And Leonid Brezhnev Is Dead

 Dr. Barry and I shared 3.5 very formative years -- truly journeying together from teenagers to young men, as roommates in Apartment 22Z in the UM Honors Dorm. It was called that, but was in truth a WW II era three story apartment building. Although old, it was a great place to live -- 4 people shared a living/dining area, kitchen, and 2 bedrooms with one bathroom. We loved it -- it was the scene of deep conversations that truly shaped who we are today as men, as well as laughter so deep it hurt our bellies and took away our breath.

Our roommate Mike was a great guy -- still is. He's a med school professor in Arkansas, which is funny, as Mike is the most classic, LI Italian, Jets/Mets fan of all time. We still chuckle at the thought of him living in Arkansas, of all places, but he's built a beautiful life there, with 2 grown kids, and great career prestige.

Mike shared a bedroom from '81-'82 with Jorge. Jorge was the son of 2 doctors from Hialeah, and we grew very close to him, too, although he had precisely opposite politics from Barry and me garden variety, Queens Jewish early 80s liberalism. Jorge, born in Cuba, was VERY Republican, and more informed about politics than Barry and I were. Each morning he would read the Herald, neatly, refolding the sections, and mutter how it was a Communist publication because it wasn't sufficiently anti-Castro, and then he'd do the same with the Wall Street Journal, which wasn't Communist.

The night of the November of '82 elections, Jorge had a map on the wall which he happily colored red as each state went GOP. Oh -- he had a poster or Reagan on his wall, too.

One late morning in early November of '82, Jorge was walking through the apartment literally skippig and whistling. He had a beatific look on his face. Something was up. Barry and I asked him what was going on -- had he scored with some pretty co-ed the night before? Had he aced a tough Eco exam? I remember like it was yesterday his ebullient response: "The day is beautiful. The sun is shining, the birds are singing. The air smells sweet. Leonid Brezhnev is dead!"

Of course, Barry and I doubled over in laughter. I mean -- we were surely no fans of the Soviet Premier, but his death wasn't that big a deal to us. To Soviet loathing Jorge, of course, it was cause for true celebration. And sure enough, as he explained to us, it was probably the beginning of the end of the USSR -- and Jorge was prescient in that regard. I recalled his words not many years later, when the Berlin Wall fell.

Well, I feel the same way today, but for a firing, not a death. The Electoral College meets today, and will spell the end of the worst president in history, Donald Trump. He's still whining about made up fraud, and how it was unfair, like the spoiled toddler he is. But short of a coup, which I don't see coming, today marks the end of his disaster to us. Like the fake reality show that made him famous, we get to say to him "You're Fired!"

And sure enough, it's a beautiful day in Miami. The weather is perfect. The birds all sing -- both the year round ones and the real snowbirds that stay here for the Winter. I plan to leave soon for my morning constitutional, and I may even whistle, like Uncle Remus. Oh wait -- Uncle Remus is no longer an allowed character in these woke times. Too bad! Zippity do dah.

In the way the Soviet Premier's death augured in a new Springtime for Russia, I hope that jettisoning the narcissist does the same for the USA. There's a beautiful coincidence: the same day the Electors meet, the plague vaccines are starting to be given. Wifey and I eagerly await our jabs, as the Europeans call them, but the end of this horror seems truly in sight.

So adios, Donald. Hopefully within several months, adios COVID. Won't that be grand?