Zoom Armpit Sniffing

 My trainer Jonathan and I have gotten very close -- we enjoy our twice weekly hourly sessions immensely. I am inherently lazy -- but for meeting him -- I would NOT do the balance and strength exercises crucial to keeping me mostly upright. Hell -- the other day I even showed off: I can balance on one foot for a LONG time, which, I have read, is an indicator that I'm less likely to drop like a sack of potatoes...

The sessions fly by, and I always remind him of the sage words of my Organic Chem professor Harry P Schultz: We are ALL students in the study of human nature. This weekend is a big one for Jonathan -- his girlfriend Lesley is moving in with him, and Jonathan has been peppering me with questions about making this thing work from a dude who approached 40 years of marriage to the same, quirky woman.

I told him the most sage advice came from the write Jack Nicholson played -- a writer of romantic books praised for how well he "thought like a woman." When asked his secret, he said he applied logic and common sense to a given situation, and then completely turned it around -- ending up with the spot on woman's perspective. Jonathan is a fine pupil -- he will get it and live happily, I predict.

And, since, like the Styx song, I've got too much time on my hands, I have the luxury of analyzing and thinking about things that matter little. This week, that was an aborted Zoom meeting with my cousin Russ. We connected last week, and spoke for the better part of an hour. Unlike the majority of my first cousins, who I have no desire to spend time with, Russ seemed to be in a very similar place: well off retired guy, living in SoCal, fraught relationships with his other family members, adult kids (though no grandkids for him and his second wife). We really hit it off, even though, far as we could recall, we last were together in person in 1981.

Wifey and I get lots of requests to socialize. Years ago, our friends Susan and Steve told us we were "an IT couple" --cohorts in Pinecrest thought we were WAY cool to hang with, and when we had dinners with Steve and Susan, they were "honored." Ha -- hardly -- and we enjoyed our times with them, but Susan sadly died last year while visiting grandkids in Texas. She actually got flown back to Miami and died here, but whatever caused her death started in Dallas.

I nicely reject most invites -- lovely neighbors, for example, and Wifey is even MORE explicit -- she has let drop LOTS of old friendships on account of she no longer has the energy. She truly cares about ONE friend, and has mah johnng buddies, and comes along with me with my dear friends and their spouses -- but her formal social butterfly self has lost her wings.

So it was unusual that I actually made an effort to spend more time, albeit virtually, with Russ. I suggested a Zoom cocktail, since I had no plans to travel to SoCal nor he to SoFla. He eagerly accepted -- maybe last Monday? No -- he texted -- plans -- but would definitely text Tuesday to confirm Wednesday -- assuming his wife had no jury duty. I have him the text thumbs up.

And then yesterday I realized I had been ghosted. I sniffed my armpits -- did I have BO? Wait -- you can't smell that through Zoom, can you?

It's funny -- he had told me how he was estranged from his brother Gary -- Gary was "selfish and rude" and they haven't spoken in years. A HA! Maybe it was Russ who was that way!

Again -- my life will be fine without the reconnect after more than 4 decades -- but it's strange how he seemed so eager to catch up and compare first cousin notes about our lives. That's ok.

Once again, the adage proves true: friend's are G-d's compensation for family. And so it was last evening -- Barry and Scott and I FaceTimed over a few adult beverages. I had told them I was out of pocket tonight, our usual Zoom, since Wifey and I are fetching Little Man after his gender fluid theater camp performance, and will likely be with D2 after the show.

Scott was supposed to leave for Boston, but his flight was canceled -- he and Sam are off this am for, as I reminded him, a Manilow "Weekend in New England." I decided last night was besheret booze. Scott loved that. I reminded the young journalist you never go wrong with alliteration.

So adios cousin Russ. You now join all my others in the dustbin of my family history. Eric recently flew up to Jersey to photograph his neice's bridal shower. Jeff flew to SF to hang with HIS cousin before the older fellow went in for a bone marrow transplant. In MY case, the Big Man decided that I don't even get a Zoom cocktail reunion with mine.

And that's just fine. Three weeks ago yesterday, all those truly sacred to me gathered for my 65th, to help me honor Hashem with giving me 65 years of a comically amazing life. Not a cousin was within hundreds of miles. Well, not true -- Jeff lives in Broward -- that's less than 100 miles. When I have a bad event -- ain't reaching out to anyone other than who was there 7/18. When I am given reason to kvell -- same thing -- those peeps share in it -- everyone else hears second or third hand.

I guess I also have to be thankful I'm not a Democrat in Maine. The guy who replaced the rapey Nazi Platner had kids with his second cousin. Yuck. Just as well I have Zoom connected stinky armpits...

Political Incorrectness

 So part of being a dinosaur is totally not getting this new era we're in, where everyone is offended. I just read a news story that Miss North Carolina was stripped of her title for using the N word -- and she's a woman of color herself! On our Canes chat, one that would derail the career aspirations of some of us if we tried to become federal judges ( I guess that's no longer so, at least under the GOP presently), one of us noted that "Given the way she looks, a title is the last thing that should be stripped from her."

The story brought me back to MY childhood in white, ethnic New York. My friend Michael, my oldest buddy, was from a mixed marriage: Italian Mom and Irish Dad. Mrs. M was an awesome cook -- I NEVER refused an invite to "eat over." My Mom, of blessed memory, cooked every night, but one of 4 things -- none of which tasted like Mrs. M's stuff. Mr. M was, wait for it, a NYC fireman and prodigious drinker, who spent afternoons off at the local Pin Up Bar (acronym cleverly PUB). Mike and I would be tasked with fetching Mr. M for dinner, and he would always say "Hey guys -- say hi to my boy Mikey and his Jew friend Dave!" The firemen would chuckle, ask if my Dad was a doctor or lawyer, and I would say "Nah -- just a salesman" and that was that. Was I offended or hurt? 

Of course not -- we all used identities like that. Fitz the Mick. Mark the Swede. Joe the WOP, etc...I guess you can't do that no more.

But speaking of Long Island...I saw some terrific news yesterday. My buddy John Nixon, who I've known since high school, finally has a date for the airing of the TV series based on his book about the capture and interrogation of Saddam Hussein. The book was "Debriefing the President" and the show is called "High Value Target." TNT is showing it early September, and I plan to host a watch party.

Back in 2011, a bunch of buddies and I went up to D.C. to watch the Canes opener at Maryland, and I hosted a dinner at The Palm and invited John. It was a banner night -- much better than the game the next day which the Canes lost in Al Golden's coaching debut. John regaled us with his stories of Baghdad, and Hussein, and how he was writing a book about the experiences.

He did, and mentioned Norman, Mike, and me and our dinner in the acknowledgments. The book did great, and a movie, later series, was to be made, but Covid delayed everything. Finally Joel Kinnaman got involved -- producing and playing John, and the show got made with Cairo filling in for Baghdad.

John made a princely sum, which he needs badly -- his wife Barbara is badly disabled from MS and John is a dutiful husband and caregiver.

But I am SO proud of him -- he and my friend Kenny both had great careers of service to the US -- Kenny as a flight surgeon during the Gulf War, aboard the Saratoga, and John with "The Company" as they call the CIA. And now he's going to be truly famous for what he did.

I already joked with him that the movie star handsome Kinnaman isn't really good enough to play him -- should have been, oh, I don't even know the young actors anymore.

But I celebrate when my friends soar -- schadenfreude is for others -- and his is a gleaming moment for a guy I still remember in my basement putting together a play about Apollo astronauts for our First Grade Class -- my Mom dutifully trying to write down our scripts.

So not bad for my Irish Catholic buddy John. The Italians and Jews are SO proud of him...

Dinosaur

 So yesterday was chock full of errands, and later on the realization that I am, truly, a dinosaur.

First, I had to get some legal papers witnessed and notarized, and fortunately recalled a friend had recently taken a job as a legal secretary nearby -- so I took the papers over to her office, and got it done. I had been by the Marcus Building, on SW 77 Ave, for years, but never inside. It's not what one would call Class A office space, but mission accomplished and then...a wait for a monsoon rain to pass.

From there, it was over to First Horizon Bank, to order some checks. I still had Gibraltar Bank ones left over, their last incarnation, and was running out. The cheerful teller told me that I was a "Premium Checking" client, so the 120 checks cost only...$80! I didn't have the energy to see an officer to get the charge stricken, and when I asked the teller about a toaster, he looked at me like a Gen Z guy who had zero idea banks used to give out toasters for new accounts. Now they charge you nearly $1 for every piece of paper you use...

I came home, and I had some legal work: finding a lawyer in Hawaii for a friend who was tripped, accidentally, by a tour guide and broke her shoulder. A quick search showed that Morgan and Morgan was in Hawaii -- I called the number, and got a "case intake specialist" NOT in Hawaii. No, I explained to the person, I needed to talk lawyer to lawyer, as I was referring a case and needed to work out the terms, so that I could remit the fee savings to my friend. 

The clerk basically went all HAL on me: "I'm sorry -- I can't DO that, Dave." Fine. I hung up and recalled I knew a senior partner at that intergalactic firm in Atlanta. I called the 404 number. Same thing! They wouldn't connect me with Greg! First -- they wanted all the information about MY accident.

I tried another tack. No case -- I just needed to speak to Greg. No dice. First tell me about the case. This person, despite the ATL number, was not even IN ATL. Screw it -- I abandoned that firm.

The next on the list was a 10 person firm -- AI wouldn't let me past telling my tale either. I hung up, annoyed. When Paul and I were in active practice, the thought we might miss a big case was our biggest fear. Apparently these days it isn't.

I finally got a human secretary, and she took the information -- but today sent a letter saying that their office was flooded out and they weren't taking new cases. But Pam, the paralegal, was nice, and referred me to a smaller firm. I checked out their web page -- all 3 lawyers dressed in Hawaiian shirts! One guy, the senior partner, looks like Big Daddy Flanagan, the famous local pub owner who died years ago. I hope he's the one who calls me back.

Yes -- times have changed.

Meanwhile, the documents I had Uber Couriered to Hollywood have a scrivener's error -- the page where the mortgage was recorded was 592,  but the firm typed it as 529. So I'm guessing I'll have to sign, have witnessed, and notarized an entirely NEW document -- this time Wifey may actually have to leave the house to go with me to do it. The horror.

Everything is daunting. I guess that was true of actual dinosaurs -- back in the day.

Checkout Day At The Hotel For Dogs

 I love dogs -- I truly do. And yet, if I had my way, once the Special Needs Spaniel Bo crosses the Rainbow Bridge, I would be done getting any new dogs. Wifey tells me this is non negotiable -- our house will always have "at least one, preferably two, dogs."

I try to point out that she rarely comes downstairs before 10:30 or 11 am each day, so her idea of having a dog is really having ME take care of her dog, and I'm kind of over it. I am happy to be the sitter for grand dogs. Alas, I shall lose this marital issue, I fear -- may Bo long continue to nap on our sofa.

So Betsy, the enormous puppy, came home with us nearly a fortnight ago, so D2 and Jonathan could enjoy a trip to Portugal. She weighs north of 105 -- probably more now with the daily Publix chicken I give her with her kibble, and she is not, as Wifey would say, a background dog. She is always underfoot, or plopping down next to me -- she is truly delightful -- but the time has come for her to return to Miami Shores -- D2 and Jonathan returned safely last evening.

We shall meet them at a cool, LA import Italian place this evening, Jon and Vinny's, and I plan to have a martini or two with my son in law and share some great casual Italian whilst hearing all about their trip. Wifey and I are headed to Portugal in December -- the ending port of a cruise from Barcelona with Barry and Donna -- D2 and Jonathan already warned us about Lisbon -- lots of hills -- maybe we "elders" should hire a guide with a golf cart, as they observed. We probably will...

And D1 entrusted us with her Skittish Spaniel Lemon last week -- she is now north of Knoxville on a lake vacation. Lemon is portable, when you can corner him -- and he sleeps in the crate with Bo, so not a midnight tripping hazard on our bedroom floor like Betsy is.

The plan is to return Lemon Friday when we travel up to see Little Man's theater camp show -- as his mother suspected -- he is LOVING it. We fetched him there last week, at the Miami Shores theater, and he regaled us with excited tales -- and a purely modern one. "Grandpa Dave -- you won't believe this: my counselor is a girl, with a boy's haircut, and told us she feels like a boy!" D1 tried to politically correctly explain gender identity to him -- but his precocious 6.5 year old self seemed confused -- saying you were either born a boy or girl, right?

I look forward to watching him and Baby Man and ALL the younguns navigate this brave new world. When the grandsons are old enough to drink, I plan on admitting to them that most of my guy friends and I sort of wished we could have stomached the sex part of being gay men -- life would have been so much simpler. Their Mom will be horrified...but the joy of being an old guy is you get away with more stuff.

So our hotel for dogs will, later this evening, be down to the usual resident and one additional Spaniel. Pretty easy for this canine innkeeper.

Cousin Connect

 So I was up early doing errands today. First I did my laundry, which Wifey and my friends find hilarious -- since we have a housekeeper. But years ago I realized she was ruining my stuff with bleach and all, and I kind of like the sense of completeness of tasks like laundry, so everything goes in the same load, and then the shirts get hung up to dry while other stuff goes in the dryer, and later that am -- presto!

I then left to get a pedicure, a hobby the Ds caused me to have doing "Daddy/Daughter Pedis" which I have now adopted -- typically I'm the only fellow in the chairs, next to Palmetto High girls or the many Ladies Who Lunch and Pedicure of Pinecrest. Today the lady pinched me, and I said "Ow" and she said sorry before hurriedly returning to her Vietnamese conversations with co-workers. I shall survive.

From there it was up Sunniland to Walgreens, and while waiting in line, saw an email from my cousin Russel. I had messaged him last month about the death of our mutual cousin Steven, and never heard. The email explained he rarely checked his FB Messenger, but thanks for letting him know, and a nice summary of his now retired Southern Cal life, and could we set up a time to actually speak?

I made a quick run to Batteries Plus, one of my favorite stores since they always have the unusual battery or bulb I need, and sure enough, got the front doorbell one I needed. In the mean time, Dr.Rigo's office called to say my blood work looked suspiciously good for a fat old man, so I was happy about that, and I asked about getting Hep A and B vaxxes. Did I plan travel? I did -- 2 trips to Europe, with a stop in Northern Africa (Morocco). Yes -- get the Hep, so I made an App appointment to return to Walgreens at 1250, and then called Russ.

We spoke for an hour. I told him I would be married 40 years this January, and he said last time we saw each other, in 1981 in the Grove, he met her. Nope -- I met Wifey in '83 -- that was my college girlfriend Silvia, who broke up with me thinking I would end up some broke ass English teacher. Some folks at the track handicap the horses better than others...

But we caught up nicely. The woman HE was with that day at Monty Trainers ended up being his first wife, with whom he had a son, now 41, and a daughter, now 45. But the marriage soured on account of she was nuts, and he's been happily married to Linda for 20 years now. He just retired from a corporate career, and from his subtle references about places he visits and gold courses he plays in SoCal I could tell he had done quite well.

We compared notes on kids. No grandkids seem to be coming for him -- his daughter in law had a miscarriage and is now too old to try again, and his daughter is a total career woman with zero desire to marry, let alone have kids.

He told me he's totally estranged from his younger brother Gary, though still close with his half brother Adam -- Adam and Gary are both retired Broward teachers now living in South Carolina. Apparently Gary is selfish and wants little to do with his siblings. Hey -- it happens.

Russ is a proud Gator and LOVES that this Cane has 2 Gator Ds and a Gator son in law. He is still a huge Fins fan, too, since he moved here the year before the Perfect Season.

We enjoyed our reunion so much -- he asked if I got to SoCal, and I told him I was there for a friend's wedding a few years back, but had no plans to return. He was last in SoFla when his Mom and stepdad were alive, and now there is nothing to bring him here.

So I asked -- did he drink? Hell yeah -- bourbon. I told him I stayed closer to our ethnic roots --I was a vodka man. I asked whether he would enjoy a Zoom cocktail meet -- our wives would finally meet, and we would each meet them. He loved the idea -- we have a tentative one set for Monday at 7 pm my time, so that he can have his cocktail at 4.

He adored my parents. I really dug his Dad and Mom, though Harry died when I was probably 8 or 9.

Still, talking to him it was clear we had lots in common -- I look forward to sharing some more tales of our lives.

On my Mom's side, my cousin Jeff asked me to set up a meeting with him and Lynn. Eh. We'll see -- if he reaches out for it, fine, but my laziness prevents me from taking the lead.

Plus -- Zoom is the way to go. Ain't none of us pretty enough to require meeting in person no more -- Zoom allows L'chaims and conversation.

That should be enough of a connection.

Big Men/Little Men

 So Barry and Donna and Josh drove down from Pembroke Pines, and Paul and Patricia called and said they wished to come, too, and I fibbed to the person at Captain's Tavern. They take reservations for 8 and more, since they don't have many large tables, and I mistakenly counted us as 8 instead of 7. They forgave me.

We had a delightful night celebrating Barry's 63rd -- 2 martinis for me, one each for Josh and Barry -- and we talked of ships and shoes and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.

And it occurred to me that I only ever got close with big men. Not size wise -- but men who take care of their families, take responsibility for their lives, and never make excuses.

Little men harangue their women. They have limitless capacities for saying why they ended up losers in life. They try to control women -- long after the women are no longer in their lives.

Turns out, I cannot abide little men -- just have to minimally deal with them, as needed, and keep my distance.

This am I was treated to a bunch of gorgeous photos from D2 -- she and Jonathan are having an amazing time in Portugal. Today they're headed for Comporta, which looks to be magnificent. D2 keeps asking after Betsy, her enormous puppy. Betsy is hilarious -- she used to love long walks, and now, approaching 7 insists on shorter ones. This am we got as far as her friend Jagger's house, who sadly wasn't home, and then, instead of continuing, Betsy went on strike -- plopping down her 105 lbs until we headed home.

Wifey and I have gotten used to watching for her dark bulk at night -- she now favors sleeping at the foot of our bed. And D2 loves her SO much -- we love watching her.

The IRS finally got around to sending me a refund I requested last November -- the result of an amended 2024 return which included an investment loss for my FINAL real estate limited partnership. Jonathan and  invested -- via someone he knew. We now agree real estate isn't for us -- Jonathan has plenty on his hands in the world of private equity, and I'm an old school stock and bond guy. I'll leave the more exotic investments for people who really know what they're doing.

I have one final K-1 thing out there -- a small stake in a soccer team owned by D1's bro in law. I thought it would be fun to be part of it, even though I truly LOATHE soccer -- I'd rather watch paint dry.

I fully expect this venture to go belly up as well, though it may take a few years, and I'll get my closeout K-1 which I can use for a tax deduction. Yeah - investing in operations based on someone's boyhood love of sports probably isn't the way to go -- unless you were boyhood friends with someone named Ross, or Arison, or Kraft...

So today we only have a good 'ole Sunday morning and day planned -- I shall complete my constitutional without Betsy. And tonight we get to watch a new episode of "The Westies," a new HBO series based on the actual small Irish gang in NY in the 70s and 80s. It stars the guy from the Farmer's Insurance commercials, who is excellent.

It's funny -- the story centers around the building of the Javits Center -- at the time the biggest project in NYC history, on territory controlled by the Irish guys -- and the Italians wanted in. I was at the Javits Center years ago -- it's pretty rough around the edges -- but when built, was state of the art.

Speaking of NYC -- I'm daily amazed that apparently 1/3 of NY Jewish voters voted for the Muslim guy. Survivors and families of the 911 attack are lobbying hard to keep him away from the service this September --25 years since Hamas/Al Queda (they're really all the same). Hey -- Mamdani is grieving, too -- his people lost 19 of their best guys!

Wow -- 1/4 century since that awful time. Paul and I had just closed a major fire case we handled with our old boss Ed. By noon, we had sent the staff home, and we all knew our families were fine. And as Ed always famously said "Ya gotta eat!"

So we decamped to Morton's on Brickell, sat in the bar, had celebratory martinis and steaks, and talked about these Islamic terrorists. We couldn't have dreamed that now they're seen by the Far Left as Freedom Fighters. What a world, what a world, as the Wicked Witch said as she was melting...

All we can do is raise our grandsons to be Big Men. It won't be easy -- they'll have the influence of Little Men along the way. But I like our chances...

Strategies For Aging

 So this am I had a convo with one of my old man friends. Turns out...when you become an old man, lots of your friends are old men,too. His query: what was the best way to go forward? Accepting the limitations of age, the greatly decreased energy for doing most things, or resist? What would I do?

I answered with a song quote, since most of my thoughts come from lyrics, movie lines, or stuff I've read or heard over the years. The quote came with background about the writer -- since parenthetical discussions are fine for retired, or mostly retired people.

The writer was Randy California, of the group Spirit. Randy was an LA Jew, born Randy Wolfe. He was in Hendrix's band, with another Randy, and Hendrix kept confusing the two, and so named one Randy Texas and the other Randy California. When the world's greatest guitarist gives you a nickname, you keep it.

Anyway, Randy later formed Spirt, and wrote a song called "Nature's Way," and the lyric is "It's Nature's way of telling you...something's wrong." In other words, I plan to let my condition determine how I live -- if I'm limited, so be it. If I can push myself and do more, I'll do that.

Randy died tragically, in Hawaii, saving his son from drowning. I guess that was Nature's way of telling him to stay out of rip currents...

After the phone talk, I met Jonathan my trainer for a rare Friday session, since he was sick on Wednesday. I'm the second oldest person in the gym -- one fellow looks to be late 70s or early 80s, with a wife my age. It's nice when the younger folks move aside when I walk by with weights -- fearful I may drop them on their feet. Age has its privileges.

I then called the Lexus dealer, and they told me Wifey's SUV was ready. I turned in the loaner the color of her eyes, and went inside. My service rep was out. The manager, a pretty Cubana, said he would call me. What was going on? Had they lost the car? Crushed it by mistake?

Carlos called from home to apologize. The check up showed the computer was saying, unlike by Nature's way, that something was wrong -- with the AC. But Carlos checked -- I have the extended warranty I bought when we bought the car off lease from D1 -- and anything needed would be covered. But -- could they keep the car a few more days -- maybe until Monday?

Of course, I said, and then made believe Carlos was saying his "jefa" was simpatica and hermosa, which she was. She blushed. Carlos laughed -- I told her I was making things up. Old dudes can get away with that -- another privilege.

So I have the loaner for a few days. Only problem is, it has a new shifting system -- push button for Park, and you have to manipulate the shifter for the other gears. Zero chance Wifey finds it easy -- but she doesn't have anywhere to go. If she does -- I'll give her a tutorial and hope for the best.

And today is the 63rd birthday of a great man -- Dr. Barry. I asked him if he was going Denis Leary, or Rabbi Yossi. Leary says there comes a time in a man's life when he needs to realize his birthday is no big deal -- and that age is 8. Rabbi Yossi says our days are gifts from The Big Man, and failure to celebrate a birthday is an act of ingratitude.

I think Barry is choosing the opinion of His Holiness -- hopefully we meet for dinner tomorrow night -- and some Zoom cocktails tonight.

D2 and Jonathan are happily in Portugal, and D1 and the boys have a full day tomorrow at the beach -- I think we'll see them Wednesday.

So the days continue to run together, each to each as Yeats wrote, and they're pretty sweet.