The Right List

 So Paul and I get Florida Bar stuff delivered to my house, on account of the fact that Paul doesn't think a legitimate attorney ought to have his house address the same as his office one, whereas I am accepting of things. Anyway, this am I glanced through the Florida Bar news, which I ought to get online, but am too lazy to make the change.

I always glance through the articles, like I used to do with "Playboy" magazine, just to make sure there's nothing glaring I should know, and then I turn to the two important lists: "Disciplinary Actions" and "In Memoriam."

It occurs to me that fewer and fewer of my colleagues make the first list. Prime career time for screwing up seems to be early or middle -- not the twilight, as Norman calls us. As to the second, sadly, that list has members of ALL ages -- though of course it skews to those admitted to practice in the 80s and earlier.

This month my friend Dave Coulson was on the sad list. And truly, the whole key is staying OFF that "In Memoriam" group for as long as possible. Discipline? Hell -- at this point, I'd just quit, or do what's called a "Disciplinary Revocation" which is essentially disbarring yourself.

Intimations of mortality, to malaprop Wordsworth.

Anyway, we had a BANNER T Day, where we feasted and laughed and enjoyed our shared gratitude. I spent a lot of time with Jonathan's grandmother Judy, the essence of a true matriarch. She's 90 and sharp as a tack, and loving as ever -- surrounded by her kids, grandkids, and 2 great grandkids. We talked about planning and the absurdity of that -- her parents never planned on Nazis and having to stash their daughter in a convent to survive the Holocaust as a little Catholic girl, emerging to find nearly everyone killed off.

But she always makes me smile -- remembering with greater clarity than I have when she met D2 and Wifey and me in Gainesville and knew in her heart that very day we would become family. Anyone who acts against this powerful woman's wishes does so at their own stupidity and peril -- we sure didn't!

We took Little Man home with us after the feast, and spent a lovely day with him -- D1 and Baby Man stopped by to fetch him for one of 2 Friendsgivings, and then she left with Baby Man -- Joelle and Kenny had stopped by for lunch and my notary skills -- they're leaving today for SE Asia and needed some stuff notarized before they left.

I had some leftover champagne from D1's pilates party, and Joelle and I toasted to their safe and fun journey.

In the evening, we took Little man to Fairchild Garden's "Night Garden," where they light all the trees and place fairies all over -- it was truly mystical. There's a huge banyan tree with a West Indian accented man talking as if he was the tree, Archimedes, but you can call him Archie. Little Man got to ask a question, and it was "Are you pretend?" Archie said no, he was a real talking tree, and Little Man came back to me, leaned in, and said "Grandpa Dave -- there's a speaker behind him-- he's not really a talking tree."

Ok, so we got one of THOSE on our hands -- good thing we're not Christian -- he'd know Santa Claus was total bull. 

And as we drove home, he asked how long we had been at the Garden. I told him nearly 2 hours. He said "It seemed to me it was much shorter. When you're doing something fun -- an hour goes by SO fast. But sometimes in school, when I want to go outside, an hour seems SOOOO long."

So we have a not yet 6 year old already thinking with Einsteinian abstraction. D1 told us she met with the school folks last week -- he was placed into the Gifted Program starting in First Grade. Beat me with a stick!

We drove him home, and since he was already bathed, and his little brother already in bed, he got a few books read to him and then off to bed, too. Wifey and I drove home kvelling about our grandsons, and daring to hope for maybe more grandkids, too.

So long as we stay off that bad list...

Space and Time

 So Barry, Norman and I are taking a class taught by Rabbi Moshe Harlig, intellectual son of Rabbi Yossi, on the Kabbalah. Not the pop-style Kabbalah favored by idiots like Madonna, but the real McCoystein, so to speak.

Last night's class really blew my mind -- I told Barry I felt like Larry Kroger in the scene in "Animal House" where he tries weed for the first time and Donald Sutherland's professor character has him contemplating entire universes on the tip of his finger.

The lesson was that places, people,and time are all The Big Man's creation, and therefore not subject to the understanding we mortals have. For example, in the Torah it is mentioned that Abraham was basically celebrating Passover -- giving matzoh to angelic visitors -- more than 2 thousand years before the exodus occurred. Why? Because the exodus was already created by G-d -- it just took Moses -- being in the right spot and time -- to bring it to reality for humans.

We also talked about how each day has its special energy -- particularly holidays, and one's birthday. A secular holiday is a construct -- if a family decides, for example, to celebrate Thanksgiving the day before the Thursday, it's no less a T Day for that family. But Jewish holidays don't work that way -- you can't decide to celebrate Passover other than the prescribed time -- the energy is different.

Same is so of Shabbos. There was a tale shared of a Roman emperor who came into a Jewish house on a sabbath and asked why the food tasted different. Was there a unique spice? No, per the sages -- food DOES taste different on shabbos -- due to its powerful, crucial energy.

Earlier in the week, I spoke to my old friend Stu, who holds himself out as a funny, silly guy, but was Phi Beta Kappa in college as a Philosophy major before Emory Law. We talked about people, and how you can't get them to change their ways. Stu remarked: "People are like the weather. They just ARE. You may want it warmer, or sunnier, or cooler, but you can't affect that -- the weather just IS."

This actually jibes well with last nights lessons -- things, under the Hand of The Big Man -- just ARE. We need only to study and figure them out, and parse meaning for our lives. Simple. Ha. As if!

Another lesson was how critical it is to celebrate our birthdays. Again -- we were born to a certain mission, at a certain time, as a gift from Above. I used to subscribe to comedian Denis Leary's theory: "There comes a time in a man's life, where he knows, or needs to know, that his birthday is no big deal to anyone other than his selfish self -- and that age is about 8."

Au contraire, funny Irish Boston Catholic guy! Failing to celebrate is akin to getting a precious gift from someone, tossing it aside, and not showing gratitude. And in my family, we SHOW gratitude. The Ds well remember that any gifts they received were not released to them before a thank you note was written.

All of this dovetails into today -- the biggest secular day of gratitude, and, for us, D1's birthday. We will celebrate the latter TWICE -- first a pilates get together on our front porch, and later with 23 of us at D2 and Jonathan's house -- catered by Les.

When you accept each day, each moment in your life is truly sacred, and truly holy -- unique among infinity of time and space -- well -- you'd damn well better savor that. So that's on today's scrumptious menu for sure.

Mahjong Ladies

 It is so funny to me how my life has come full circle. A VERY strong childhood memory is my mother Sunny hosting mahjong games -- every few weeks. She played with a group of women, one Greek, the rest Jewish, and I LOVED that there were cookies and Sarah Lee cake, which I was allowed to sample, but HATED the intense cloud of cigarette smoke which made it all the way to my bedroom -- 2 flights up our split level from the playroom where the games were hosted.

I recall Kay (the Greek lady) and Arlene, and Bea, and Berneice, and a few others. They would sit around Sunny's table, 4 players and one waiting, in their Marge Simpson-style hairdos, and talk happily about their husbands and we kids. 

When Sunny moved to Delray, she found 2 other regular games, but by then none of the 60 somethings wanted to host -- they met at either the "main" clubhouse, or the smaller one nearer to my Mom's Kings Point section, the "Isle of Capri," which was so named because there were canals around it. Years later, when Wifey and I visited the actual Isle of Capri in Southern Italy, I learned it was just a tad more picturesque than the 70s cell block style architecture of Kings Point.

But anyway, turns out that younger generations of women are now HEAVILY into the game, too, and over the past year Wifey has begun weekly hosting the game. I joke that depending on my level of Oedipal thought, I'm either slightly aroused, or slightly revolted. Nah -- not revolted at all -- none of this generation smoke, and occasionally I can get one or more of them to accept a cocktail, which means I can pour myself one or two, and thereby get by my self prohibition of not drinking alone.

One of the regulars, our friend Lili, is out of action for awhile, on account of she and Jeff are up in New Haven, where they bought a townhouse to be closer to their eldest daughter, and one granddaughter and another on the way in a few weeks. New Haven tends to be bleak -- and in the late Fall and Winter more so, but the grandkids are the draw -- Lili is gone until next year, so she can help with the baby.

So last night our neighbor Laura joined the party -- her husband Will is a crazy Cane like I am -- his family owns the bookstore across from campus, where I spent a LOT of money from '79-'86, a fact I always remind Will of as we pass on our walks -- and he always says "Thanks -- it helped to buy our house here!"

Another newer addition is Roberta, who used to drive Will to Gables High in the early 80s. She's divorced long ago, with 2 kids living in Brooklyn who have become orthodox. After the game, she and Wifey talked for a long time outside, and I joined them, and it was lovely -- Roberta is delightful.

They mentioned how Laura, like Wifey, wants badly to move out of her huge house, and Will, like me, LOVES it here -- he may be the only neighbor who walks more than I do. I asked where Laura wants to go, since they'll stay in Miami, and the response was "She doesn't know, but somewhere smaller and easier to take care of!"

A ha! Just as I suspected -- another case of the divergence of older men and women. It seems to me, once in the 60s, men want no life changes, and women crave SOMETHING -- they can't even identify it, but it's there.

This happened to my parents in 1978 -- my Dad was happy as a clam on LI, I was going off soon to college, but my Mom was restless. And so they decamped to the Delray condo, and my Dad loathed it. He loved South Florida, but always saw himself living in what is now Aventura -- he had a business friend who lived at a place called Admiral's Port, which is right next to what is now Williams Island, where Paul and Patricia live.

No dice. My Mom and her sisters decided it was time to go back to the future -- when they all lived close by in post WW II Bronx. So my Uncle Marty and Muriel, Lorraine and Abe, and Dorothy and Arthur all moved to Kings Point. The youngest, Florence, was the po relation, and couldn't afford to leave Rockland County.

Within a few years, all but my parents moved to nicer places than Kings Point, which, to this day, is the ugliest condo development I have ever seen -- essentially huge parking lots with the buildings in the middle, with small strips of lawn separating them. 

But to my Mom, it was heaven -- she stayed there a total of  33 years -- 30 after my Dad died.

Likewise, Wifey wants a change -- not sure what -- but SOME change. Not happening -- at least for me. 40 minutes is close enough to our beloved Ds, and I too love it here. Long suffering Wifey will reluctantly endure.

And so the games will continue. And as I welcome the mahjong ladies, each time I'm taken back half a century in my mind.

Strange Days Indeed

 I follow politics far less than I used to, largely since I can't stand MOST politicians these days -- both on the Right and Left.

Wifey and many others give people like Trump FAR too much free real estate in their brains -- I get nearly daily emails and FaceBook (TM) posts about how evil he is -- same with DeSantis. I didn't vote for either of them -- never would -- but like Dave Chappelle, I chose to stick around and see how their favor the rich policies work for me. The latest is Florida GOP coming up with a bill to essentially eliminate most property taxes for those 65 and over. Hey -- if they want to save me $20K per year or so, who am I to complain? I'd probably just have to spend the money helping the grandsons attend private schools, since the GOP seems hell bent on weakening public schools, anyway.

Joey contacted me about a former high school classmate of his who now lives near us, and is running for Congress as a Democrat -- to maybe unseat Maria Salazar, our current joke of a representative. Salazar beat Donna Shalala, who lost due to her hubris -- she didn't bother to campaign -- thinking, like Ruth Bader Ginsberg, that she was an so important, she would serve forever. Not so fast, Donna -- the far dumber and less qualified Salazar won.

Anyway, I told Joey I'm done with giving any campaign contributions -- with the exception of a few judicial campaigns for old friends. I'd like to see more Dems win, but the party of my grandparents, parents, and until recently myself, is batshit, too.

When we were in Maine, Joelle and Kenny were crowing about some guy named Platner, supposably (always use the Miami spelling) who was the future of the Dems -- could unseat the old lady incumbent -- was an oyster farmer and retired Marine -- a "muscular" new candidate who could shake things up. I read up on him -- he's a bit anti-semitic-ish. Said nasty stuff on Reddit, and has had, for years, a Nazi tattoo he claimed he got not knowing its meaning -- but he kept if for 7 years! A chief of staff even quit his campaign over it -- and Bill Maher, who I like more and more, calls him the Nazi Oyster Farmer. Yeah, no, to coin another Miami neologism.

I guess the Dems bother me more lately -- seems much more Jew hatred comes from the extreme left. This guy recently elected in NYC is amazing to me -- apparently 20% of Jews voted for him since he's promising free crap to the young ones there -- and cheaper rent. Anyone with any sense knows that turning NYC into Havana or Caracas on the Hudson isn't a great idea. And the other day, during a meet at a venerable NYC synagogue, the idiot Hamas lovers hassled the Jews attending a pro-Israel meeting -- saying their catchphrase "Globalize the Intifada!" Mamdani said it shouldn't have happened, but criticized the synagogue for the content of the meeting!

How did NYC go from 9/11 and all it meant to a time, 24 years later, when they elect a mayor largely sympathetic to the goals of the terrorists who flew into the World Trade Center?

Hopefully the pendulum swings more towards the Center in the years ahead. All I know is, my money goes to my family and charity -- the scoundrels in politics can go tap other sources.

Strange days, indeed, as the late Lennon (not Lenin) sang.

Overnight Grandson

 So Friday was a logistical one for us, mostly due to my creeping senility. Joelle and Kenny invited us to meet for their shared birthday dinners, and I marked it down for Saturday night. As a result, D1 was going to drop off Little Man Friday night after a local shabbat dinner, we'd re-home him Saturday, and then meet our friends in the Gables -- at Sra. Martinez, a Michelle Bernstein spot that used to be in the Design District.

Alas, Kenny texted to confirm for Friday, and I was like -- what? You mean Saturday. No -- I messed it up,so we fixed it by D1 agreeing to come later Friday night, making our dinner earlier, and no big whoop.

The dinner was delicious -- Michelle Bernstein and her husband, Sr. Martinez, came to our table, and Michelle claimed to recall me for being on her Check Please! Public TV show, but I think she was just being charming. The food was fine, and we toasted our friends for many more decades -- they're leaving for a SE Asia trip Saturday.

We rushed home to accept Little Man -- Baby Man was none too pleased being told he needed to be completely potty trained before he can stay, too. And D1 was off for home, and we hung with Little Man until he rubbed his eyes and I told him another Night Bird story, a character I made up for the Ds about a heroic female bird who does good deeds like rescuing children and pets. When I got to the part about Little Man's kindergarten homework being brought to him, he was out like a light.

Sure enough, around 3 he came into our room, and I invited him into bed with us -- Wifey was PTFO, as they say. When I got up to pee, Little Man had migrated to my spot, and so I merely slept at the foot of the bed, horizontally, causing Little Man to wake up laughing when he spotted me.

We had our traditional daybreak drive to House of Bagels, and then his engineering-like analysis about the best way to eat his large black and white cookie. After that, there was a lizard hunt with Ippi (Wifey's grandma name) -- he counted 20. And then Saturday cartoons -- he loves them, as we all did.

D1 and Joey have their kids in constant activities. We roll differently -- time with us is down time, and Little Man loves it -- he so told me. He's turning 6 next month and we adore and get each other -- he's figured out he can get away with a LOT if he uses charm and humor. Hopefully he ends up in law or business and not Bernie Madoff-type stuff. Time will tell...

We drove to D2 and Jonathan's -- Baby Man was dropped off so D1 could take her pilates training, and the boys had a blast playing and being treated to Jonathan's garage gym. D1 fetched them, and I watched the end of the Canes game, and then Jonathan poured us a sample of the Elit I brought for T  Day use -- we had to insure it was a good batch. It was.

And so T Day week is upon us -- 23 guests will gather, more or less, at D2 and Jonathan's for the big day, assuming the dyslexic caterer Les gets it right -- he did last year, and is notorious for not being much in contact with clients before a big party. We joked it may be T Day pizza this year -- but there WILL Be plenty to drink -- my trip to Total Wine made that a certainty.

Guessing Little Man will be overnighting again -- and I love it. I joke with his parents that they need to get him through grade school, and then I will take him here -- for Middle School and High School at Palmetto. I'm only half kidding...

Expensive Steak

 So our awesome Wednesdays, for Barry, Norman, and me, are early dinner followed by Bible Study. For last night, Barry suggested we try Daniel's Steakhouse, located in the former Fiola, in the Bacardi HQ on Sunset. We gathered at 5, to give us time for a leisurely dinner of trayf before attending the orthodox class. If the Big Man punishes for the venal, we'd better bring clothes for hot climates in the Afterlife...

Daniel's was terrific, as D2 and Jonathan reported. The very charming server showed us the special steaks, which included one out of a Fred Flintstone cartoon -- a 55 oz tomahawk from Australia. Done. A second main was lobster mac and cheese, which was a big lobster stuffed with pasta. Done. We shared a crab cake, wedge salad, caesar salad, and some sides. We each had a drink -- the vodka martinis were nice -- came on a platter with a vial of vermouth and olives -- sort of customize your own.

It ended up being the 2nd most expensive dinner of my life. Number one was the Salt Bae guy on Brickell -- Stuart picker up that tab -- $500 per person. Last night, I gave the server my card, and he had me sign -- no I reminded -- just for 1/3. The amount was $330. "That IS 1/3, Sir." Oh boy.

But you know what? Every once in awhile, you have to remember YOLO -- and last night, celebrating -- well -- everything in our blessed lives -- was one of those times.

I called D2 and she said her friends' dinner was $150 per person -- but they ordered "like humans." Truth is, the $550 Australian wagyu hangar steak could well have fed 5 -- but we acquitted ourselves nicely -- one small slice was the only remainder from our feast.

Afterwards, the challenge was to stay awake for the JLI class --- we did. The subject was finding meaning in EVERYTHING -- even a morning shower -- since it's all part of the Big Man's plan.

I was happy He planned for us to feast last night. It was memorable.

Hey -- as my late grandmother Anna said, coffins don't have pockets. We could have gone to a mundane restaurant -- but would we write about or remember that? No way. As my late boss Ed used to say, when Paul questioned his expensive wine and food tastes: "You can't afford NOT to go first class."

After my workout, I stopped at Total Wine -- my TDay task is to supply alcohol. D2 sent me a list -- it seems there will be MUCH more than required than the 23 guests will consume -- but that's ok. Last I checked, alcohol doesn't spoil.

Hell -- I have a bottle of brandy from my late Mom's liquor cabinet -- given to my parents on the first flight we ever took -- JFK to Tel Aviv in July of 1969. The brandy smells like all brandy -- I keep it for the memory -- it has an El Al inscription on the label. Probably last night's check was a majority of the cost for that 3 week trip my Dad paid for. Times change...

I saw my doc yesterday for my annual. My lipid numbers were "freakish" -- and he meant that in a good way, and my lung tests was "like an athletes." I told him the latter was since lawyers are filled with hot air -- and I guess I'm a poster child for Crestor.

Still, I remain, in medical terms, a fat pig, and Rigo said maybe try Metformin, even though I'm not yet "pre-diabetic." He's been on it for years, and he's lost weight, and feels terrific. Jonathan's uncle Lou is a fan, too -- so what the hell -- another drug to my daily regimen. Sometimes the side effects are positive -- supposably (Miami spelling) the finasteride I take for prostate keeps my hair looking thick. Who knows?

But Rabbi Moshe's lesson, though experienced through a food coma, was on point. Let every moment be sacred. Someday the moments will be gone -- like most of that Tomahawk steak last night.

Leaf Blowers In The Wind

 Ah, to have First World problems -- what a blessing. So a few years ago, the Village of Pinecrest banned gas powered leaf blowers -- to noisy and bad for the environment. Yeah. Whatever.

All was fine -- nobody paid attention -- until I got a "Warning Notice." If our landscape guys used the bad blower again, fine would be $250 for first offense; $500 for later offenses. We contacted our guy, and he said he was "in the process of getting battery blowers" and would take a chance with the gas -- understanding if we got fined, he would pay.

He then stopped showing up, and our tree infested property started looking like the forest it would quickly revert to without a leaf blowing guy. Wifey started looking around for any other companies that used battery -- she was thwarted. It turned out that we and one other neighbor were the only ones warned, and the other neighbor's elderly yard guy is near retirement -- he uses the battery unit Frank and Martha bought for their house's use.

I suspect one of 2 neighbor women who hate me, probably Riva - called the Village on me.

Anyway, today I walked past the VOP Mayor's house, and, lo and behold! - his guy was using a gas powered blower. I took a photo, and emailed Mayor Joe -- nice Italian guy from Philly -- and told him my problem -- explaining every other house I knew still used gas, including one "he might recognize." I'm still very good at being passive-aggressive.

Mayor Joe emailed me in 10 minutes -- referring me to VOP Manager. She said she would send me 3 companies "registered with the Village" who presumably follow the law. I told "Yocie" a little secret -- even the registered guys still use gas -- they work better, are cheaper, and the entire idea to ban them was given by the Avenue Q "Bad Idea Bears."

Anyway, as I type, our landscape guy is finally back here, and I hear the gas blower, well, blowing away. Hopefully we escape the dragnet again.

Meanwhile, D2 and Jonathan had dinner Sunday night at Daniel's Steakhouse, the place that took over for Fiola in the Gables. It's located in the Bacardi HQ building, and Fiola was founded by the Bacardi heir and his BFF Dickenson, the former head of Royal Caribbean Cruises. I was told the 2 lived in Gables Estates, and didn't want to have to drive "all the way" to Downtown Gables for fine dining, and so established a place close by to their waterfront enclave. It has a wine room -- once -- the manager showed Paul and me a $3K bottle!

Anyway, D2 said the place was my kind of place -- a fancier Palm -- great steaks and martinis -- they even bring you a tray so you can customize your martini. We're going tomorrow night -- Barry, Norman, and me -- before our Kabballah class. At our age, the thought of a great steakhouse turns us on greatly. 

I remember being on Delray Beach with my Dad -- probably 1981. He was a little younger than I am now, and I pointed out a VERY hot girl in a bikini. He said "At my age, if she had a pastrami sandwich in her cleavage -- THAT would turn me on." I am become my Dad...

So Rabbi Yossi asked me to be on a committee -- to plan the 30th anniversary of the founding of Chabad of Kendall, since I was "a founder." I regretted saying yes as soon as I did -- I LOATHE committees, and "Join the Committee" is Rabbi speak for "Give money to pay for this event."

The first meeting (and I figured, probably my final one) was set for tonight -- but Yossi texted to reschedule. What's the opposite of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)? HIC (Happy It Cancelled)? Anyhow, I have HIC.

So I never enjoyed gambling, other than the formerly annual Day at Gulfstream we used to have at the end of the year with my brother in law/our firm's comptroller Dennis, where we drank and ate and lost money. But now I have the gambling adrenalin going -- will each gardener visit cause a violation? I guess the coming weeks will tell...

Holiday Season For Our Family

 Next week begins the high season of holidays for our family -- not Xmas, or even the High Jewish ones, but a spate of birthdays intermingled with holidays everyone else celebrates -- Xmas, Chanukah, T Day, NYE, Valentine's Day...

Thursday is, of course, Thanksgiving. For the second year in a row, we're catering it at D2 and Jonathan's house. Jonathan's amazing grandmother, Judy, offered to pay -- most of the guests are from Jonathan's family. She is so generous -- if you look up matriarch in the dictionary, Judy's photo is there. But I pulled nativist rank: of all of us in the family of Baby Boom or older generation, I am the only one born in the US! Therefore, as I told D2 to tell Judy, I pay! May we have only this type of family "dispute" in the years ahead.

Last year's T Day was great. Catering by Les sent out the mother and son team we've had for years at Villa Wifey, and they were wonderful. Jonathan mixed martinis, and we sang Happy Birthday to D1, whose birthday is typically around TDay. I look MOST forward to the holiday this year, as does Little Man, who loves his food.

Before we decamp to Miami Shores, though, D1 is hosting her own birthday party on our front porch -- her 37th. She has a bunch of friends and their significant others coming over for a pilates session, with croissants and champagne, which I shall pour. Wifey and my job is to watch the boys, which we love. It ought to be a very full day.

After TDay passes, we celebrate the 6th birthday of Little Man -- happily in kindergarten, and the embodiment of ebullience. I kind of like this kid -- his mother's face and intelligence, and his grandpa's sense of what Spanish speakers call "picaro," or charming mischief. Sadly, or happily, Little Man has figured out, as I did at a young age, you can get away with a LOT in life with charm and humor -- hopefully this brings him to great heights and not too much trouble -- like his Grandpa Dev.

Around then we have Chanukah going on, and then, on December 25th, the birthday of our Lord and Savior, Wifey. She turns -- nope -- under strict instructions to stop mentioning her age in any way, or the fact that Eisenhower was president over here when she was born in Haifa. She will pick her celebration -- typically a movie and a meal, although this year the new "Wicked" movie is out, so if they pick THAT movie, it needs to be at a theater with a bar -- most of them have that these days.

Right after Wifey-mas, we leave for San Juan -- major NYE celebratory trip with Barry, Donna, Mike, and Loni. I LOVE NYE, and we used to celebrate bigly, as the POTUS says, but that fell off recently -- like the last half decade. But this year we'll be sailing into 2026 on an Explora ship -- truly a Four Seasons hotel that floats -- NYE is set for San Juan Harbor, where there will be fireworks and hopefully no gunfire from the shore...

While at sea, ANOTHER of our holiday events takes place -- Wifey and my wedding anniversary. Somehow it's going to be 39 years. Wow, as I always note, this is just because I was a child groom. For our first anniversary, I surprised Wifey with a hot air balloon ride over South Dade -- hell, back then it wasn't even Miami Dade yet. We were young and fun -- we toasted with champagne at our successful landing. I guess this year there will be a toast with our dear couples friends -- nearly 120 years of combined marriage!  Our long suffering wives...

The holiday season lasts until February -- D2's birthday. She turns 34 this year -- still not sure how that happened, either. It was just yesterday we introduced her to D1 who kissed the top of her newborn head and then went back to playing with another toy, and maybe late yesterday afternoon when I traveled to UF to see her inducted into Phi Beta Kappa as a college junior. She thought it no big deal, but the academic groupie in her Dad thought it a VERY big deal. And Big Man willing, D2 and Jonathan add to the band next year...

Of course, Baby Man and I have birthdays in July, and the other men in our orbit have them in Spring, but the true reason for the season is upon us, nearly.

The weather is beautiful. I went to use my beloved firepit the other night, and realized that the metal pot had nearly dissolved from rust -- so my favorite store, Walmart.com, is shipping a replacement. I so enjoy the cool nights outside by that fire -- I think Little Man is staying over this Friday, and maybe there'll be one for us...

But it is erev that most wonderful time of my family's year, and I am one blessed, happy, rockin grandaddy in the USA...

Crepitus

 So I have crepitus in my cervical spine -- literally, I am a creaking old man. When I turn my head from side to side, you can hear a crackling sound. When Wifey gets close enough, she can actually hear it, too, as we experimented while having old person marital relations on the sofa the other day.

Those include her adjusting her back heating pad while using the massage gun on her hip, and me then taking the massage gun and zapping my neck. She looked at me, sighed, and said "We're quite a pair." 

But the good news is I got my reports, and nothing scary is growing in my head. Yay. And the cervical study is essentially the same as it was 1.5 years ago. As Captain Doctor Radiologist Kenny said -- "no changes" is the best we agers can hope for -- kind of like a tie.

So I can dial down my alarmism. Wifey saw HER arthritis doc yesterday -- he has a whole smorgasbord for her in store: epidural pain blocks, new meds, new PT. For me -- I'll just live with what Nature gave me -- truly it's tolerable -- maybe have my trainer Jonathan just give me more high back strengthening stuff. Ah, aging...

Meanwhile, Barry, Donna, Eric, Dana, and Wifey and I had a great Zoom last night -- alcohol fueled belly laughs -- well --for the fellas, at least. We shared tales of people we've known for decades but there were still tales to reveal -- it was exquisite. Then D1 called -- in SF visiting friends - and we caught up with her and her trip and shared tales of the grandkids. Little Man got a perfect Math test score, but a "Fix It Ticket" that he is TOO bubbly --- he has to wait his turn before he blurts out answers -- all of which he knows. Beat me with a stick! I saw that coming with him awhile ago. Barry made great sport of this -- since nutty D1 had him see a speech pathologist at 2 for not talking so much. "Maybe you can sue the speech pathologist for too aggressive treatment."

I had my first fire pit the other night, and we have slept AC free all week. Ahhhhh...I love this time of year. 

I'm heading to the final Canes home game later -- tailgate situation seems kind of dull today -- the opponent is NC State -- probably just a few subs and a few shots of Ketel Oranj -- the beverage I converted Scott to when he was here, and now I feel compelled to photo drinking it and sent it to him -- though he's at a friends' wedding in the DR this weekend with his bride.

Speaking of firepite -- last night I went out to clean out the ashes, and the entire metal pan fell apart from 2 years of rust. What???!!! Wifey had insisted I have a nicer one -- and the pan falls apart? I went to my favorite store, Walmart.com, and ordered a replacement pan -- hopefully here by the next 50 something night.

Other than that, Norman, Barry, and I have been enjoying our Bible Study, as I tell people to watch their reactions. It's really Jewish Learning Institute, and Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, is on fire as a professor. Last week we explored the difference between purpose and meaning, and forever Junior High humor level Barry, Norman, and myself immediately thought of Navan Johnson, Steve Martin's character in "The Jerk," who found HIS special purpose, which was his tallywacker. 

Turns out, the Torah has other ideas...

So I thank the Big Man for this glorious day, and all the wonder it shall bring. I plan to enjoy it -- creaky neck and all...

Emails That Didn't Age Well

 So I have a primitive email filing system -- I just keep them "fresh" until the subject matter is no longer needed. This is true of law firm related stuff -- typically from our comptroller and my bro in law Dennis -- I keep them until we pay whatever is needed to the IRS or ourselves (smaller and smaller numbers -- especially this year), stuff I do for others (advice about legal issues) or personal matters that need following up.

Every so often, I go through them and delete and send to trash completed or resolved matters. I did that this am, and there was an exchange from July. D1 had told me she wished to do a presentation to my old college friend Dave's law firm -- he had taken over as managing partner when the firm opened their Miami office, trailing Ken Griffen and Citadel, trailing like remoras on a shark.

I sent a cheerful catch up email to Dave, after D1's calls never made it through, breezily telling him about my life and congratulating him on his change of life babies starting college -- a Cane and SMU Mustang. After a few days, he wrote back -- apologizing as he had been traveling, but would follow up, which he did, with his HR Department, though it never led to a gig for D1. I still appreciated his efforts.

I wrote back noting that, if the Big Man allowed, in 13 years I would be taking a GRANDson to college, even though I was just 2 years older than he, since I was a child groom. Well, less than a month later, Dave was dead -- burst aneurysm on a plane home from a vacation in Italy.

Yeah -- that email exchange didn't age well.

I was talking with Paul last night -- he's in Peru with Patricia and her family. He had some down time, and we discussed our grown kids, as we typically do, and how we raised them and their challenges and blessings, and how going forward...

And we both laughed -- because we knew that "going forward" was sort of a funny concept, believing, as we both do, that Man plans, while the Big Man laughs...

Oh, we'll continue to advise and spoil them, of course, but have zero illusions that we have any control.

The wonder of FaceBook (tm) Memories is that it, well, recalls stuff for you. And yesterday was the Yahrzeit of Alan H,  Paul's dear law school friend. Alan was a true Readers Digest "Most Unforgettable Character," the best example of a loveable scoundrel I ever knew.

He was a gambling addict, and was disbarred for stealing from clients through his trust accounts as a result. He was still, though, a TON of fun to be around, and we did some productive business together, though he tried to shave us at the end of one large workers comp case -- resulting in us banning him for a number of years.

Still, he had 2 grown kids and grandkids he adored, and they adored him, and a roster of friends who always had a great time when Alan hosted a party or dinner. Just the other day, Wifey and I were walking in the Grove, and passed the former site of Mezza Note, an Italian place famous for turning off the lights at 10 and the women patrons dancing on tables. Alan hosted his firm's holiday parties there, and they were some amazing times. Mezza Note is some shared, boring workspace now...

Alan's gone 7 years yesterday, and was 69. I went to his memorial service, and Paul and Patricia flew up to Scranton for his burial -- his family had deep roots there. Paul recalls the bitter November cold as they lowered the coffin into the frozen ground...

I keep in touch with Alan's 2 kids on FaceBook. Max lives in Miami with his Israeli wife and 2 kids -- in Alan's old apartment. Ally lives in Park Slope and is out of Central Casting for a typical self hating, voted for Mamdani, limo liberal. Max served in the IDF, and always apologizes to me for his "idiot sister."

Who knows? Maybe all the youts are right, and Mamdani turns NYC into a free bus, lower rent Utopia, showing up all of us old, crusty realists. Nah -- Havana on the Hudson is on the way, I'm pretty confident, with the accompanying exiles to South Florida, much like Cubans in the late 50s who believed Castro was the answer ended up in Hialeah.

But that's politics. This am I am reflecting on matters of mortality. RIP Dave and Alan. Dead in their 60s. Not very old.

Not Everyone Can Like You

 So a few weeks ago I told my neighbor, who I'll call Ellen, since that's her name, that I was not able to perform her daughter's wedding ceremony since we'll be on our cruise then, in January. No big problem -- they had 3 months to find a replacement, and the truth was I sort of barely knew the bride and groom anyway -- I was just a friendly neighbor they picked because they thought I was funny, it was an interfaith wedding, and, as Wifey figured, I was FREE. Ha! As if! Turns out she hates me now.

I told her and her husband the news and she truly reacted as if I was the doctor delivering awful news, and told me she was leaving on a 3 week vacation and "couldn't deal." Well yesterday am I saw her and her husband and said a hearty "Welcome home!" He nodded, and Ellen performed a maneuver I have only seen one other person perform: my late suegra Rachel.

Best I can describe it, it involves rolling your eyes while closing them, and looking away in utter disgust. I sort of chuckled to myself for the memories of my ancient suegra, who held grudges since WW II. And I don't mean, like understandable grudges, like involving Nazis, but rather relatives who weren't nice to her.

So now TWO of my women neighbors abhor me: Riva, since I told her to stop harassing me following 5 texts and calls about her stupid bike path petition, and now a woman whose daughter's life I have apparently ruined. As Tony S says -- "Yeah -- but what are ya gonna do?"

Meanwhile, it was a delightful afternoon at the stadium yesterday, surrounded by those who don't have animus towards me. Norman and his brothers hosted a fine tailgate of Famous Dave's barbecue, and supplemented by smokemaster Rob's delicious balls -- bacon wrapped around sausage with 5 different cheeses. DEE - licious, as Norman's beloved late Dad used to say...

Norman bought a new tent, which was enormous. I immediately called it the "GOP Party Tent," as years ago they claimed their party had room for everyone. Maybe not so much anymore.

Kenny and I left during the 3rd quarter, as post game traffic is awful given the construction at Golden Glades. Indeed -- the smoothest ride home all season, and although I was home before 8 pm, with the time change it seemed like 11 pm.

Today I got a surprise visit -- D1 had a client in Pinecrest, and dropped off the Skittish Spaniel Lemon -- he's vacationing here for the week on account of a busier than normal schedule pre T Day. After our appointment, we met at Joanna's and she had them make her a salad she said would cost $900 -- it was actually closer to $20. I bought a couple of $17 sandwiches for Wifey and myself, and sat with D1 as I ate half of one -- a signature turkey job called "The Feast." It is indeed a great sandwich.

She left for home, and all I have on the schedule today is watching to see if the hapless Dolphins have ANY hap, probably while taking a double Spaniel nap.

Right now, WDNA is on the Sonos, playing my favorite of their shows: Blues Sunday. I immediately recognized the dulcimer voice of Robert Cray, an old favorite, and a fellow I met at Tobacco Road back in the late 80s. Wow -- probably near 4 decades past now.

It's funny about Ellen. Wifey reminded me that when we moved in 25 years ago, she and her husband came by to greet us -- they were here 5 years before. We hadn't met them, but had many folks in common, and after the visit, we realized Ellen had literally shit talked the majority of folks who came up.

We knew then we would NEVER become friends, but morning walks would be fine. Ellen has active feuds going on with most of the neighbors -- so now I'm on the list.

Maybe I'll confine my walks now to the streets where neither Riva nor Ellen live. Nah...

I was sharing this news Friday night with Barry, and he found it hilarious that I even mentioned it. I reminded him that I need SOMETHING to keep my mind active about, now that I'm not lawyering much.

I fear checking my ratings as a wedding officiant on Yelp. Zero stars. DO NOT RECOMMEND.

Hail To The Spirit of Miami U

 So it's Homecoming Weekend at my alma mater, and for me that's as exciting as, well, watching soccer. I've never lived more than 10 miles from campus since graduating in '83 and '86, and often walk around there when I need to do some reflecting on, to borrow Joyce Carol Oates' title, where am I going, where have I been?

Eric, Norman, and Barry are all members of Iron Arrow, the highest honor at the U, and today they're supposed to wear their culturally appropriated Micosukkee Indian jackets and stand on the field at half time. Norman and Eric will -- Barry takes the Groucho approach of not wanting to be in any club that would have him as a member. And it's funny -- of the 3 of them, HE has been a loyal employee his entire academic medical career.

As for me, well, I fell in love with the place within a week of moving onto campus in August of '79. I had a great childhood on Long Island, but to me, Miami was EXOTIC -- not everyday, White Ethnic New York like I was used to, where everyone was Irish, Italian, or Jewish. Here people came from places I never even knew existed. Paraguay? That's real? Bulgaria? Isn't that where Boris and Natasha from the cartoons used to live?

I savored my 4 years of college. I fell in love and had my heartbroken by a girlfriend whose family made her leave me since they never thought I'd be rich enough to make her happy. Ha. How'd that work out -- 3 failed marriages later, she ain't so rich. Not that I hold grudges.

I was forced to become a man when THE MAN in my life, my Dad died the Summer before senior year. As Barry noted as we reminisced, as old men do, it was the singular event in my life -- the true inflection point that sent me on paths very different than if Hy had lived.

After college, there was law school, which I soon knew for me was just trade school -- get my ticket and move on -- I was firmly in the bottom half of my class. But while I was there, I got to teach 2 years of English Composition, which was great for my dreams of someday being a professor. The first time a wide eyed freshman raised her hand and started a question with "Professor David," and I was all of 24 -- well -- that was the cat's meow.

As a lawyer, I got to teach 2 more classes -- Religion and Law -- with former professor and mentor and still dear friend Steve. I brought in speakers to debate ethics issues -- lawyer and doctor friends, business friends, and even a high school principal I had met. And I learned that teaching is great but grading papers onerous -- and since I was teaching as an avocation, and not a real job -- well -- I never dove in any deeper.

I sat on committees for the College of Arts and Sciences, and learned a few key things. First, I HATE committees -- too many people love the sound of their own voices, and turn 10 minute issues to half hour ones. Second, "loyal" members of offices like "Development," which get you to give, are loyal to their own jobs -- and leave skid marks when they leave for a better job days after proclaiming "I bleed orange and green."

I learned that, as the great line from "The Grand Hotel" taught us, people come; people go -- nothing much really happens.

As some politician once said about D.C. -- if you want loyalty there -- get a dog. Same is true of most University administrators and higher ups -- they truly care only for themselves -- precious few have true love for the U as soon as something better comes along. Worse, as I've seen, administrators seeking to show their power do awful things to some who ARE truly loyal and invaluable to the U.

Still -- I love the place. Two dear friends faced scary cancer diagnoses, and the Sylvester Center cured them both, and with the service of a 5 Star hotel.

Both of my precious grandsons were born under the loving watch of our main UM Man -- Dr. Barry, and if D2 is so blessed, HER baby will be delivered there, too.

After Wifey's stroke, the UM faculty led by our neighbor and friend Dr. Jose got her all better with state of the art rehab.

And the Canes. As 18 year olds, we loved drinking in the parking lot before going to our seats and cheering on our team. As mid 60s grandparents, we love drinking in the parking lot before going to our seats to cheer on our team. And that's on the schedule today -- with an honorary alum.

Kenny went to Wash U, a great college but not one with sports teams to cheer, and he visited me through the years. In the year of the Canes Genesis, 1983, Kenny was finishing his first semester of med school in Philly, at what's now Drexel. He was here for Winter break, and I got him a ticket to see college football history -- the Orange Bowl where we vanquished mighty Nebraska, and started a true dynasty of 5 (really should be 6 but for a historically bad call against Ohio State) rings.

My friend John, a former CIA agent whose bestselling book about Saddam Hussein is now a series coming out soon, is also an honorary alum -- in the preface of his book, he says as much -- and gives us all a "Go Canes!"

So I'll fetch Kenny in the Grove, Ketel Oranj in the back, and we'll meet dear friends in the stadium formerly known as Joe Robbie, now Hard Rock, where the Canes are the po relations compared to F1, Dolphins, tennis, and World Cup they have there now. But Scott, Barry's boy, is flying in, and hopefully we spank the inferior Syracuse team -- our Green beats their Orange.

And we'll laugh, and bust balls as men do to show their love for each other, and NOT bust the balls of the long suffering wives who will be there.

And we'll think back, on now four and a half decades! Man -- I still see the 18 year old with the 30 inch waist walking around Lake Osceola, worried about Chemistry class (I ended up with a Chem minor after gentlmen's Cs in Organic).

Young man then -- young man's problems. Bigger old man now -- bigger problems. But manifold blessings -- many of which spring from the place in Coral Gables. Go Canes indeed!

Back To School

 So last night was the first of 6 Wednesday night classes sponsored by the JLI, or Jewish Learning Institute, this one on Kabbalah, or Jewish Mysticism, and also the Meaning We Seek. This is the 3rd go around for Barry, Norman,and me, and sometimes Jeff joins as well. Norman missed the first class last night, so Barry and I drove to the shiny new Center after dinner at Captain's Tavern.

Rabbi Moshe, Yossi's son, is teaching -- he also taught the last class on Talmud. This young fellow is gifted -- if he were teaching at a university, his classes would be oversubscribed -- he has a gifted mix of intellect, charm, and relatability.

We raised the basic questions: why, in this time of comfort and plenty, are nearly 50% of us anxious or depressed? We talked about how the Torah views trees -- those which bear fruit are never to be cut down -- and how people are tree-like in many ways.

We discussed the need we have for community, and for giving to others -- Jewish law requires even the poorest recipient of charity to himself give charity. We all shared what makes each of us fulfilled -- the difference between happiness and meaningfulness -- Barry and I both thought of the time we spend following our annually disappointing football teams -- lately meaningLESS and giving no happiness.

One fellow share how his sobriety has brought meaningfulness AND pleasure to his life. I didn't share that Barry and I each had 2 vodka martinis with dinner...

The class, per Rabbi Moshe, is like peeling an onion -- each week we go deeper. We spoke about the greatest of all trees -- redwoods -- and how they have surprisingly shallow roots, but the roots go wide and anchor to others -- thus making the "community of trees" stronger and enduring for thousands of years.

And the first reading was from Ecclesiastes -- about how all is vanity -- we come from dust and to dust we return -- why toil under the sun all of our lives?

I think about that all the time -- how the "Critical" and "Crucial" issues we face daily -- health, family, finances, relationships -- are so fleeting. Who among us even knows a thing about our great grandparents. Hell -- my paternal grandfather died years before I was born, and my maternal one when I was a small boy. Their lives, just going back 2 generations, are barely abstractions to me.

I guess we'll explore the answers more each Wednesday -- though I'm missing the final class for a Stevie Nicks concert. Norman and Barry better take good notes.

After class, Barry and I heard some sad health news about a Shul member's daughter -- she's 2, and was diagnosed with a rare genetic syndrome with the acronym of GAND -- it causes a host of disabilities like developmental delays, muscle delays -- a lifetime of therapy awaits this adorable toddler.

And as I lay in bed last night watching a relaxing show with Wifey -- the Murdaugh Family tale of murder -- it struck me -- how DARE I complain about my hill of beans problems -- compared to dealing with a disabled child.

Hell -- hopefully my Old Man's Neck diagnosis is confirmed next week, but if not -- I have had a HELL of a run. I would like to finally collect some Medicare and Social Security benefits after decades of paying in -- but if Big Man says no -- well -- so be it.

All I know is, I enjoy being back in a classroom -- particularly one where we just learn and read and speak and don't have to come up with term papers (or, when I was the teacher, grade them).

As mid week events go -- it's a fine way to spend an evening.

OMN Rearing Its Ugly Head Again

 So some time in the not too distant past, I had right shoulder pain and the feeling that spider webs were on my arm -- near the elbow. I just looked it up -- it was June of 2024. Since I'm not a hypochondriac, but alarmist, I had a CT scan.

I just learned the difference between the two -- from Woody Allen! Wifey and I watched a great interview Bari Weiss did with him, and she called him a "famous hypochondriac." He corrected her. Hypochondriacs awake each day thinking they have some dreaded disease. Alarmists like him, upon noticing any actual symptom, assume the worst! I turned to Wifey and said that was me!!!!

Anyway, back 2 Junes ago, my differential diagnoses were the worst, glioblastoma (terminal brain cancer), spinal cancer (rare, but still very bad), or at the least, a dangerous herniated disc that was waiting to paralyze me at the slightest tap on the back. Well, I DID have a pretty badly herniated cervical disc, along with lots of arthritis, and Dr. Barry, not Bari Weiss, told me in the trade it was known as OMN, or Old Man Neck.

I had a few months of PT in Kendall, and sure enough, the pins and needles went away, as did the shoulder pain. I resumed my normal activities, including twice weekly workouts, and daily 3 mile walks. Several months ago a bad knee reared its ugly head, and that got better on its own -- just took weeks instead of the days' worth or recovery when I was a much younger man. I guess I have OMK, or Old Man's Knee, as well.

Anyway, I think the OMN is back. This time, I've been getting vague headaches along with the neck pain, and my alarmist side goes to the dark again. It doesn't help that Paul's best college friend Frank died of glioblastoma a few years back, and last year an old college acquaintance, all of 63, did as well -- AFTER she endured "awake" surgery which to me is something out of Mary Shelley.

I'm due for my annual physical 11/19, and had blood drawn last week, but Wifey suggested maybe calling our affable doc, Rigo, to get a test before then -- and so I called him today. He thinks my arthritic neck is indeed well the culprit, and ordered a new CT scan -- for my head and neck. I'll go to the freestanding clinic like last time, which charges out of pocket like $300, as opposed to the  Baptist Centers which charge over $3K since they're "hospital based."

Hopefully I get the same diagnosis: OMN, and I can start some PT again designed to lesson the symptoms. When I turn my head, indeed I hear the crackling noise I long ago learned is called crepitus, a word that sounds as negative as it is -- must share a root with decrepitude, which is what age brings.

Meanwhile, I hope to have some answers to the deeper questions 6 weeks from now. Barry, Norman, and I are signed up for another class with young Rabbi Moshe -- this one on Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism. Why are we here? What point is there being stuck in traffic? Why is aging and its infirmities a sad game of whack-a-mole?

First class is tomorrow, and Norman is already dipping -- some UM Homecoming event he has to attend -- I'm assuming either fraternity or WVUM related -- two of his jams from our college days and beyond.

So Barry and I will meet -- probably at Captain's Tavern, a bastion of our local oldsters, before we're off to class. I already know I'm missing the final session -- seeing, hopefully, Stevie Nicks, who was supposed to play at the Indian Casino in September, but rescheduled since she has OWS (Old Woman's Shoulder), apparently.

Here's to nice, boring news from the discount Radiologist...

Ira And The Pain Of Online Brokerage Viewing

 So years ago, at a funeral for one of Wifey's college friends' sisters, we encountered another old friend -- long divorced, but now with a new serious girlfriend. We chatted briefly with her -- Jewess from Queens -- and when we got home Wifey the Snoop said "That woman is RICH." I asked how she knew, and she saw signs -- very expensive jewelry and purse and clothing, apparently -- all of which was lost on me. I just saw an average looking lady who could easily have blended in with the girls I grew up with on LI. Wifey set about checking.

She was correct. The woman was still married to, but separated from a YUUUGELY successful guy, in the aviation business, who some years before had moved his operations from JFK to MIA. His name was, and still is, I guess, Ira.

Some weeks after that, Wifey ran into the sort of ex at a salon, and they chatted -- Wifey knew her boyfriend, like I did, since 1984 -- he was married to Wifey's roommate, and though a lawyer, was always kind of lazy and never did all that well -- but -- was a nice guy, and certainly suitable arm candy to a woman in the social scene -- the fellow was always a VERY sharp dresser.

Wifey asked why she and her husband never divorced, and the answer cracked me up: "Ira says he just can't bear to go online and look at his brokerage investment balances and see them cut in half." So they decided, I guess, to live their separate lives but leave that crucial account, and others, I'm sure, intact.

Meanwhile, the boyfriend got a new nickname from me: "The luckiest guy in Miami." His FaceBook (tm) pix went from Disney to REAL Paris. Idiots like me and my buddies busted our asses making money -- this Dude, like a hermit crab, just sort of found the right shell to live in.

But anyway, I thought about Ira this week. We decided to reallocate some family finances, and when I checked my online brokerage balances, I was like "Hey -- where'd those funds go?" I knew, of course, but I summoned Ira in my mind.

It's a nice problem to have, of course. I never dreamed the finances would become what they have -- let alone that I could set up the Ds and their families the way we have.

A friend was complaining the other day about his son's expenses -- but won't really do anything to cut them off. I suggested he re-focus his POV. His son, in his late 20s, has already had more fun than my friend has in his early 60s -- on Dad's dime! So savor that -- while you're alive, I said. The boy's gonna get the money someday, anyhow -- might as well get the vicarious thrills of hearing about the trips and parties now.

Meanwhile, my Canes are at halftime -- up 10-7 on an inferior SMU team, largely because they're playing like crap. Same thing happened last week against inferior Stanford -- it was ties 7-7, but then the Green and Orange woke up and dominated. Hopefully that happens now.

Either way, I plan to finish my perambulations after the game, and chill this evening. Tomorrow we have plans with Joelle and Kenny to see the new Springsteen movie and then dinner in the Grove. It's that most wonderful time of the year -- the weather is finally non-tropical.

I wonder what Ira is up to...