songwriter compositions. As I type, I'm listening to Christopher Cross, after Carly Simon, after Steely Dan after James Taylor. Yeah -- my taste is stuck 40 years ago...

Occasionally, after a Zoom Happy Hour, Wifey will ask me to play DJ, and I'll play a selection of our music. Sometimes we even dance, if I put on The Ramones or B-52s. Yes, suburban life suits us just fine.

Ah -- now Jimmy is singing "Son of a Sailor." This makes me think of Key West -- been awhile since I've been there, and I do love it best in the Summer when it's less crowded, and Ocean Key House rooms are $500 per night instead of $1100 during season.

Tomorrow is a busy day for this lazy man. I have to get up early, and drop the man-sized Caddy SUV at Tire Kingdom for an oil change and tire rotation -- I'll walk to my gym from there, and if it goes like last time, the vehicle will be ready after my workout ends at 10.

After that, I'm rushing back home where Dan the Gate Man is installing a new board for our front gates -- I could have opted for a repair, but the board is jury-rigged from multiple insect incursions and prior power surges. I gathered all the openers, from Wifey and the Ds, and Dan will reprogram them once he's done.

In the afternoon Norman and his college buddy Jim are coming over. We will drive to Pembroke Pines in the hopefully newly oiled Caddy, and meet at a sushi place with Dr. Barry. We shall then drive to Sunrise for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals -- to see, I am confident, the Panthers win their second consecutive Cup.

Norman has season's tickets and was kind enough to invite us -- I'm sure he's giving up nearly $10K in potential sales to create this memory.

It occurred to me that I have only seen 3 championship games in my life -- the Orange Bowl victories that gave rings to my Canes. I've seen Marlins Series games, and Heat playoff games during their ring years, but never an actual championship. Go Cats!

So, to quote my favorite Alice Cooper ballad, that's enough for a working (formerly) man...what I am is what I am.

I recall that song from multiple LP playings the Summer of 1977. Come to think of it, it may be time for a play on Sonos.

Half Way/Half Way

 I try to keep track of the milestones in life -- I keep an old fashioned calendar in my closet, so each morning I remind myself of the date. And today is June 15th, which means we're halfway through the month whose end marks the half way point of this year - 2025.

Yesterday Wifey and I attended Teddy's first birthday -- Mike and Loni's wonderful grandson. Chris and Rachel just moved into a lovely, large house in Palmetto Bay -- Rachel's Dad Tony is a leading realtor, and he found the house for them and gave them a bridge loan until they sold their smaller, first house. As Mike noted, Chris has learned a key life lesson: never hurts to marry a rich girl. Alas, I never learned that lesson.

Teddy is a joy -- reminded us of D1, the world's easiest baby and toddler. I sent photos of the party to the Ds, and D1 noted it was classic "First grandchild vibes -- the next ones will be lucky to get a cupcake." She has my snarky sense of humor all right. I'm very proud of that.

As we walked back memory lane with Mike and Loni, we noted how time truly DOES change as you age. The 3 years of law school took FOREVER, or so it seemed. Now, 3 years of a grandson's life flies by supersonically. 

Mike joked at the end of the party that it was time for Teddy and Mike's afternoon nap. I took that as a fine suggestion, and came home and fell asleep, as I often do, to Smithsonian Channel's "Mayday -- Air Disasters." I'm not sure why I find these shows so soporific -- I guess it's the fact that I'm not sitting on the ill fated airliners.

It was a lazy Saturday night. Wifey and I watched some of "Hard Days' Night," which I hadn't seen in decades, and Wifey told me how it's considered a great film -- really the first music video, and sort of an avante-garde romp. Eh. I went to bed after an hour, and watched the Panthers win -- one more Tuesday night and they'll have a second Stanley Cup.

It brought me back to my childhood, and the new team that came about in Junior High, the Islanders. Our assistant principal at Salk, Jim Garvey, was the Islanders' announcer, and we got to lots of games. The team got better and better, but never won the Cup while I lived on Long Island. They finally did in 1980, and I watched on a tiny black and white TV in the dorm during Summer Classes -- surrounded by Saudi guys who thought hockey the silliest sport they had ever seen. I was outnumbered, so I avoided saying anything involving camels...

The Isles went on to win 4 straight Cups -- an amazing dynasty. The Panthers may be on track for the same. They've sure become the team of the hour in So Fla -- but there are rumblings the Heat may trade for Kevin Durant -- that'd be cool, too. Sports.

Today is FD, and the plans are to meet the Ds and Jonathan at Beauty and the Butcher in South Miami. We were there once before -- nice place -- where the longtime Shula's was -- one of our go-tos. 

We spoke to Mike and Loni about maybe taking a luxe cruise post Xmas -- including fireworks on NYE. We haven't really made a big deal about NYE in years -- I told Loni that her husband and I would be halfway to 65 in January -- how many of the turns of the year did we have left? Nothing like cheering up your friend at her grandson's first birthday party.

But there's that half thing again. The clock keeps running...

My Life Has Been a Poor Attempt To Imitate The Man

 So tomorrow is Father's Day, and for the past 36 years that has meant ME being a father. But earlier a FaceBook (tm) memory came up -- a picture of probably my 6 year old self, safely hugged in the arms of my Dad, in our kitchen on Long Island. He was SO handsome and jaunty -- holding his pipe in one hand, and me in a hug in the other.

My last FD with him was 1982, and I don't recall it. I was working as a sales clerk at Jordan Marsh in the Town Center Mall in Boca, and enjoying the fact that in those seasonal days in South Palm Beach, there was a shortage of young men and a surfeit of young women -- particularly at the retail store, as well as Boca Hospital, the venue of my OTHER summer jobs while home from UM.

Dad had a heart attack -- probably late June -- and recovered, seemingly. He was home for the week of July 7, and then died July 14th, while getting a haircut after his doc, Heller, had pronounced him fine that very morning. So decades have passed.

But oh, I still miss him so. Those years were SO easy -- Dad was the family mule, and I was just along for the ride. He used to proclaim that HE was the family psychiatrist, and would solve all crises of life for his 3 kids. I now know that was, in due respect, a fool's errand.

Man was he fun. He never got to go to college after he returned from the WW II army stint -- he was working 3, then 2, then finally 1 job to support his young family. And so when I went away to university, he lived it SO happily vicariously through me. He wanted to know what the professors taught, what the parties were like, and whether the co-eds were indeed more, um, liberal than the young girls of his era. They were...

My Ds and Wifey and son in law all praise how I am as a Dad and grandfather, and I accept this praise. Indeed, as I near 64 my MAIN identity as a man is how I have taken care of my family. I'm humble about any professional accomplishments, but not who I am as a father, father in law, grandfather, and friend, along with being, I guess, an above average husband.

Still, I SO miss Hy, and fantasize about long talks I would have had with him as I aged. Precious few of my friends still have living Dads -- Norman is one outlier -- Max turns 98 this Fall, and though he had a few health blips recently, is still VERY much with it, and the true patriarch of his family.

My late suegro Richard loved his family. Unfortunately, I never had a single conversation with him -- he would talk AT me, and I would endure him. Things became comical -- in later years, when we would go for a meal, I would tell the host or hostess to have a tall vodka waiting for me when we sit, so that I could down it to deal with his verbal onslaught, and the inevitable embarrassing encounters with the server -- whether banging on the table if service was slow, or the comical requests of my mother in law since the tea was never hot enough. So Fate didn't give me a relationship there, but there WERE other mentors -- my friends' Dads took me in -- the closest being Mike's Dad Ed, who shepherded my career along wonderfully -- getting me 2 jobs, the last of which led to my true success. Ed died at 63 like MY Dad did.

Today we're attending Ed's great grandson Teddy's first birthday party. Ed died before Chris, his second grandchild, was born -- and Amanda was just a baby. I know Mike feels bereft like I do.

But we're BOTH living legacies to the leaders of the band. It's funny -- Ed was a professional drummer -- played during HIS army stint, and later at Miami Beach shows. My Dad had a beautiful voice, too, and missed out advancing on the Major Bowles show that launched the career of a skinny kid from Hoboken.

So music was part of what Hy gave me, but more importantly, the lesson of what it is to be a man -- someone who takes care of his family.

Dad did that for all of us SO well. I just wish he was around longer so we could compare tales of the trade. Happy Heavenly FD, Dad...

They Had It Coming Since Jimmy Carter

 So Israel launched an all out attack on Iran's nuclear program yesterday -- along with Mossad's operation confirming exactly the targets to hit. As I was in Budapest a few weeks ago, in the "Garden of Righteous Gentiles," I was suffused with pride that my people, who 80 years ago relied on the kindness of some to protect us, now has a homeland where they came up with pagers that blow terrorists' dicks off.

I first met Iranian folks as a UM freshman in 1979 -- we had a lot of well off kids here from Tehran admitted to UM's less than stellar Engineering School. Most were stylish -- guys favored the disco look -- silk shirts and coke spoons around their necks. Eric and I had one TA in Chemistry who wanted to be called "Moe," instead of his given name Mohammed. All was cool.

And then the Shah was deposed, and overnight these dudes showed up at UM in traditional Muslim garb -- lots of white -- adios to the silk shirts and coke spoons. I chatted with one -- his entire affect had changed, from 1980 Miami party boy to loyal follower of the Ayatollah. Whatever.

Over the ensuing years, when I met someone from their and they were mainstream, they identified themselves as "Persian," rather than Iranian. We have neighbors like that -- delightful folks who hosted a grand party when their daughter graduated medical school. Mohammed, however, keeps his actual name.

But in the decades since the Ayatollah played Jimmy Carter like a cheap violin, Iran became THE sponsor of Islamic terrorism. The awful Hamas raid on Israel's version of Burning Man was approved by Tehran, and they are sworn to the destruction of Israel and "Big Israel" -- the US.

Iran has been trying to develop nuclear "power" since they don't have enough oil for their energy needs. Ha. As if! Lately, the negotiations broke down, and Israel learned Iran was less than a month from having, as they used to call it, "The bomb." 

And so last night they launched -- took out top military leaders and nuclear scientists, and at least one of two major nuclear manufacturing sites -- the other sits under a mountain and needs the "bunker buster" bombs only the US has -- I assume sooner than later the martyrs in charge in Tehran will order an attack on US installations, bringing us into the fight, and that will be the end of Iran's threat -- at least for a few years.

Bibi is problematic, but IS a fine wartime consigliere. He said, simply, that the Nazis stated they wanted Jews eliminated and went about doing it -- to the tune of 6 million. We've learned that when a government says that's their goal, they have to be listened to, and Tehran is sworn to the elimination of Jews. This time, though, we're taking action.

As far as I'm concerned, those sons of bitches have had it coming for decades. Maybe the non Islamist majority of Iran will seize this opportunity to finally depose the mullahs who have wrecked them since 1980. Boy -- that would be grand.

I also think back to the Summer of 1980, and a European undergrad I met. We discussed politics -- I was getting ready to vote in my first presidential election, and told her I was a third generation Democrat. She told me that, under Jimmy Carter, the rest of the world had lost respect for the US. It used to be that a US passport caused "the seas to part" in world airports -- under Carter, not so much. 

I remember taking that to heart., and also watching how Castro had also played Carter in Miami with the Mariel boatlift. I wasn't ready to vote for Reagan, and so I voted for John Anderson, the ill fated Third Party guy. Of course, Reagan won in a landslide.

Now the GOP has turned into MAGA, and the Dems can't get out of their own way -- giving credence to far left creeps like AOC and Ilhan Omar.

Hopefully the pendulum swings back to the center. I have grandkids' futures to worry about.

But for now, Israel is doing the heavy lifting against a true existential threat -- go kick some tuches, blue and white!