Everything's Quiet Memorial Day

 And so it's MD weekend, a holiday whose meaning probably a LARGE number of Americans misunderstand. Unlike Veteran's Day, which honors living vets, MD honors those who died in our wars. Even so, my memories take me to two WW II vets who indeed survived -- one with injuries physical AND psychological; one with only psychological.

The second was my beloved Dad, who never went overseas during his 4 years of service. He came awfully close, though -- set to be shipped to the Battle of the Bulge, where his regiment suffered 90% casualties. His life was almost certainly saved when, the night before he was going to ship out, he met a full colonel at the PX in Texas. Both men were in t shirts, and heard NY accents, and were drawn to each other. My Dad was a private, and so you're not supposed to fraternize with superiors -- my Dad saw to his horror when both men put their shirts back on how (never knew his name -- Sidney, or Murray, or Hank) was so powerful. My Dad apologized. "Colonel -- I had NO idea." He responded "We're a couple of NY landsmen here in Texas, Hy -- don't worry about it."

The next am as my Dad was to board the plane, the sergeant put up his hand. "Nope -- order change for you -- back to Pasadena." Later, my Dad ran into a fellow from Texas, who was shocked to see he was alive. Yep -- dumb luck, my Dad would have said. Besheret, Rabbi Yossi would say.

Either way, thankfully his family didn't have to mourn him, including my newborn sister who hadn't gotten to meet him.

The second fellow is Phil Fouche. When Wifey and I took our first big trip, back in '97, we met the Fouche family on our small Med cruise ship. They were SO Texan -- from Midland/Odessa -- very Christian and very Republican. They told us about a family friend called "W" who would be president someday -- they knew him well. Wifey and I had zero idea who W was. They were generational Aggies, and Phil and I talked endlessly about college football -- he liked the Canes, too -- had spent some time in Miami during WW II. 

His granddaughter Ashley (her real name) had just graduated A and M, and the trip was partly to celebrate that, and partly so Phil could travel to Cassino, Italy to see a placque and memorial that had been installed in that dusty town.

Phil was injured there, badly, and lost many friends. The Germans had taken up a position on a hilltop convent, and shot at the Allies. The Church dissuaded any bombing of the convent, and so American GIs were sitting ducks. We asked to travel with the family from our hotel in Rome, and they were incredulous -- it meant giving up a whole day we could sight see in the Eternal City. We chose correctly.

We took the train to Cassino, and realized no one spoke English. I kind of figured a war memorial might be near the courthouse, and comically asked directions there by pantomiming being arrested -- with handcuffs. It worked! We found the town center, and sure enough, the memorial we were seeking.

Phil dropped to his knees and wept, saying only "They were such great friends, and so young." We made it back to Rome and the hotel, and said our goodbyes. Crystal, Phil's wife, told Wifey and I she loved us so, we were among the finest people she ever met, and would we at least CONSIDER accepting Jesus as our savior? Phil and his daughter and granddaughter were scandalized! "Mother -- that is SO wrong!" Crystal was so purehearted. "I just love this couple and want them to know what we have accepted."

Wifey and I weren't at all offended -- actually flattered. I joked that if I found a really good restaurant in Miami, I would beseech my friends to visit. We all hugged and said goodybe -- and kept in touch for years.

One night, after a late Canes game where we beat, I think, Notre Dame, the phone rang. "Is this my friend David? Phil here -- watched and loved every second of your boys puttin' a whippin' on that over-rated team!" It was delightful.

Phil and Crystal are long gone. My Dad much LONGER gone --it'll be 44 years this July. But next Friday, May 29, would have been his  107th birthday, and his great grandson, whose middle name is my Dad's, is graduating kindergarten. I may be a tad misty eyed.

But MD is Monday, and I will say a prayer for the fallen. Our nation is sure messed up, but remains the greatest on earth. And it's because of the ultimate sacrifice of so many.

New Whip

 So the 39 month lease of my Caddy XT6 was up in July. I am WELL under the miles I paid for --35K of them. I only drove 24K. I looked into buying the thing off lease and then selling -- could have made a few grand, but I am SO lazy and old that the thought of that fell into the "not worth it" bin. So I called the dealer and told them I wanted the exact same model -- would they come pick up the old one, inspect it, and bring me a 2026 XT6.

They could not, on account of Caddy stopped making the model in 2025. Turns out, Caddy is heading towards ALL EVs, and I could either get an XT4, which is too small for me, or an Escalade, which is too big. Indeed, I am the Goldilocks of car buyers.

I picked the XT6 since I could enter it without having to bend over, like you do for sedans or small SUVs. I'm not THAT enfeebled, but I like slipping into and out of my vehicle each day. OK, I AM that enfeebled.

I did some research, and learned that GM still has an equivalent vehicle - the Buick Enclave is a large SUV -- actually a tad larger than the XT6. So on Tuesday, I decided to drive over to Williamson to check one out -- zero intention of actually doing the deal.

The receptionist led me to Leonel, a 30 something nice Cuban/Puerto Rican guy from Tampa. He took me to the roof to see the Enclaves. The first one was a white "Sport" model. I liked it. He got the key fob and said to try it out. Indeed, it was peppier than the Caddy -- a 4 cylinder engine, but with a turbo. It was bigger. Most of the rest of the vehicle was pretty much the same, which I liked. No sunroof, which I recalled using ONE time over the past 37 months.

I drove to Galloway, East on Kendall, and then the Palmetto back to the dealership. I thanked Leonel, and then he hooked me: this was a loaner vehicle, with 6500 miles on it, and if I leased it, they would give me a GREAT deal. Fine. A few hours later, I was transferring all the stuff I never need from the Caddy to the Buick. Leonel set up all the electronics for me -- seamless. Even my APP was the same -- I can turn the car on remotely and see where it is if it gets stolen. The car insurance is $40 more. Win all around. Until...

I came home and Wifey, to my shock, was disappointed. She has never, in our 40 years of marriage, given a rat's tuches about cars. Now, all of a sudden -- she was acting like DiCaprio's wife in "Wolf of Wall Street." "A BUICK? Really. You've worked so hard and given so many so much. You gave both our girls big mortgages on their houses. You bought your SISTER a car and paid for her son's college. Shouldn't you have a better car than a BUICK?"

I tried to explain that the vehicle was essentially the same as the one I traded in -- just that it said Buick instead of Caddy. She was strangely annoyed. I know her BFF's husband in ATL drives a six figure car, and the BFF a Benz SUV. Was that it?

Well, as I reached the stage where I don't care much about most things, I let Wifey's feelings flow off my back. She actually saw the vehicle, sat in it, and then backtracked into "It's nice. I'm glad you're happy."

Life gets curiouser and curiouser. But I like my big, comfortable appliance of a car.

To get into Wifey's suddenly materialistic good graces, this am I bought a new Rolex. It is a gold and silver model with a blue face -- like the one I gave Jonathan. I had bought that one used for $4K, and apparently it appreciated to $20K -- so I figured I needed my own again.

Except, MY version of a Rolex was a $20K piece of a tax free muni bond from Texas, that matures long after Wifey and I will die, but pays $900 per year in tax free interest. Yeah -- that's MY kind of trinket --one that builds wealth without fear of it being lost or removed at gunpoint by a miscreant.

So -- if things go according to plan, I'll be a Buick man until I near 68 years of age. Wifey has her Lexus SUV with 20K miles on it --Lexuses easily last to 100K miles if maintained -- might that be Wifey's final vehicle before she goes full Uber?

As I said -- things are so curious around here, next she'll tell me she wants a 6 figure Benz SUV like her friend in ATL has. Whatever.

Speaking of expensive stuff: I booked the flights for our December cruise -- Barcelona to Lisbon. I called the Explora flight desk, and they offered the exact flights I had found: nonstop MIA to BCN. LIS to PHL to MIA -- all on our favored AA. But they wanted to charge me 30% more!

So I booked directly on AA. When I make the next payment on the cruise, I'll buy travel insurance. I used to laugh at that -- big premiums for never needing it. At our age, with all the moving parts -- kids, grandkids, and you never know health issues, travel insurance is a must.

If I meet an Ingrid Bergman-type in Morocco -- I won't tell her I drive a Buick.

Medicare Birthday

 As I've long said, much of my adult life I subscribed to Denis Leary's philosophy about birthdays: "There comes a time in a man's life where he needs to understand his birthday is no big deal, except MAYBE to his spouse and kids. That age is 9." I regarded others, particularly men who had big whoops, as self important, even maybe narcissistic. 

Wifey would always throw me parties, since birthdays were a BIG DEAL to her. When we lived together in the grammatically misnamed Les Chalet in Kendall, one year, maybe when I turned 24, she had a great surprise party for me, where she had friends waiting outside as we were going to leave for a show. It was terrific -- Eric regaled everyone with his custom coffee making skills, and one of Wifey's co-workers, who was, um, buxom, had been taking belly dancing lessons, and performed. Several kahluas in, I put on her outfit and performed, too. Fun times.

But then I came under the influence of Rabbi Yossi, who explained my wrong-headedness. If you believed in The Big Man, which I do, then you understand your life is the supreme gift from HIM, and if you fail to celebrate its milestones, you are an ingrate. This resonated, and expecially on the 0s and 5, I make a pretty big deal.

At 60, even though Covid was still rearing some of its ugly head, I gathered my BFFs at the Key Biscayne Ritz Carlton for a fun weekend of meals, drinking, and laughter. The Sunday we checked out, I had the Ds and their men to Capital Grille for a great dinner -- with surprise guests Alyssa and Freddy. The weekend was, to paraphrase the Go Gos, all I ever wanted.

So now 65 draws nigh -- 2 months from yesterday. I fiddled with the idea of a sunset sail, but the guy we used in the past retired. Then I thought I might copy Larry David's idea from "Curb" and host an above ground funeral, like Albert Brooks did, which, on the show devolved into chaos when Larry outed Albert as a Covid hoarder.  That idea never really grew legs...

Then I looked back at some of my favorite Miami venues -- and the Rusty Pelican jumped out. I hosted Wifey's 40th there, and we've been to many weddings -- the view is best in the city. D1 hosted a big party for herself there years ago -- Wifey is still not sure why -- and it was lovely.

So I reached out -- totally booked 7/18. Would I consider Friday 7/17? I would not, since several of my friends still have full time jobs, and getting to a dinner on a workday would be a pain in the tuches.

Yesterday we met Paul and Patricia at Sadelle's in the Grove -- and D2 joined us on her way home from a lunch in the Gables. And I came out: my true preference was to host a cocktail party in my beloved house -- site of SO many great get togethers which ceased on account of Wifey's bad back.

The last straw for her was a T Day where I ordered a caterer, and party delivery, and told her to simply be a guest, but she was unhappy with the dishes placement, or something, and so set about changing things and hurt her back. Since then, T Day is at D2 and Jonathan's, since D2 is young -- and we have sterling times there surrounded by a LOT of Venezuelans.

Paul gave Wifey some tough love -- insisting that her fear of a possible back issue 2 months from now was nonsense -- especially if we hired staff to host the cocktail party. 4 years ago, we had D2's 30th -- probably 50 people, and it was delightful. Couldn't I, the schmuck who busted his ass for years to pay for a grand house, enjoy it in my declining, golden years?

So it looks like that will be the answer -- not even that big -- maybe 20, 25 people -- fewer than TDay even. The Ds have ideas for caterers, and it will be simple -- no sit down dinners, just the people I love in the home I love.

Wifey will sacrifice, as she has done by being married to me nearly 4 decades. That's what long marriages are...

And, as D1 reminded me, it will be a banner weekend. Baby Man turns 4 on 7/11, but D1 has an out of town trip, so we will celebrate his birthday Sunday 7/19. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama have a year old mitzvah kitchen, and they host kids' parties, where the little ones learn basic cooking, and help prepare meals for poor folks, along with fun stuff like foam pits and sensory games. I offered to host that -- so there'll be a good deal of driving around in July.

So a plan has been decided upon. The 2 July birthdays celebrated, Big Man willing, back to back -- with no damage to Wifey's back. I guess it'll be like Thin Lizzie -- with the Boys BACK in town. If MY back goes out -- Medicare can help me right out.

The Things That Pass For Knowledge I Don't Understand

 So the city where I was born, New York, elected the finest mayor in their history: Zohran Mamdani. He's the finest for those of us who live elsewhere, of course, as he continues on a path of new and creative ways to push out the richest residents of NYC.

Recently, he took a shot at Ken Griffin, the billionaire who moved his Citadel hedge fund from Chicago to Miami a few years back, and has since given away hundreds of millions of dollars to local charities -- ranging from the Underline (the linear park beneath Metrorail) to UM, to Miami Children's, to Mt. Sinai's new cancer center.

And Griffin was poised to build a yuuuuge project in NYC, until Mamdani filmed a video outside his most expensive (Griffin's, not Mamdani's) vacation apartment, promising to tax the hell out of it.

Ok -- so I'm no economist, but have some empirical life experience. The Summer of '80, I had a dorm at UM where I lived when I took Genetics, the better to catch up on what would become an aborted pre-med career. The first day, my roomie showed up -- Saudi guy, with an Arab-fro, silk shirt, and gold coke spoon. He was a character out of a Hiassen novel, and said the following: "I have a hot Argentine girlfriend with an apartment in Kendall. I live with her, but my father, the Sheik, has no idea. He will call twice during the Summer asking for me. Please tell him I'm at the library, and then call me at this number (he handed me a card). If you do that, the room is a single for the price you're paying for a double."

We shook hands, and sure enough, the next week the phone rang -- it was the Sheik calling from Riyadh -- courtly fellow, with an Arabic accent. He knew about me -- I was an American from NY named David. (I guess this was a form of an early Abraham Accord). "Hello David, I am looking for my son Mohammed. Is he there?" I followed instructions to a T. Indeed, the Sheik called a second time, like abacus clockwork, and I did the same. I never heard again from either my 10 minute roomie or his Dad -- hopefully he wasn't one of the 19 on 911.

But the thing was, it was terrific for me. I had the room to myself, to entertain whoever I chose, and to scream at the small black and white TV as the Islanders won their first Stanley Cup. I watched with less wealthy Arab guys, who had zero idea what hockey was.

So Mamdani has all these billionaires and millionaires, who in fact DO pay taxes, and hire folks like contractors and housecleaners and such, and get almost nothing in return in the form of services! Great deal for the City.

Yet this putz is driving them out.

Our neighborhood has, so far as I know, only one billionaire property owner -- a guy named Ron Gutman, and Israeli-American scientist who got an early patent for at home Covid test kits. He moved his company from Silicon Valley to Miami, and bought himself a luxury condo on Miami Beach, and two houses in my'hood for, I am told, relatives to eventually move here.

He's owned the houses for years, renovated one, and kept the other in pristine condition -- looks exactly the same as when long time resident Ellyn sold it to him. He's a perfect neighbor! He pays WELL over $100K in property taxes, keeps up the houses, and adds zero noise or traffic to our 'hood. I guess eventually he WILL move in the relatives, or flip the properties, but for now? Should we tax him for being too rich?

Again -- NYC's losses are Miami (and apparently Texas's) gains. Send us MORE billionaires -- let them give to charity in amounts I could only dream about.

It's true -- as I age -- I lose my liberal leanings -- since, as the saying goes, I have a brain. To NYC and the Dem Socialists: party on. I saw Mamdani recently recognized Nakba Day -- something NYC used to call Israeli Independence Day. That's when the Arabs rejected the UN partition plan, and decided to drive the Jews out -- didn't end well for them.

I suspect the Mamdani Administration won't end well for NYC, either.

Music In Shows

 To me, a mark of a good movie or series is the proper use of music. Not always, but in the way clean restrooms are important to a restaurant...

Wifey and I watched last season's "Your Friends and Neighbors," and it immediately struck me as an updated John Cheever tale. I LOVED Cheever -- read one of his stories in high school, and my Dad bought me the hardcover compilation of his tales -- I still have it. His world was the upped middle class of Westchester -- WASPY at the time. The new show, by a guy named Jonathan Tropper, adds more wealth and Jewish and Asian characters.

We liked the first season, but weren't bowled over. Our son in law suggested we give Season 2 a try, and we did, and is usual with advice from our smart Jonathan -- he was dead on -- it's TERRIFIC.

And sure enough, they use music beautifully -- Jon Hamm's sister is a musician and later teacher, and she tries to teach the snooty private school kids (a Westchester version of our own Miami Country Day) acoustic versions of Ramones songs. Wonderful.

And when she performs acoustic sets at a local tavern, she plays Neil Young's "Comes A Time" and recalls her childhood. For me, it was freshman year of college -- a favorite of one of the Building 22 guys with a guitar.

The pinnacle was the episode where Hamm's Dad drops dead. The daughter played Warren Zevon's "Keep Me In Your Heart For Awhile." I got teary-eyed -- best funeral song ever! Zevon wrote it for his wife when he had terminal cancer and knew he'd be off the mortal coil soon. I would be proud to have it sung at MY funeral -- it's so on point. No "remember me forever" crap -- just the more realistic remember me "for awhile." Because that's how it is.

So now Wifey and I are IN deep -- we'll blast the rest of Season 2, and look forward to Season 3. It pokes such deep fun at a lot of the foibles of our cohort -- the manic competition to get your kids into great colleges -- keeping up with the (fill in the blank). The hot MILF types dealing with menopause.

And the soundtrack will, I'm sure, continue to impress.

Meanwhile, last night was a Sabado Gigante -- at D1's house. We brought in Bar Bucci -- some of the best pizza ever. Little man, strangely, doesn't like pizza, but he ate the crusts. We drank some vodka and tequila and had an amazing time. We drove home as the boys were going into their bath with such a warm feeling.

Hopefully I don't have to become a cat burglar like Jon Hamm in the Series, to keep up the lifestyle. Speaking of which, we gave the deposit for our December trip from Barcelona to Lisbon -- Barry and Donna are in, too. I got an email saying since this was our 3rd Explora cruise, we got another $500 discount. As I love to politically incorrectly joke -- Finally! Something good for the rich, white man.

Your friends and neighbors...

Shanghaied To Shul

 So my buddy Jeff turned 65 today, and I asked what his plans were. To me, you must celebrate EVERY birthday -- especially if you believe in the Big Man. I was taught years ago that your life is the supreme gift, and if you do NOT celebrate your birthday, it is an act of ingratitude. I never wish to be an ingrate.

Also, I think the 0s and 5s bear special attention. I'm already giving thought to how I wish to celebrate MY 65th  in 2 months. Jeff had no real plans, so I offered to have him and Lili over for drinks after dinner. He doesn't drink -- so really Lili. That turned into a dinner invite at THEIR house -- so I will pack up my shaker, cosmo mix, and some plain Ketel for myself.

Anyway, I left for my constitutional at 730 this am, and just as I got near Jeff's house, I saw him pulling out in his cool new Lucid EV. I asked where he was going so early on his birthday, and he replied "Minyan at Chabad."

A minyan to the orthodox is 10 men, the number needed to say certain prayers, and to read from the Torah on those special days of the week. I used to be a regular "relief Jew," as I named myself -- filling in whenever they were short. But over time, I realized I wasn't a shul going guy -- so I go very infrequently. But today, I asked Jeff if he wished me to join him. He did --so I got into his car and off we went.

Sure enough, they were short a person, and so the fact that I was there let them say Kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Rabbi Yossi and Rabbi Moshe were there, and some old friends, and it was a very warm scene. After we un-tefillined ourselves, Jeff and 3 other guys followed Rabbi Moshe into another room, for a short learning session on Tanya.

Tanya is part of Jewish mysticism, also part of Kabbalah. It's become sort of a cool thing -- non Jews like Madonna go to Kabbalah study. But for the real McCoy Jews, so to speak, Tanya is something to be studied only by those with deep Torah and Talmud understanding -- it's a serious endeavor, not a pop fad. The short session was interesting.

Afterwards, Jeff dropped me back to his house, and my walk continued. I ran into Matthew, a rising UF senior whose company I also enjoy, and we walked 1.5 miles together -- he made me pick up my pace as he shared tales of Gainesville. His brother Zach, also a winner, will be a Palmetto High senior next year, and is also applying to UF. They're sort of younger, male versions of the Ds.

Tomorrow evening we're off to D1's, and bring in dinner with the boys. Hopefully D2 and Jonathan join us, too, along with Betsy, the enormous puppy. D2 got her groomed, and they put in dainty yellow ribbons on her head, which are hilarious -- as Betsy is SO large -- not like a little Maltese or Poodle.

So the weekend is here. I said my pre shabbos prayers, and feel spiritually elevated. Tonight we will celebrate a friend I met when we were 22. Lili faces the terrifying prospect of sleeping with a 65 year old man. I guess that's what happens when you stick around a marriage long enough.

Ear Issues...What????

 I've always been blessed with keen hearing --the Ds inherited it. I can tell if a toilet is running anywhere in the house, to Wifey's amazement, all of the time. About 2 years ago, alas, I developed tinnitus, or ringing in the ears.

I saw Dr. Rigo about it, and he said all my tests were normal, and if it didn't bother me too much, leave it be. Luckily it doesn't -- sort of a quiet hiss in the background when it's quiet. He explained it comes from the hairs in the inner ear becoming brittle with age. There are no real cures for it, though the internet is lousy with them. I let it be.

In March, I had Nurse Nancy do her thrice yearly earwax removal. She sort of struggled with the right ear, and sure enough, a few days later, I had ear pain. I saw Dr. Rigo -- eardrum was fine, but I had some sort of irritation, so he gave me drops with 2 antibiotics and a steroid. Sure enough, in a few days all was fine...until...

Mid April, I went swimming with Little Man, and a few days later, my ears itched! This was a new one, and I self treated with the remaining drops. But a week later -- no relief. It was time to see Dr. Brian.

Dr. Brian is a neighbor and great guy. He's in his early 70s, and like me, from Long Island, but a Catholic school guy instead of a public school one. We chat mornings when he drives by in his 911, and the year before Covid, I saw him for a cough and sore throat that wouldn't quit -- convinced I had throat cancer. Nah -- all was fine, but he DID tell me to avoid alcohol mouthwash -- he was sure it would be reported it was harmful. Oh no -- what about drinking? That was fine, he assured -- the booze passes through -- you don't daily gargle with it. He was correct.

I saw him early today, and he said the drops I was given are a 50 year old prescription, and bore a problem: the neosporin tends to kill good ear bacteria, allowing for a fungal infection. He cultured me and would let me know results next week, but put in a powder that killed both fungus and bacteria, to get started.

What about the tinnitus? He has it too, he explained, and as long as I dealt with it -- deal with it. He told me about one patient driven to a suicide attempt by "the noise in his head." I told him I was nowhere near that.

We traded LI tales, as well as those of a former mutual friend we've both lost contact with. Great guy -- I saw him last month at Captain's Tavern while I was sharing Kenny's farewell dinner. He and his wife had Kay along, a lovely widow. The fact that he includes her speaks volumes about Brian and his wife.

So, yet another feature of aging. As if on cue, I got a letter from Medicare today. They had listed my premium as zero, which I knew was a mistake. Sure enough, now that they have checked the files, it will be $446 per month. Adding on the supplements, I'll be paying just under $1K per month -- less than half my Obamacare, and with better coverage. So I got no complaints.

Last night at pre class dinner, Jeff showed Barry and me HIS Medicare card -- he's already using the benefits -- CT scan and other expensive tests. He turns 65 tomorrow, and had no real celebration plans. I invited him and Lili to come by after dinner, and I would make Lili some Cosmos so she could better deal with the fact that she'll be sleeping with a 65 year old man. Scary thought, I would think.

Instead, Lili invited US for dinner -- I will bring my Cosmos and some vodka with me, and we will celebrate. I met Jeff when we were 22. Now 65. Man -- those years fly by.

Lili has VERY serious hearing issues -- if you are behind her and call her name...nothing. She has begun lip reading. So I guess the conversation will be LOUD tomorrow evening -- with lots of "Ehs?" and "Whats?"

Old age sounds different, it turns out.