CLE

 Ah, to stay an active member of the Florida Bar. I'd a never thunk it -- I'd still be a licensed lawyer approaching my 40th year. Paul had his 50th anniversary in 2025 -- sent a nice plastic plate and certificate to my house for him, since my house is our official Bar address now.

It's funny -- Paul was chatting with a rich guy where he lives, and the fellow was telling us he has a 1.5 acre property in the Five Towns of LI. I KNOW that's worth serious coin. The fellow, who I think was named Irwin, asked where our office was -- and Paul responded -- "Down on Brickell." I chuckled to myself -- even though we've been mostly retired for years now, and if you try to get Paul on the phone, it may take a day or two -- he can't give up the image yet -- as if Irwin was going to refer a case to us.

We actually DO get cases, still -- late last week I was on the phone with one of our guys, David, on his way home from signing up a client in Broward -- truck wreck. I have ZERO problem telling everyone we don't have a staff -- just a couple of old guys who still keep an active firm. But, as Richie Aprile said on The Sopranos -- to each his own.

But anyway, to stay licensed and current, you have to take continuing education classes -- thirty hours over a 3 year period plus a 2.5 hour mandatory professionalism seminar. Since today was a slow day, and I got in my 3.5 miles of walking, I dedicated all afternoon to the effort.

I was bored stiff for 2 2 hour sessions about mindfulness and dealing with difficult clients, and another about changes in areas of the law I have zero to do with. But the Florida Bar class was something I looked a little forward to, since Norman gave me advance warning.

My old boss Ed's boy Bobby's disbarment was featured. Bobby never stole money, or comingled trust account funds, or was convicted of a felony -- the trinity of typical disbarment reasons. He just kept acting like an asshole -- in Court, in depositions. One of his escapades was video taped, and they play it for the lesson on how to NOT be an asshole -- Bobby reaching across the table and snatching some stickers from his opposing counsel, and telling a woman lawyer she must "be a dominatrix."

I guess Bobby had enough of the Law anyway -- I mean -- after the first 2 strikes, if he wanted to keep his ticket he could have -- but as Norman pointed out, his Dad wanted fame as a successful lawyer, which he had years ago, but his son is the TRULY famous lawyer -- for getting kicked out of the club.

The last section was a talk by a former Miami big shot lawyer now living in Miami, who came across SO smarmy, I wished I was good enough with tech to send it to Barry. The guy reminded me of James Lipton, the Actor's Studio guy Barry and I used to poke endless fun over -- this fellow actually ended his talk by suggesting we look up videos by his mentors, and "enjoy them with friends, or maybe over a glass of wine."

Yeah -- no thanks, dude. For me it would be vodka, and the LAST videos I would ever watch would be of self important lawyers.

Anyway, I have lots of time -- I'm current until October of 2027, and the CLE I'm doing now will get me there, and then I'll have until October of 2030 to do more -- or will I?

I kind of always thought I'd be a lawyer maybe 10 to 20 years, tops -- make and invest enough shekels to get me where I needn't deal with, well, assholes on a daily basis -- even now that the Bar is trying to tame some of the asshole behavior, it seems.

So 4 decades? Seems like plenty. Now I just have to get in some hours on "technology" -- maybe that will actually teach me something. I'll probably knock a few more hours off this week -- but next weekend is filled.

My nephew Henry is coming Saturday, and staying 3 nights. He has a video gig on the Beach -- last time it was a tech company from SF who hired him to film their daily corporate team building stuff, edit it, and show it each night -- cutting out the cocaine and hooker parts. Ha. I made that up!

But I look forward to catching up with Henry -- I think Sunday the Ds and grandkids and all dogs will join us -- Henry doesn't drink much, but he will. We will NOT, however, try to get him to violate his veganism -- even if we have that 3rd martini.

Speaking of which, maybe I'll take Atty Smarmy's advice, and go pour myself a Sunday night happy hour -- no videos, though -- maybe just some Tom Petty on the Sonos.

What's New, Dad? Nothing -- Just The Way I Like It

 I used to make fun of my Dad when he gave his inevitable response to my question when we would speak weekly on the phone, or see each other bi-weekly, when I was in college. Really, I would interrogate -- don't you wish ANYTHING would change?

I was in my late teens to 20, and each day brought a new experience, academic or social. Dad loved hearing about them -- living college (something he never had the ability to do) vicariously -- but for himself, he adored the status quo.

Well, now, as I approach 65, I get it. I have little desire to travel, and something has to really blow my skirt up to get me to leave my house -- a given at least weekly to see the Ds and grandkids. But other than them...

Last night we met Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- lovely time with them before they leave for Maine. They typically don't travel much once they're there, but this June are heading to France -- Kenny's always wanted to see Normandy, as I did (we were there 12 years ago) -- and as we heard about their trip, all I could think was -- nah, I'm good.

Today I resumed my long constitutionals after some downtime with my common cold. I got in my 7K steps, and later, when Wifey wanted to get in some steps, walked more -- nearing 5 miles. I ran into Dr. Jose, Wifey's neurologist and UM Neuro Chair -- he asked after her and we talked about our mutual friend Barry. Later, we saw friendly Persian neighbor Mohammed, whose superstar daughter, in Peds residency in D.C., just married her neuro resident fiance, in Portugal. We were at their dual med school graduation party from FSU, and Mohammed and his wife hoped they would stay in Miami for a couples match residency -- didn't happen. But, he hopes, they're return to work here , someday.

We saw the house next to Lili and Jeff sold -- Wifey's friend Libby lived there -- a years ago book club. We looked it up -- Libby sold for a bit above $1M -- latest sale, for the 1/2 acre property was $3.6M -- to a company that bought it from a disbarred lawyer and really spruced the place up. Still -- that much for a .5 acre house? I guess living next to our friends has cache...

We returned home, and I watched the final episode of "The Pit," which was amazing. Wifey watched last night as I dozed off. We started "Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead" and got 45 minutes in before seeing why it was a flop. Now Wifey is watching Coppola's first film, "Dementia 17." I lost interest after an hour.

But the point is, we're doing lots of nothing today and tomorrow, and loving it! Come Monday (as Buffet sang), there'll be more errands. Wednesday night I'm going to see Judge Roy Altman speak at Beth Am's "Hub" their attempt at a local 92St Y which is indeed doing great -- terrific events there since it opened. Altman wrote a new book about Israel, is probably the smartest judge in Florida, and all around cool guy -- I look forward to hearing what he has to say.

Bible study, as I call our Torah classes, begins the following Wednesday -- Norman and Barry and I plan to eat and drink well before each session, even though Barry will have some serious driving -- looks like he may have some new duties for UM Med up in NE Lauderdale...

I was looking at old UM Law stuff before -- the 40th anniversary of our graduation is next month. I spotted several names: Balli, Bidner, Podesta, Snowden, who have left this mortal coil.

I hope they got to enjoy their lives. I know Charles did -- like my boys and me, ravenous Canes fan, and he got to see them soar.

So I savor each day -- even the uneventful ones. Sometimes when nothing's new -- it's how I like it, too.

You Have a Cold? I Vould BUY Your Cold!

 I'm lucky, particularly as the grandfather of a kindergartner and pre schooler: I rarely get colds. I checked -- my last one was last May, whereas typically folks get 3-4 per year. My Dad rarely got sick either -- strong immune system all the way until he dropped dead at 63.

Some friends seem ALWAYS sick. It's rare that Jeff isn't on his way to or from a pulmonologist, or internist -- and HIS grandkids live up North. I guess I'm lucky.

But late Friday, I started feeling pro-dromic, as the word goes -- like an illness is coming on. Mild fever, body aches, waterworks, sneezing. By Tuesday, it was full on (after "DTF St. Louis" I can never hear that expression again without thinking of another meaning). I had a rare, important business lunch with Paul and a former client, and I drove up to Houston's -- not shaking hands with my companions, and struggling through it. Back in the day of full working, DayQuill would have gotten me through -- now -- I just got to go home.

Wifey's mah jong crew was assembled, and I made one requested Cosmo, and was asleep by 830. I hid in the library while the cleaning ladies were there Wednesday, and ordered some chicken soup and a tuna sandwich via Uber Eats. I require zero care from anyone when I am sick.

I took it easy Thursday, as the symptoms eased, and today, mercifully, I am all better. Ahhhh. What a relief.

The experience brought back a funny memory of a very eccentric man -- my late father in law. His sense of humor would have made Andy Kaufman scratch his head. Once I was VERY sick with a cold when he visited, and I waved and told him no hand shaking. His response? "Oy -- you have a cold. I NEVER get a cold. I vould buy your cold from you. You vant to sell it????" To this day, well past a decade after his death, I don't understand his humor.

His other gem was when we attended Canton, and I ordered the "special steak," which came flaming, and "vas GOOD steak --- it's soft." The young server would ask if he wanted anything, and he would ask "Your mother. Your father. They're Chinese, too?" The server would glare and say "Yes they are."

I would get up and follow the young man into the back, hand him a $20 bill and explain my father in law was mentally ill -- please forgive him. Hopefully this prevented spittle, or worse, in our shrimp and lobster sauce.

All I know is, feeling crappy is, well, crappy -- even the classic common cold. I DID have a few cocktails last night with Dr. Barry, who has a family member with a far more serious health issue going on -- he needed to unwind a bit from dealing with that.

And tonight, we're meeting Joelle and Kenny at Platea -- the top restaurant in Pinecrest, which is a surprisingly low bar. We have very few good restaurants here -- Joelle proposed a new Key Biscayne place, but Wifey voted no with her arthritis -- could we stay closer?

Indeed, they have prime beef -- very soft. My late father in law would have approved. They also got their liquor license, so I can have a pair of martinis. We will toast to our friends upcoming snowbird flight to Maine -- they'll be there May to September. No wait -- that's a song. They may stay through November, as Kenny turns 65 then and I think he wants his big day celebrated there on golden pond -- which Thompson Lake truly is.

I'm still conflicted about my upcoming Medicare birthday, though yesterday I spent 1 hour and 20 minutes with the affable AARP United Health agent setting up all of my Medicare supplements -- I have been approved! So in June I get to call Florida Blue and tell them they've extracted the final $2200 monthly premium for me. So there.

I thought initialy I might want a sunset sail with some friends, and dinner with the kids the following night. Now I'm not sure. I WILL celebrate somehow -- turning 65 I gotta give thanks to the Big Man for another year on this mortal coil...

All I know is, it sure feels great to not be sick!

Sunny 106

 So today would have been my mother's 106th birthday - or would it have been? She always celebrated April 13th, but years later when Wifey took her to an appointment for a doc, she learned that Medicare had her with a different birthdate -- I think April 11. We asked her about it, and she said "Oh -- who cares now? 13 is my lucky number -- that's my birthday. So there."

Classic Sunny -- not a fact based, worrying type of person. Luckily, she had my Dad, who WAS fact based and a worrier -- his taking care of life's business gave my Mom the freedom to be that type of spirit. After Dad died, I filled in his role -- making sure my Mom, who never managed stuff, learned about checking accounts, paying property taxes, FPL, etc...In fact, when it came time for law school, I applied to UF and UM, and sort of wanted to go to Gainesville for a change after 4 years in Coral Gables -- but figured Sunny needed me nearby, so I stayed in So Fla. It worked out just fine...

My Mom was loving and giving. When I made my first big money, and proudly told her about it, she answered with "Oh, that's nice, David -- you need anything for the girls?" She would never let me replace her furniture, which we joked would go to the mythical Wicker Museum upon her demise, nor pay for expensive things -- with 2 exceptions.

When she turned 80, and then 85, I took the whole family to SF and then LA to celebrate. She loved it -- having everyone together in places she loved. At the 85th, we drove to Colorado Blvd in Pasadena, to let her recall her WW II days where she lived as a newlywed with my Dad, who was on the Army base there -- and she worked for the Dean of CalTech. She recalled she would get coffee and a bun every am at Owl Drugs before taking a trolley up the hills to the CalTech campus. We stepped into the Gap store -- I asked the manager if he knew where Owl Drugs used to be. He laughed and took us outside -- we were standing in the Owl Drugs Building. What a moment across the decades.

I'm so grateful Mom got to meet my Ds -- into young adulthood. My youngest grandson has an S name -- after Sunny. He is sweet like she was. His brother's middle name, Hy, is after my Dad. We just learned that his graduation from kindergarten is set for May 29th -- great grandpa Hy's birthday. I take that as a happy message from The Big Man...

Speaking of Baby Man, he had a rough day yesterday -- a scooter crash where it landed on his index finger. D1 took him to urgent care -- sure enough -- displaced fracture. They splinted him up, and I called my dear friend Lew, a hand surgeon, and texted a photo of the x ray. Lew is in Ohio on a work gig, but said surgery IS needed -- a pin that will insure the bone heals the right way. He can do it on Monday -- but since his Broward hospitals have been shedding Pediatrics, on account of it's not a big earner, he'd do it at West Boca.

I think D1 will decide if she wants to wait, or possibly have it done this week closer to home -- Dr. Barry has a guy, but we needn't bother him for a finger...

The joy of parenting boys. Little Man already broke his foot -- the running joke is if you have active boys -- get to know ortho surgeons...

Hopefully Little Man swims through and gets back on the scooter...

But this am I looked skyward and spoke to my Mom. She was my first love. She was beautiful, and being loved by a beautiful woman gave me boundless confidence -- particularly with women. Of course, now that I'm near Medicare, I reflect how much easier life may have been as a gay man -- but like Jack Nicholson said, if I could just stomach the sex part.

It's funny -- I was always SO close with my Dad, I saw myself as a boy Dad, too. Turned out, I was to be a girl Dad, but now I have grandsons -- so I get more experience with orthopedic surgeons for issues other than scoliosis.

Back to Mom. She lived 30 years longer than Dad, and I'm convinced a big part of it was her ability to NOT internalize the anxieties of her family. She had moments, of course -- I remember her terribly worried when my sister's husband called to tell her that unless she sent $2000 to fix their roof, "your grandsons will be sleeping in wet beds." But it passed, and she came to realize all of her kids' life choices were theirs.

And oh boy, did she make us laugh -- often unintentionally. She had her own internal dialogue, and occasionally it would surface. To this day, 4:30 pm is "Grandma Sunny Time." Why? We were driving home, on Old Cutler Road, and out of nowhere she sighed and said "Ah...it's 4:30." Wifey looked at her -- was there a show on? Did she have to be somewhere we didn't know about? Was someone coming to our house to visit? "No -- I just looked at my watch." So -- Grandma Sunny Time.

I thank her for messing me up FAR less than most mothers messed up their kids -- particularly sons. I see a lot of that around -- well meaning Moms, who can't quite figure out how to cut the umbilical cord -- even well into adulthood.

Not Sunny. When I graduated 6th Grade, she wrote in my book "I admire you. I respect you. And mostly, I love you." I carry those feelings deep inside, now 13 years after her death.

And today I wish her, as they say on FaceBook, a happy heavenly birthday.

Bad Day At Pre Pinecrest Four Decades Past

 April 11, 1986 -- my friends and I were in the home stretch of our 3 year law school stint. We'd graduate the following month, travel to Tampa to take the feared Bar exam, and move on with our lives. But there was an awful tragedy that day near SW 122 Street and SW 82 Avenue, in what would later become Pinecrest, where we have lived since 2000. It was a tale beyond "Miami Vice," which was making our city famous then.

There were 2 owners of a landscaping company, Platt and Matix, who had met in the army. Later we learned they were white supremacists, loosely connected to the 2 creeps who brought down the Oklahoma City building. They raised funds for their "cause" by robbing banks and armored trucks -- all up and down the US 1 corridor in Miami. They shot and killed random people in the Everglades who were out target shooting to steal the cars they used. Platt was married to a French Jewish girl, Regina -- she was found shot to death in what was ruled a suicide. Matt's wife died mysteriously in Ohio, and he collected her life insurance. These were REAL bad hombres -- worse than the bogey man immigrants Trump warns about.

Anyway, the FBI staked them out that fair day -- meeting at the Home Depot on SW 136 Street that I visit all the time. They saw one of the stolen cars and trailed it -- pulling it over at a house on 82 Avenue, by an FPL substation on the west side of the Avenue. The FBI learned an awful lesson that day -- bad guys often outgunned them. The creeps had high powered weapons -- the FBI old school revolvers from the days of Melvin Purvis. A terrible shootout ensued -- Special Agents Dove and Grogan were killed, 5 other FBI agents shot, and finally, a true bad ass named Mireles, himself shot, took out the 2 pieces of crap.

Apparently the shooting is studied at length these days, and now the FBI is properly armed. It was an awful tragedy. And, this being Miami, the smallest town big city in the US, of course I had to have a connection.

When I was in undergraduate, I had a teaching assistant named Giselle -- she later went back to UM Law, Class of '85. We stayed friends, and a few weeks after the shooting, I saw her outside the law library, on a bench sobbing. Turns out, the French Jewish girl Platt married was her sister -- she told me the whole family knew the whole time he had killed her since she likely learned of his evil, double life, and after the Miami Shootout, as the event came to be known, the truth was finally out.

Giselle and my path, or at least life paths, would cross again, in 1993. Giselle married a FHP trooper. We were living in Wifey's high school house, while our Hurricane Andrew house, "mistroyed," as D1 adorably malapropped, was being rebuilt. One night I got a call from Manny, a neighbor. Any reason guys would be taking away my AC compressors at 9 pm? Nope. Another neighbor, Doug, a tough biker dude married to a Jewess who looked and seemed like Katey Segal in "Sons of Anarchy," followed the pickup truck with my stolen compressors as he told the cops where the truck was. Metro Dade and FHP pulled the truck over next to Killian High -- it was a Cuban guy from Hialeah who owned an AC company and figured he'd steal components from Andrew construction houses.

I went to the scene. His 11 year old son was with him, balling in the back seat of the trooper's car. The trooper, Rivera, said to the thief in Spanish "Dad of the year you are, eh?" Anyway, Rivera recognized my name as he wrote the report -- did I know his wife Giselle? I did indeed! He told me she worked for the Attorney General's Office and they were moving soon to Tally.

Meanwhile, Dave being Dave, Prudential paid for new compressors -- better ones -- and as part of the thief's plea deal, he had to pay me $3K! I agreed he needn't go to prison -- it was a first offense. But turned out crime indeed paid -- for ME -- the victim. Another Miami twist.

Back to the Miami Shooting. Last night, during my 2 hour break from sleeping, I read about the details again, and decided to look up my old friend Giselle. Turns out she died in December, in Tally, at 69. I don't think she ever had kids, and the death notice listed her maiden name again, so I assume she and the trooper were divorced.

I drive by the scene of the shooting at least several times per week. We may even go to Platea tonight, the great restaurant located right there. The Village named the part of the avenue after Dove and Grogan, and there is a placque there.

Our old accident reconstruction expert, Bill Fogarty, had his office just South of the substation. When I visited once, he walked me over to the substation and showed me the bullet marks -- still in the concrete. I assume Bill has passed on -- if not, he's nearing 100. 

But man -- how did 40 years pass since that fateful day? In October, those of us still living from Class of '86 will be 4 decade Bar members. If there is a reunion, which I'll skip on account of I haven't enjoyed ANY reunion since my high school's 10th, it'll be 40 years.

Wifey and I will celebrate our 40th anniversary in January. I have often fallen short as a husband, but never killed her and tried to make it look like a suicide like the white supremacist felon Matix did, right? At least I got THAT going for me.

I shouldn't joke, but at least after 4 decades, no one can claim, as my nephew of another mister Scott likes to always remark: "Too soon."

40 years is in no way ever too soon...

Through The Red Tape, It Appears

 So the company, Vitals, that works with the NYC Board of Health (must have been some sweet kickbacks there) was on point, as the younguns say, and they shipped my birth certificate in less than 48 hours. I made an appointment at the SSA office today, and then, like Petty said, the waiting was the hardest part.

But last night, we cruised up to The Palm, and had a stellar dinner with the Ds and their men -- 2 martinis, shared steaks, and a fish, and sides, which always makes me think of the late, great, Rob Reiner playing Jordan Belfort's flummoxed CPA Dad in "Wolf of Wall Street" when he audits a $20K dinner bill, and the Jonah Hill character said "the sides were expensive," and Reiner retorts: "What -- do these sides cure cancer???"

We drove home happy and blessed, and then this am I awoke, and did not go to Innisfree like Yeats, but rather to Cutler Bay. I arrived at 9:50 for my 10:10 appointment, checked in on my phone, and barely had time to sit my tuches in the plastic chair when I got a text to report to window 11.

A nice young Cuban American guy was there, and was completely competent, courteous, and professional. I showed him the certificate from Queens, and it seems we killed off 7/12 DOB Dave and replaced him with 7/18 DOB Dave. He then registered me for Medicare beginning July 1 -- the very reason for the season, and I was off -- he even asked me as a Queens native if I was a Mets fan, and I bored him with tales of my childhood when they won the '69 Series, but now I was all Miami Marlins. He was, too, though for 5 years living in Baltimore he went to Os games. Ah, baseball. To American Jews and American Cubans, though we may love football, basketball, and hockey (soccer --  yuck), baseball is our birthright...

I celebrated with a Greek omelette at LOL -- realizing I hadn't been there in months. I texted Scott, who LOVES the place, and he asked me who I had been cheating with. I replied Roasters, mostly, and a few trysts with Crema, and First Watch, and House of Bagels, and the newly opened H and H Bagels. Hey -- I got one wife going on 40 years, can't I have variety with my breakfast spots?

Tonight I plan to Zoom cocktail with Barry and Donna, and hopefully Eric and Dana if they're free -- probably the best lasting change from The Covid Plague -- our Friday pm get togethers without having to leave the comfort of our homes and battle traffic.

Oy, traffic. Last night, as we drove home around 10, we came upon the biggest boondoggle in Miami highway history -- the new double decking of the Dolphin. At 10, they close it and I thought it was only Eastbound -- so Wifey and I got stuck having to exit at 12th Avenue, and go South. I drove down Flagler, though old Miami, and then to The Trail, finally back to The Palmetto. Note to self -- after hours, avoid the Dolphin until completion in 2029, if alive -- take the Airport Expressway instead.

But tomorrow, traffic warrior Barry is driving to the 305 on a day off -- meeting us for dinner at Bahia Honda, a great local fish place Kenny turned us on to -- near FIU. It's actually right off both the TPK and Palmetto -- so only 20 minutes for Donna and Barry, and a tad less for Wifey and me.

And Sunday, we're seeing Wifey's friends at Miami Shores CC, and then a visit with the grandsons.

Some stuff is worth driving for. And next week I shall go online, as Rey suggested, and confirm my electronic admittance to true elderliness -- Medicare. Wooo.

Persia Endures for Now

 So our, um, colorful POTUS, The Donald, really outdid himself with the rhetoric: threatening to "fucking blow Iran back to the Stone Age" if they didn't reopen the Strait of Hormuz by 8 pm last night. Since the guy says so many outrageous things, probably high level geopolitical leaders didn't really take him seriously, but, sure enough, what's left of Tehran government came to the table, brokered by Pakistan, of all nations, and agreed to let the oil flow again. No end of Persia last night.

For me, who cares about #1, while trying to avoid stepping into #2 (an underappreciated hilarious Rodney Dangerfield line from "Back to School), the stock market futures are flying as high as Artemis II. Hopefully my family gets to recapture most of the losses this latest adventure cost us -- on paper, anyhow.

Who knows what the future brings in the formerly united states. It may well be that the absurdity wrought by The Donald and his lap dogs will cause an even greater pendulum swing to The Left, which in many ways I fear even more than The Right. Oh boy. My Ds and grandsons (2 here and hopefully more to come) will have to deal.

Back to #1. Per UPS tracking, my certified birth certificate copies are on their way -- due here later today -- so I can make another appointment and hopefully convince the Brazil-like folks at SSA that I am indeed who I have claimed to be since July of 1961, and not some other guy born 6 days earlier, as their records seem to show. Free Dave's Medicare! Maybe I'll get a T shirt made.

In other domestic silliness, Wifey got her new phone yesterday and got it up and running, so my Man Friday duties have ended, mostly. Cara was late to get the message and asked me to coordinate the Old Ladies Lunch, as I am calling it, set for Sunday. Cara, Ronnie, and Wifey negotiated a series of issues probably as complex as the Iran War deal -- driving distances, time, location, etc...They seemed to have agreed on the Miami Shores CC, so we'll get to see the grandsons early, before D1 whisks them to their typical event packed non school day.

Ah -- driving distances. We have a family dinner tomorrow at The Palm, since closer Christy's was full. Wifey didn't believe me -- I had to show her the web site to prove that yes, we MUST drive the extra 20 minutes each way as I claimed. Jesus Christ, as Paulie Walnuts said when seeing Big Carmine with his urine bag in South Florida -- "kill me right fucking now!"

Still, as Barry and I reaffirmed whilst FaceTiming the other night -- we are blessed with First World Problems, mostly. He told me how some new trainees, faced with three deaths in the PICU within a week, cried that it was "unjust." Yep -- sure is. Where is the justice when a precious child gets diagnosed with a dread disease, or drowns because an out of state AirBnb user forgets that most houses in South Florida have swimming pools, or gets hit by a car -- the unholy trinity of child tragedies.

I told Barry to remind the fledglings that there's a building right across 12th Avenue NAMED for Justice -- and it's pretty rare one finds justice there.

Still, we get snatches of exquisiteness. Yesterday I picked up, right in my back yard, a small coral rock with a clearly defined clam or oyster shell fossil attached. I'm keeping it to show Little Man, who is already learning about fossils -- to blow his mind with the fact that his native land is essentially a drained coral reef, and the limestone mostly the shells of ancient marine creatures. He and his brother are sponges -- walking through life taking in so much. Our job is to make as much of what they absorb good, and happy, and strained out of the bad and evil -- they'll learn of that soon enough.

But for the next 2 weeks, at least -- no bombing Persia back to the Stone Ages. And maybe the normal folks will indeed finally overthrow the mullahs...AND faddahs (I can never escape Alan Sherman playing in my head).

So steak tomorrow night. And CC food Sunday. I remain well over fed. Let's see if the stock market gets fat today, too.