Tech and Car Service

 So Wifey's car is D1's former SUV -- a Lexus RX350. D1 had leased it, but then when everyone started hating Elon Musk and Teslas got cheap, she wanted one of those instead, and it was $200 less per month. Wifey's SUV was getting long in the tooth, and had been repaired a LOT of times on account of stuff jumping in front of or behind the SUV when Wifey was driving, and so I decided to replace the older SUV with the newer one -- it had only about 12K miles on it.

We sold the old SUV for more than I thought, and D1 and Little Man and I drove up to Margate, to JM Lexus, to do the purchase of the vehicle off lease. It used to be you just sent a check to the finance company, but dealers paid off the Florida GOP to make it that you had to transact this at dealers so they could try to rip you off with fees. JM did NOT -- they were terrific -- and I willingly bought an extended warranty through 2028 to cover repairs -- knowing we'd be keeping this SUV awhile.

Wifey's had it now for 2 years, and it still has less than 20K miles, and this am I went to move it so the roofers could get a vehicle close to the front of the house, and instead of the healthy sound of a vehicle starting, I heard clicks. The thing DID turn over, but I knew a dead battery was imminent, and so called the local Lexus service department, and asked for my long time advisor Isaac. "Sir -- he retired 2 years ago -- he was an older fellow." Isaac is my age...

Anyway, I got some young guy when I drove over, and he told me it indeed seemed like the battery -- did I want a loaner? Batteries were covered by the warranty. No thanks -- and I walked the 3.7 miles home in lovely weather.

A bit ago, I got a text to watch a video from the dealer. I did, and it was Wifey's SUV, with a tech showing how he had topped off the fluids, the tires were still fine, but the cabin and AC filers were schmutz -ridden. Then I got a text asking if I wanted the replacements -- I accepted 2, but declined an evaporator cleaning service. Man -- everything is high tech now -- even mechanics video and text you!

The SUV will be ready later -- I can drop Wifey off to fetch it. We have zero plans to replace this SUV -- hell -- the extended warranty runs until 2028! By then the car will have 30K miles!

Truth is, we can get by fine with a single car -- neither of us typically drives that much, and most of our trips -- to the Ds or Wifey's many doctor visits -- I take her anyway.

My SUV lease is up in June -- my laziness will probably cause me to simply lease the same vehicle again -- a man-sized Cadillac -- that ought to get me to 68 years old, and Wifey -- well, her age cannot be mentioned. Might this be our final foray into 2 car territory? I guess time will tell.

Meanwhile, the roofers have most of the job done, and it looks terrific -- like when we moved in 25 years ago! They'll either finish today or Monday. We're in a drought, which is bad for everything BUT roof jobs -- but as I have learned, eventually the rains in Miami WILL Come.

For now, a weekend is upon us, and another cold front coming. I have plenty of firewood for my firepit. Firepits are still very low tech...

The Alpha and Beta of Sunniland

 So I just learned a new Gen Z or Millennial term: beta. It refers to an inconsequential man -- the guy who is wimpy and overlooked. Apparently it evolved as an antonym to alpha, as in dominant, or lead man. Turns out I know PLENTY of betas -- little guys, not just in stature, but those who think small and try to overcompensate by acting tough or knowledgeable while they are anything other than alpha.

But today, I decided to use opposites in a culinary way -- this am I visited the North part of beloved strip center Sunniland. Newcomers pronounce it "Sooney-land" but we longtimers know it rhymes with sunny.

H and H Bagels opened, a famed NY bagelry that opened to fanfare in Boca last year and now has an outpost here in Pinecrest. They had a "soft opening" yesterday, and my visit showed they were still working out the kinks. A young NY Jewish guy was at the register and running stuff, while the Latina preparers were making their way to deli-barista status. I got a classic nova spread with a VERY fresh and delicious everything bagel -- it was indeed delicious. After my coffee, I stepped back into line behind a svelte blonde Latina young Mom type -- guessing a Beth Am Mom -- possibly Judea.

She turned to me and said in perfect pitch B and T accent: "I am soooo excited. We moved here last year, and honestly the only thing I miss about The City (shorthand for Manhattan) was H and H!" I turned to the manager and said "Hey -- maybe hire her as a spokes-maidlach." He laughed -- I don't think she knew much Yiddish -- too many generations between the Lower East Side, or Bronx, and Scarsdale or Rosyln.

I got Wifey a fresh out of the oven (when they bring them out, the yell "Fresh bagels!" egg and cheese sandwich with tomato. I saw her in the kitchen, hiding the bag behind my back, and regaled her with the tale of the delicious bagel, while she looked like a started Retriever whose owner is hiding a strip of beef. And then I said "Just kidding!" and gave her the sandwich, which she pronounced delicious, but responded in the exact way her mother would have "They don't have bialys?"

I today hereby adopt "They don't have bialys?" as the new expression signaling her soft disappointment -- yes, this is good, BUT...

Anyway, I tried. I always try.

As for the omega of Sunniland -- that comes tonight. They opened a Sergios where  IHOP used to be, on the southern cap of the Center. Barry, Norman, Kenny and I will muster there at 5:30 for our dinner before Bible Class -- have some good Cuban before we, as Kenny noted, debate how many angels fit on the head of a pin. It's actually much more interesting than that.

Sergio's is a small chain of decent Cuban restaurants, and I read the new one got a liquor license. That may give ME license to order a favorite drink -- a vodka mojito. I was taught about this permutation of the Cuban mint julep by a Cubana friend who, like me, doesn't favor rum. The vodka mojito is less sweet, but still quite good.

Meanwhile, the roof tile installation continues in earnest -- affable Jose sent me photos of some completed sections and it looks terrific. Jose said the job will be done either this Friday, or early next week. Next -- refinishing kitchen cabinets, so we can be ready for the duration.

I love that expression. I first learned it from my Dad, when I asked about his WW II service -- how long did they tell him he would be in the Army? "For the Duration" was the answer -- which for him was from April of 1942 until December of 1945 --December 7th -- Pearl Harbor Day, no less.

Long time when you're 22 -- his age at draft time.  I hope my "for the duration" - time spent in Villa Wifey, spans a few decades. We'll see.

All I know is, I plan to keep on taking care of my family. Ain't no one better call ME no beta...

Strange Days Indeed

 So in keeping with my Canes chat nickname, "Obituary Dave," there have been a couple of famous ones the past 2 days. One was a real loss, the other, to my view, "eh."

I LOVED Robert Duvall -- to me -- one of the finest actors of our generation. Of course, he was in two of my favorite films of all I and II. If you have to ask what those Roman numerals refer to, you don't know me at all. I also loved him in "Great Santini," and "Second Hand Lions," where he was well into his 80s and still kicking it. "The Apostle?" And of course loving the smell of napalm in the morning.

Wifey and I plan to watch "Lonesome Dove," which we missed when it was on TV, and apparently was one of the great actor's favorite roles -- saying the cowboy he played was an American version of Hamlet.

He was also in another favorite movie, "To Kill a Mockingbird." His role was silent, as the child saving Boo Radley, but you could see in his eyes he was destined for thespian greatness. We will not see his like again.

The other death making headlines: Jesse Jackson. They say he taught so much to so many. In my case, it's true -- I had never heard NYC referred to as "Hymietown" before he slurred the city thusly. Originally he denied he said it, when reported by WAPO, and later said part of the Jewish conspiracy made it up. Later, he admitted it and apologized.

But he also hugged Farrahkan and Arafat. Yeah -- best thing I read about him was how impressive it was that he made it to 84 without ever working a single day in his life. See ya.

Further showing the strange days was the shooting in Rhode Island -- a trans Dad killed his ex wife, one child, and then him/herself. 2 other kids are in critical. The photos of the killer showed he NAILED the look first presented by great character actor Lou Jacobi as a transvestite in the Woody Allen film "Everything you Ever Wanted To Know About Sex." I mean -- the photos show a guy with arms most of the guys in my gym would kill to have -- shoulders, too.

I know anti LGBTQRSTU folks (I always add extra letters for permutations yet to be uncovered) will blame the killer's sexual identity on the awful crime. That's silly, of course -- he was, like Jacobi's wife character noted, just a sick individual.

Meanwhile, the tile installers were here yesterday and are back today -- the final step in what has now been a 5 week re-roofing job. My payments have now risen to the 6 figures, which blows my mind -- more than our first house cost! But, as Paul reminds me, the house is a big asset, and paying for the new roof is just rearranging assets.

Villa Wifey has given us so much joy -- so many great memories -- unlike shares of Apple or Pfizer -- which have let us PAY for stuff but aren't inherently joyful.

Jose tells me MOST of the tile work will be done by Friday -- and hopefully completion next week.

Wifey, who still wants to move, got some promising news. I assured her I would NOT be involved in another re-roofing -- and the lifespan of this roof is 35 years -- so sometime in the next 35 years, before I turn 100, we WILL move.

Ha. If I get my way, there'll be just one more move for me -- to the tiny real estate we own off the Palmetto near Dadeland, currently known as Mt. Nebo cemetery. I guess we'll see.

As John Lennon sang: nobody told me there'd be days like these. It's true. But for now, it's nice to simply keep on, keepin' on, as Rev. Hymietown may have said.

Ageism on President's Day

 So we had a delayed Valentine's Day celebration last night, based on the 800th episode of "The Simpsons" airing. My two dear law school friends and I were big fans, as were our wives, though truth be told, none of us has watched in a decade. But there was no school or court work today, so I took it as a sign -- ordered some pizza and wings and cannolis, fired up the firepit though it was kind of warm, poured adult and adulteress beverages, and we had a time.

Of the six of us, only one is still in what I call the "Old People Biz" -- caring for a 90 something parents. The other 11 of our beloved Moms and Dads have shuttled off this mortal coil -- and one remains -- and is the subject of tensosity between her friend and a brother who really only wants to "do what Mom wants" without taking control. I really feel for my friend -- this will only get worse before, blissfully, peace will come.

Wifey and I had three clients in the Old People Biz -- primary caregivers for my Mom and her parents. The relationship is fraught -- we were really deeply involved in raising the Ds,and all that entailed, and still had to coordinate care. We started out being deferential to their wishes, though they were often idiotic -- my Mother insisting on living alone in her condo, for example, when most of her day was spent trying to clean up the accidents she had on her carpet -- knowing if we saw them -- ALF was coming.

There's a bad twilight between stubbornness and actual incompetence -- when the latter comes, things go more smoothly. In Mom's case, one of her many falls landed her at Delray Hospital, and Eric said she was starving to death based on her serum albumin. Then we took away control -- down to Miami Jewish for the final 11 months, where she was cared for humanely and visited, mostly by my sister of another mister Mirta.

My suegra was the toughest -- staying in her Pembroke Pines condo for years while my suegro was at Miami Jewish -- and the day he died, it was "no longer mine home" and demanded to be moved -- but not to ALF. So Wifey and I kicked out the comical tenant Lenny -- a classic example of a word I just learned: beta. A beta is a loser guy -- the one who is dominated by the alpha. That was Lenny to a T -- made an ok living but we thing put a lot of it up his nose -- used to bounce the $1K rent checks all the time -- I'd have to meet him at a Starbucks for the cash. I kept his rent the same for 5 years, and when I told him I needed the unit back, he protested "But this is my HOME!" even though it was a month to monthe lease. The problem was by then any similar place was 2.5 times more expensive. When he moved, we found he had lived like a frat boy -- missing toilet tank covers, for example.

So Wifey worked with our handy man Nestor, and made the place lovely, only to have her Mother whine about how lonely she was there, despite Wifey getting her drivers to take her to the local casinos, and our many meals with her.

Before her final years, Wifey learned the lesson: YOU make the calls for the 90 something -- trying to keep them happy is a fools' errand.

This whole thing with the missing TV anchor's mother is absurd to me. 84 and sick? Hey kidnappers -- she's all yours! You'll get caught and put in prison for life -- but a national search and demand for $6M?

Again -- I know it's ageist, but I want my Ds to know if I'm in my mid 80s and in failing health, and some moron kidnaps me -- do NOT pay the ransom. Far more important resources by used for those with real futures.

And hey -- I'm 5 years into old age, so I get to say this, right? Like only old people can use the "O word."

We Boomers are TOO involved in the life our our kids and grandkids -- every one of my friends, to varying degrees, cares for their adult kids financially or otherwise. One relative has a hub-son, a great neologism I learned yesterday from Bill Maher. Her troubled boy is in his mid 40s, and they speak daily, if not multiple times per day. Ha. Hub-son -- a son who in many ways is like a husband.

But the point is, on TOP of these responsibilities, you pop that of ancient parents. Basta. Enough.

Wifey and I acquitted our responsibilities to our 3 olds with love and compassion. We have zero regrets. We loved them, and honored them until their Rewards. Do we wish we could still visit them in the nursing homes? No -- the grandsons and Ds have futures and need us.

Wifey remarked how old one of our group looked last night. She was right -- we're all mid to late 60s -- one of us could pass for mid to late 70s. So our time here is limited as it is. Let us focus on our kids and grandkids, and savoring our days.

Ageist, I know, but happy to be out of that business.

Everything's Quiet On Valentine's Day

 Ah, the Dia de Amor is upon us. Yesterday was National Mistress Day, which is apparently a thing, where you celebrate your side piece. I imagine more lingerie and fewer chocolates...

We used to celebrate, since I'm a hopeless (and helpless) romantic -- moonlight concerts at Deering Bay, nice dinners at Christy's, and for several years I set up a table in the front of our VERY romantic house and hosted dinners. The first was 2001, soon after Wifey and the Ds and I moved it. I brought in DiNapoli and we toasted our family in our new home. Later, we invited Pat and Susan, Jeff and Lili, Mike and Loni,and Dave and Maureen. I would buy nice costume bracelets for the wives and hide them under the dishes. One year the Ds were our servers. We all enjoyed it.

This year Mike and Loni invited us to dinner at Platea, followed by a trip to ZooMiami for Ron Magill's wildly entertaining "Sex and the Animals." We went years ago -- terrific. A talk on the exotic mating habits of exotic animals -- presented by the wonderful Magill, sort of a Neil DeGrasse Tyson of Zoology.

Alas, Wifey's hip and back keep her from attending, and instead I fetched Little Man after a lunch with D2. We just came from breakfast with Mike and Chris, followed by a visit to Mike and Loni's house, the closest thing there is to the Addams Family mansion -- he was fascinated by the tiki bar with mummies and skulls, and a visit with Mr. Tortoise, the large pet who ate a green pepper to Little Man's delight.

I may bring him to Greer Park later. We invited the super genius neighbor girl, but haven't heard back. At some point, I shall re-home Little Man, and maybe have a cocktail with D2 and Jonathan -- they've learned that dinner on VD is amateur hour -- paying double just because.

If the timing works, I may stop in the Grove on the way back, too -- to see Joelle, Kenny, and their cool buddy Claude, a retired Navy ortho surgeon. His wife, a retired Navy eye doc, had to attend to a family matter, and so missed the trip to the Grove for the Arts Festival, which I joke has gotten far too crowded and so no one goes there anymore. Does anyone even know who Yogi Berra was?

But last night, after Little Man finally fell asleep following some snuggle time, Wifey and I agreed this was the BEST type of Valentine's Day -- one celebrating the true love that led to beloved grandchildren. I truly hope all of my friends get to experience it -- turns out being a grandpa is a nice gig.

Wifey was supposed to leave on her Oceania mah jong cruise Thursday. She hasn't canceled yet, since her trip insurance said she didn't need to file the claim until departure day. I joke the odds from Vegas as to whether she goes keep shifting. Latest: no go, as she told Barry and Donna last night on our FaceTime call.

I hope she does get to go -- I think a week at sea woud be good for her psyche -- but totally her call. I remain DaveBer, available to schlep, or not. I just want to be given 5 stars after the journey.

So I hope Cupid has drawn back his bow, as Sam Cooke sang, and let his arrow go. Nice to have a day recognize love -- in all its manifestations.

Mental Real Estate

 So The Donald -- craziest president ever! I long ago kicked him out as a squatter taking up free real estate in my head -- but clearly I remain in the minority.

Yesterday was roof tile delivery day -- a pretty big project where a team using a long conveyor belt moved the thousands of heavy clay mix barrel tiles up to the various elevations of the roof of Villa Wifey. Affable Jose of Andrew Palmer called to tell me of the progress, and than said Sara, the cool manager, would be stopping by -- did I still have the paint colors from the last repaint job -- they wanted to touch up some areas where they installed the new copper flashing and damaged the walls. I honestly wouldn't have noticed -- too high to see -- but Palmer, on the top end of prices for roofing companies -- does details like that.

I told Jose I would call Errico, the nice painter we use -- maybe he had the color mix number that Sara could use to buy the paint. I got him on the phone and asked how things were in Miami and Nicaragua (I swear I was going to sing my question to the Broadway tune "How are things in Glocca Morra") and Errico said fine EXCEPT... he HATES Trump so much, and can't think of anything other than that villain, and how could his Latin friends possibly have voted for him, etc... I let Errico vent -- when he did work here he realized he had kindred spirits in Wifey and our designer, a Hialeah Cuban who also loathes The Donald -- and so went on and on. Finally -- we got to business -- no -- he didn't have the colors, but recalled where he left the remaining paint can in my garage, which I gave to Sara and all should be good.

Later, I got a response to my light political satire post on FaceBook (TM) where I noted that I commented rarely on politics but if I had a Dalmation, I would keep it away from Pam Bondi. Old law school friend Cheryl, a classic limo liberal ( commenting continually about social justice from her multi million dollar homes in both West Hollywood and Maine) took me to task -- I SHOULD be more forceful on FaceBook in these horrid times.

I responded that I would wager that the number of peoples' opinions ever changed from FaceBook posts was exactly ZERO. People comment politically to either agree with their side of chastise the other -- often nastily. Nah -- I'll keep to old music videos and Dad jokes -- and, of course, the truly essential: the fate of the Miami Hurricanes! By the way, Cheryl didn't get the Dalmation reference -- I had to school her about Cruella De-Ville...

The pendulum will swing back away from the craziness, as it always does. Or it won't, and things in the USA will become untenable, and my tribe will have to re-locate. As Bill Murray's character said in "Stripes:" All Americans are here because we've been kicked out of every other decent country on the planet!

Where shall we go? I'm a fierce Zionist -- but really have zero desire to live in Israel -- never felt the vibe there on my trips. I guess if forced, it would be Haifa -- the most chill city. Jerusalem? Sacred and holy, of course, but FAR too much tensosity for me.

Jonathan fantasizes a return to Venezuela, and the halcyon days of his childhood in Caracas, where things were pretty good before Chavez and later Maduro took the richest Latin nation and turned it to crap. We'll see if regime change really happens.

I DID like the vibe in Puerto Rico, but turns out it's part of the USA -- so probably makes no sense to go there, though comically we all noticed fewer Spanish speakers in the airport there than at MIA.

Maybe I can claim birthright from my grandparents origins -- Bialystok and Czernovitz. Nah -- they're Poland and Ukraine now -- not garden spots.

I guess this is a benefit to getting older -- less time left to have to worry -- except for my kids and grandkids. Ultimately, they'll have to find their ways.

But for now, I predict November will show The Donald that his act has worn thin. As Tom Petty sang: he went just a little too far.

But for now, I have some serious business today -- fetching D2 and probably Betsy and then Little Man at school -- lunch together, and then back to Villa Wifey for the night. Hopefully he gets to play with Amelie, our next door neighbor who is his age, lovely, and a super genius. Really -- kid is in kindergarten and already winning international coding contests against Middle Schoolers. She adores our boy -- I plan to tell him to hang with her -- she'll tutor him in Math someday.

And if not, just a break for him from his hectic schedule -- downtime from his many after school activities -- probably a trip to Greer Park, and maybe a hunt for downed iguanas.

But ZERO talk about politics...

Down Kindergarten Memory Lane

 So this am we tuned into a Zoom video from Little Man's school -- he got a certificate for getting a perfect "A1A" record the last quarter. He and some classmates were called up and handed a certificate -- parents and some grandparents Zoom messaged, and at the end everyone waved goodbye. Wifey and I were a bit proud.

Later, D1 got a note -- telling her that Little Man was EXTREMELY bright, but needed work on not always talking and sharing so the shyer kids got a chance in class. The teacher suggested working on games like Red Light/Green Light and Simon Says, to better teach him to, well, STFU when he's not called upon.

Sardonic D2 wondered on our family chat where on earth her sobrino could have gotten these characteristics, and wondering whether we ought to play Red Light/Green Light with D1 as well.

I think we all realize that quieting a wildly self confident and ebullient kid is a much easier task than enlivening a very shy and taciturn one. We all agreed to work on the exercises as the teacher suggested.

And it triggered a memory -- when I was in high school, I recall looking over my grade school report cards, before tossing them. I still clearly recall what my teacher Miss McNamara wrote: "David is a very bright and curious student, although he IS a VERY talkative little boy." How about that. Little Man is indeed a lot like me -- and kindergarten teachers 6 decades apart have confirmed it.

Ah, Miss McNamara -- nice lady, a spinster as we said back in the day. Years later, I learned that she came out with Miss Dempsey, my 3rd grade teacher, another spinster. I guess Levittown Schools in the 60s and 70s weren't ready to accept the love that dare not (then, anyway) speak its name.

Cubans call lesbians "tortilleras," or makers of tortillas. I'm not clear why, but I wonder what Irish American tortillas are called. Anyway, I guess they'd both be in their late 70s or 80s by now -- I like to think of them happily living on their big NY Schools pensions, maybe with a place in Provincetown...

Since it's Wednesday, Wifey and I are camped out in the library, and all of this nostalgia had me reach for a plastic box with some of my old academic records. Sure enough, Wifey's favorite was there -- a letter from the Levittown Optimist Club inviting me to dinner as a winner of the 1979 award -- I guess since I volunteered a bit at a local hospital, and had good grades. I recall the night -- Rae Ann Caponi was my co-winner, and we both spoke and got free Italian at Caruso's on Hempstead Tpk -- our proud parents in attendance, but the Italian Caponis telling us later that the food wasn't very good. Man, how memory works!

Speaking of nostalgia, on Monday Paul convened a dinner with Barry and me, and after I pointed out to Barry that his choice of an Aventura restaurant meant a 1 hr and 40 minute rush hour drive for me, settled instead on Capital Grille on Brickell. I had a martini and swore I saw ghosts -- Paul's friends Frank and Alan, both of whom loved the place with us, and Wifey's friend Elizabeth, who ate there with us many times.

The bartender Joanne was still there -- she started out a young, right out of high school girl, and now has kids starting college. The food was delicious as always -- I brought home some of my ribeye, and Wifey proclaimed it delicious later that night. And we talked of old times and current times and times to come.

Tonight, Barry, Kenny, Norman and I have dinner before Bible Class -- where Jeff joins us. Jeff always asks our plans, but can never make dinner on time as he's commuting back to Kendall from the Beach. I think we may go classic tonight -- Captain's Tavern -- just for the halibut. Ha.

Friday I'll fetch Little Man from school, take him to lunch, and then back here for an overnight, which means BAFL, or Bagels at first light. We'll spend Saturday together, and then back to NE Miami for Valentine's with his first love: D1.

It's true how much power a Mom has over her son's future -- Dads, too, but likely less. I always felt adored and loved by a beautiful woman, and that gave me the confidence to go as far as I wanted.

Even if I talked too much, sometimes...