It Went On Too Long

 So Wifey isn't shall we say, the best driver. Over the years, there have been many incidents -- only 2 of which were nearly tragic. The rest were of the hitting poles variety (twice in the Brickell condo -- same pole!) and hitting curb too hard after she asked to drive my Jaguar home ($1200 repair back in the late 90s). But since the second of the near tragedies -- a few years ago -- I kind of knew this good run wouldn't last. It didn't.

Sunday she called me on her way home from a beach stay with her BFF and headed to Aventura Mall for lunch with lower level Fs. I greeted her with a cheerful Go-Gos line "Was it all you ever wanted?" But she was dour, and calling me IRT from the scene of her latest incident -- she took a wide right while on the phone with her friend searching for the restaurant, and side-swiped a Camry driven by a nerdy, mama's boy Jamaican man. I asked to speak to him.

I offered to pay his damages. He was a bit shaken, as 34 year old men still living home and driving they mama car tend to get when dealing with small issues. "I have to call my Mom," said Randy, and I heard a West Indian accent in the background. "No way! Call de police! Let dem handle it. Don't trust him!"

I tried to calmly explain that he could get Wifey's information, photo her license tag, look me up online to see I was a Florida lawyer, and, if we reneged on the offer to pay -- make a claim then. Mom, who Wifey later learned was a Broward nurse living in a $750K Cooper City house, wasn't having it -- even though I tried to explain that THEIR premiums might rise, too, since all crashes were comparative fault.

So Randy called the Aventura cop, and they sent out a PSA. Again, I was listening IRT (I am SO proud I get these newfangled abbreviations). When Wifey said she wasn't sure how the scrape happened, and Randy was, the PSA, clearly a budding Dick Tracy, said he would go check the security camera! My Lord! When Paul and I had wrongful death traffic cases often the investigation was less thorough, but so be it.

The PSA came back and said a tree had blocked the view. Well, I knew from my 4 decades of handling cases -- that meant no ticket -- the cop either has to see the crash or have clear evidence -- not conflicting statements. Nope -- Wifey got the ticket -- canceled lunch, and met us at D1's. The Ds thought I would be PISSED, as my long time strategy of paying off Wifey's damages, to keep our auto insurance premiums low, was now ended. But I was philosophical -- Aventura is full of old folks on walkers, and Orthodox Moms pushing strollers with multiple kids. Indeed, Wifey's distraction could have been tragic, not merely financially annoying.

Yesterday I called a traffic lawyer I use -- the younger brother of Dr. Eric's long time friend Howard. He answered my call in Macho Pichu, about to fly to Lima. He had time to kill, and had me email the citation. He noticed Wifey was 4.5 years older than I was (since I'm the same age as his older brother). He was kind enough to share that HIS wife was much younger than he is -- and she handles all the tech in his office. That's nice, as the Southerners say...

He would handle the case for $125, and essentially guaranteed he would get it dismissed, even if the Dick Tracy PSA or aggrieved Jamaican man-boy show up at the hearing. Ok -- first phase of cleaning up the mess was done.

Next I called our new insurance carrier to report the claim. The intake lady said "Oh yeah, a VERY angry woman with an accent called to report this at 9:02 am." I knew THAT was coming. She said an adjuster would call us later, which Kathy from Indianapolis did, and took Wifey's info, and had me send photos of the minimal damages.

But now the angry Mom was going to see what's what. I went online and put in a claim against THEIR carrier -- Geico. The two carriers will coordinate liability, and then assess damages. Wifey's SUV damage is a few hundred dollars -- probably the Camry a bit more than $1K.

Then again, I tend to apply 20 year old costs to things -- so let's see. I'd also be curious if the man-boy, at Mom's prodding, claims he was injured, even though he told the PSA he was fine and the impact was comically light -- less than a typical bump in a parking lot -- the kind we've all seen sometimes.

So I plan to have more fodder for humor here. I had a long talk with Wifey, and she promised to be honest about focusing when she drives. There'll come a time, likely sooner than later, where it will be time to be a one vehicle household and rely on Ride Sharing. That has been a game changer -- I wish it was around when our parents were aging -- Wifey spent a LOT of time arranging rides for her mother to visit her Dad in the nursing home, and MY Mom stopped driving at 89, and needed ad hoc rides until she became a Miami resident at 92.

Happily, this is one of those problems identified by my dear friend Norman's amazing, late Dad Max: "A problem that can be fixed with money isn't really a problem." Of course, Mirta used to add a coda, that such was true for people who HAD money.

On a more serious level, my consuegro David is doing fine in Caracas, and will hopefully return home this week. Jonathan's birthday is today, and we want to celebrate with him -- he wants to hold off until everyone is home safe and sound. What a mentsch he is!

As for Wifey's latest "project," nothing more to do than wait. Maybe I'll get a livid call from the boy/man Mom after Geico contacts her to advise that she got her wish -- 2 insurance companies will now process what I offered to do simply. I won't speak with her -- just tell her to contact either of the companies...

Temporary Bachelorhood

 So Wifey left me, as she does from time to time. She fetched "her person" Tuesday at FLL and drove to a beach resort in Highland Beach. There was an incident. As she was walking back to the hotel from beachside, a crab got ahold of her toe and pinched. She fell back into the (luckily) soft sand, and screamed and kicked her legs maniacally trying to dislodge the crustacean. She is fine, and likely the nocturnal arthropod is traumatized.

D2 and I fetched Baby Man from preschool, and then fetched some newfangled yogurt that uses allulose as a sweetener. Gross details left out -- but that will be my final time consuming allulose, and Little Man will be instructed to pull my finger  less vigorously next time...

Other than that crappiness -- it was a lovely grandpa, mommy, and tia visit -- with dogs there as well.

Wednesday I drove back to D1's, and we collected D2 -- Jonathan was out of town -- and we headed to Fooq's for dinner with Patricia and Paul. It was delicious -- over in the gentrifying Little River -- and as we left, D2 saw her phone was blowing up, as they say. Her suegro was in Venezuela on business for the first time in years, and sure enough, 2 huge earthquakes hit. Thankfully, my consuegro is just fine -- his hotel has power and food, and hopefully they reopen the airport next week.

I went on the Global Empowerment web page -- a favorite non profit -- and donated towards the recovery. Those poor folks. Venezuela was in turmoil before -- they needed this like the proverbial hole in the head.

Yesterday was a total chill day -- capped with a FaceTime cocktail or 3 with Barry and Scott. Today I ordered Publix InstaCart, remembering to get Wifey's Diet Ginger Ale, and have some more walking in store before another Zoom.

Wifey's due back Sunday evening.

My desire to do something July 4 seems to have an answer -- meeting Donna and Barry for an early dinner at Bahia Honda -- a real find, thanks for Kenny. We've been there several times for dinner -- always the only gringos. The owner loves us -- amazingly fresh fish at most reasonable prices. It'll be an early dinner -- Donna wants to get home before the fireworks to calm Sally, who despises July 4, like most dogs. Our old man Bo is mostly deaf -- for him it'll be anouther quiet night.

So more chill in the heat awaits. I kind of like these stay -cations...

What a Difference A Dave Makes

 So my oldest grandson adorably remarks, often: "That's a GOOD idea!" As Norman said last night about my notion to buy 5 tickets for some of my mates (ok -- the Scottish words are already seeping in) and me to go to the Marlins game to meet The Tartan Army: "That was a GREAT idea!"

We fetched Benji at his Kendall condo and made it to Marlins Park in about 25 minutes -- once again reminding us how much we miss Canes games at the old Orange Bowl. As I tried to pull into the city lot off NW 14th Avenue, we encountered the only jerk of the night -- an off duty Hialeah Gardens cop, rather gordo, who nastily wouldn't let me go around a cone, and instead had me back up, tying up traffic, to keep going. Luckily, another city lot was open just to the South, and I pulled in there, asking the young attendant if she knew if the Scottsmen wore anything under their kilts. Yes, I am that viejo verde... She said she didn't know, but laughed.

It was  over an hour before first pitch, and already crowded with the Army -- playing bagpipes, and chanting, to the Strokes tune, "No Scotland...No Party." Turns out -- it's true. 

We got our seats and I was the only one who was going to drink -- partly because of medical reasons for my geriatric friends, and the young ones just, I guess, for health. But put me with thousands of partying fans, drinking a lot, and I WILL partake...

I got on line with a fellow my age, full kilt, and a large feather in his cap. I thought that was just an expression. He was with a younger fellow, and I struck up a convo. They were from Glasgow. "Ah -- Glasswegians!" They were impressed I knew the proper term -- I had been there nearly 20 years ago. They were in front of me in line, but when it was our turn, I stepped ahead, telling them "You need to learn how rude we Miamians are." They said it was fine, but of course I had an ulterior motive -- I put their 2 Stellas on my tab. That was it -- friends forever.

"And what is your name, then?" "Dave." "Well, we're BOTH Daves!" And then he sang, to the tune of the Eydie Gorme/Dinah Washington, and many others song: "What a difference a DAVE makes!" My jaw dropped. I told them I was turning 65 next month, and never heard that -- I now had a new and creative way to annoy my family and friends!

Father Dave shook my hand. Son Dave pulled me in and kissed me on the cheek. He was a handsome, strapping lad -- had I had proclivities in that direction... Later I saw they were a few rows in front, and I went down and said "You DO owe me for the Stellas -- a picture."  They gladly complied.

Sitting next to Benji was a Phil Collins looking fellow, also in full gear. His name: Scott Andrew -- sort of like being Juan Garcia in Miami, or Moshe Ginsberg in Boca. Benji explained to him some of the finer points of baseball -- and Scott was loving every moment. When it was time for a refill of my Titos, I brought him a Stella, too. Another lifelong friend was made. He asked for my Marlins cap -- I handed it over. He pinned on it a beautiful Scottish flag -- metal. I now have a favorite ball cap.

Next to me was a woman with an accent, too, and so I assumed she was a Scott. She said to her husband: "They should walk this guy." I leaned over and asked how she knew baseball so well. "We live in the Grove." Ah -- but was she American? "No -- Dutch -- but I LOVE soccer and knew to NOT miss the Tartan Army."

Turned out, she was a PhD AIDS researcher at UM -- she and Barry knew many of the same folks. I asked her husband if he were Dutch. "No -- from Chicago -- but my family is from The Bronx." I told him my parents went to James Monroe High -- so did his. And his were classmates with The World's Most Interesting Man! I knew that despite that great commercial character's Ricardo Montalban accent -- was was in fact Jonathan Goodman -- from the Bronx. I told my new paisan my Dad went to school with Hank Greenberg.

Only in Miami. Historical Jewish Geography amongst a Scottish invasion.

It was bottom of the 8th, and the Marlins trailed by one. Scott Andrew scolded us. "Get up and yell! Your team is fighing! This isn't a freaking opera!" He was right, of course -- even though there are 162 regular season baseball games and last night's, despite the Marlins great June record, wasn't truly crucial.

But at that moment I GOT the Tartan Army. At a sporting event -- you drink, and laugh, and sing, and SAVOR being with yer (see that spelling?) mates. Scott Andrew properly guilted all of we American stiffs...

On the way out, after the Marlins lost, we got stuck behind hundreds of Army partiers, singing and dancing to, I think, a song about other soccer teams fearing their team. Talk about happy noise. We lost Josh and Barry in the mayhem -- but I met Norman and Benji and we drove home through old Miami -- Flagler Street -- boring Benji with tales of our law school days and graduation at the Dade County Auditorium. Wow -- 40 years gone by now.

So indeed it WAS a great idea. And I woke up to read the news that the Heat got their latest whale -- the Greek Freak. The godfather Pat Riley, now 80, has one more run in him. If I attend a Heat game, I WILL go nuts. I learned from the Scots -- to do less is an insult to fandom.

And what a difference a Dave makes...

Everything's Quiet On Father's Day

 The last FD I got to thank my Dad for all he meant to me was in June of '82 -- now 44 years gone by. He was, I think, still in the hospital having suffered a pretty serious MI -- back in those days, once the cath showed the damage, there wasn't much more to do. He was released right around July 4, and it seemed he would recover, but on July 14th he had a fatal heart attack, and that was, as they say, that.

Wifey's Dad got his final one more than a decade ago, though he got to meet and know his granddaughters, my Ds.

Back when the Ds were little, their Summer Day Camp at the JCC always held the welcome on Father's Day. We'd all gather in the large gym, the kids would meet their counselors and learn their "bunks," and we would learn that Summer's camp theme -- always some clever lyrics set to a famous tune.

It was such a happy day -- from there -- we would go have FD lunch either with my suegros, or at a restaurant. Man, those days of being a father to actual children seems so far in the past. I guess it was. As I remind D1, to her annoyance, she creeps perilously close to middle age herself -- she turns 38 this November. Sunrise; sunset indeed.

Chris Rock had a great routine comparing MD to FD -- MD was the real holiday, and FD the po relation. All HIS Dad got was the bigger piece of chicken.

Tomorrow, THIS Dad will get some prime beef and martinis at Platea -- we have 2 pm reservations for all grownups, including Barry, Donna, and Josh. It should be a lovely day.

D2 already sent me a heart felt email, and told me to accept it as my FD note. I did. And it turns out, though I KNOW I'm a top Dad, I DID make plenty of mistakes along the way. And that's fine.

My Dad didn't have too much time, in my view, to make lots of mistakes with me -- certainly as an adult son of his. He was loving, and supportive, and SO proud of me. Since he was 42 when I was born, he was a sort of Dad/Grandad combo -- I always felt extremely lucky to have had him, but bereft to have NOT had him for so long. But as Robert Hunter wrote in  his great song about the death of HIS Dad: "Such a long, long time to be gone, and a short time to be there."

So I plan to savor tomorrow. And reflect on my Dad, too -- the barely more than 2 decades I had him in my life.

And Monday, I got Marlins tickets -- to attend the game with the Tartan Army -- the visiting Scottish soccer fans in town for Wednesday's match with Brazil. That ought to be lots of laughs -- they drank Fenway Park dry, and are known for singing and laughter and putting traffic cones on the heads of statues -- also giving charity to kids' hospitals and cleaning up after themselves.

And Tuesday, Wifey is set to drive up to FLL and fetch her BFF for 5 nights at a beach resort in Highland Beach, though today she tells me that possible rainy conditions might cause them to cancel. Either way -- I plan to see my boys Tuesday after THEIR camp -- Ds, too.

My Dad loved to sing the jingle about my Mom's life "Everyday is Mother's Day for You." The same is true for me and FD.

Stupid Environmentalists!

 So over the past year we dealt with the brouhaha (a favorite word of Wifey's) about the gas versus electric leaf blowers. Pinecrest outlawed the gas ones, and we got a warning that the next time we used one, both we and our lawn guys would get fined $500, and then $1000, up to the gross national product of Pinecrest.

Our lawn guy HATED the electric blowers, on account of they suck, and won't hold a charge for more than one house. After reaching out to our Councilwoman Shannon, who is about to become our not hard on the eyes mayor, we settled on a solution. Wifey bought a $450 unit at Home Depot, and told the lawn guy to keep it here, and plug it in after each use, so we would be compliant with the law. I think he reluctantly used it one time.

And then...Republicans. DeSantis and his minions decided that outlawing gas powered blowers was almost as bad as outlawing automatic weapons -- not in our "free state of Florida." So ALL local municipalities that outlawed them were, pardon the expression, trumped by state law. Gas blowers are now free to noise pollute away, in Jesus's name.

So our Home Depot electric unit sad sadly on a front porch bench -- pathetic looking like a Prius that lost its charge. It only took Wifey asking me like 10 times before I moved it to the garage today -- clearing away some shelf space.

Wifey thinks maybe I'll use it to clear out our front entrance area on the day of my birthday party in July. Yeah, no, as we say in Miami -- not happening. I am indeed spoiled and entitled, and between the cleaning lady who does a poor job and the lawn guy Wifey greatly dislikes, both way overpaid -- I ain't blowing no leaves myself.

Meanwhile, an event presented itself that appealed to me enough to actually overcome my inertia to attend. It seems Scotland is in the World Cup for the first time in 3 decades, and tens of thousands of Scots are in the US to watch their team. They were in Boston last week, and took over Fenway in a party way -- singing and literally drinking all the beer available. They then cleaned up after themselves. Indeed, as I recall from 2006, Scotland IS a tidy place...even the underground in Glasgow where grave robbers used to store their bounty.

They're coming to Miami this weekend, for a match Wednesday night against Brazil, and Monday plan on packing Marlins Park like they did Fenway. They will start at Ball and Chain in Little Havana, probably dance clumsily to the salsa there, and then parade up 12th avenue to the stadium. I decided I wish to be in that number.

Norman and Benji agree. Josh says yes, tentatively. Big Daddy G hasn't responded yet, but I bought him a $45 ticket -- if he dips, we can give it to a bonnie lass.

Strangely, Eric and Dana were to be returning from Scotland after a 2 week tour, but their BA flight was cancelled and the next available was 3 days later -- so they canceled and drove to see the grandkids in Atlanta instead. I thought it might be a nice consolation prize for them to attend, but Monday is Eric's first day back listening to kvetchting South Palm Beach cardiac patients, and so cannot make it. We'll send him some videos of the Scots and their comical accents. GET IN MA BELLY! Apparently Mike Myers copied his Scots-Canadian father's accent with all those great characters...

But before then, Mother's Day's po relation, Father's Day, is upon us -- Sunday. The Ds made clear I should choose how to celebrate, and I said let's bring in sandwiches and I would make martinis. Fine, but...D2 wished me to know that the steakhouse Platea was ALSO an option. Fine. I love that, too, and invited Barry, Donna, and Josh -- so now we have 8 of us for lunch. It should be grand.

And then to Loch Lomond in Little Havana. Fun awaits...

Strolling Down Memory Lane

 As I remain happily seated in the twilight of a mediocre career, as my friend Norman likes to quote, often my thoughts and discussions tend towards the nostalgic. There were many good times and riches and son of a bitches, to quote Buffet, to recall.

But a friend was telling me of a recent deposition where opposing counsel acted the total asshole -- interrupting, misrepresenting, and just making everyone uncomfortable. This triggered, of course, MANY memories of these types -- which, I am told, are less common these days given the supposably (Miami spelling) crack down on "unprofessionalism."

Back in the day, though, intimidation, bullying, and other less than savory tactics ruled the day, and my late boss Ed was a master. He was a genius -- a true engineer's mind -- and was savvy enough to know when to do his bad behavior OFF the record. Back then, nobody had camera phones, and Ed's stable of court reporters knew when "let's go off the record here" truly had meaning.

I recall one particularly heinous act -- a Labor Law attorney named Susan was defending an ERISA claim we brought for a client seeking a kidney/pancreas transplant, and his wife's employer refused the pancreas part, saying it was "experimental." The case turned up a true smoking gun piece of evidence -- a letter where the company wrote to a medical consultant saying, really, "We KNOW this should be covered -- do whatever you can to give us reason to deny." Ed and I ultimately tried the case in Federal Court before a long dead judge - Lenore Nesbitt, a Reagan pick who today would be considered a centrist Democrat. We won, and after years of appeals, including a denial of certiorari by the Supremes, we got the client his money, and earned a comically small fee. The client, Tom, who I am sure is long gone, had borrowed the money from his family friends in Pittsburgh, the Rooneys, who owned the Steelers. I got to travel there and meet some of them.

But back to the pre trial skirmishing. Susan had been hospitalized with an awful headache, and asked for an extension to answer some discovery. I agreed. She called for a second extension. This time, I told her, even though I had brought the case in, she needed to talk to my boss. She explained her plight, and Ed said "Young lady, I'm only sorry you were in the hospital for headaches, and not ovarian cancer, so that you could die a horrible, slow death, rotting from the inside out like the rotten (See You Next Tuesday) you are."

Wow. Ed really didn't like to give extensions. Susan called me a few minutes later, shaken. "Should I call the police? The Bar? I've NEVER been spoken to that way -- and I'm from Cleveland!" I told her all I had heard was Ed saying no extension -- I was a loyal soldier, of course. And there's a surprise coda...

We stayed friends, and probably 10 years later, Paul and I referred her a Labor case, and she had agreed to pay us a 1/3 co-counsel. Since she was a "friend" we put nothing in writing -- and sort of forgot about the case. The client called a year later, to thank me for referring him to Susan -- she had done a great job. He showed me his closing statement, and sure enough, had paid a $150K fee. Great -- I called Susan to ask about the $50K coming to us.

She said "Um, David, I can't pay. My husband and I are in big financial trouble, and sorry to skunk you, but that's reality -- and we both know you trusted me and without a contract -- you have no real claim." I told her no rush -- when they regained their footing, she could pay then. Nope, she replied -- she knew she had stolen, but NOW was being honest -- she got away with our $50K and that was that.

I signed off the call telling her Ed was right. Another 10 years later, I got a mass email to all members of the local Bar advertising her starting a new firm, and asking for referrals. I responded: "Susan accepted a referral from me and owed me $50K. She told me she wasn't going to pay, and, so sad, too bad. If you are an idiot, you will trust her with a referral. Contact me for more details."

I pondered hitting "Reply All" and ended up just replying to her. I think it was a Tuesday. I told her how close I had come to exposing her character to everyone she had emailed, but unlike her, I had at least SOME character. That was the last of her.I looked her up -- she still practices in Broward. She's probably 74 or so. I don't wish her cancer, like Ed did -- but hopefully she got screwed out of lots of money over the years.

Ah, the stories and memories. I sure am glad I sit on the sidelines, mostly. I acted as Guardian ad litem for my friend Dave on a few cases -- to keep my pro bono chops active. Since the hearing was Zoom, no big deal.

And my friend Michelle was just selected as a judge -- investiture is November -- she invited me to attend. I asked whether I could wear a guyabara. She said Si. She speaks perfect Spanish -- Argentinian Jewish Dad; garden variety Brooklyn Jewish Mom. Michelle's great -- she'll be a terrific judge. I guess it'll give me a chance to see the new Miami Dade Courthouse.

Maybe some new stories will be told, or have origin. 

It's a Sad Man, My Friend, Who's Livin' in His Own Skin, And Can't Stand The Company

 Ah, the days get hotter as Miami Summer draws nigh. So far, it's been less than brutal -- I've been able to get in my 7500 steps without breaking much of a sweat. That will change soon.

Some good local news on the Village front: a friend of ours, Shannon, was elected the next Mayor of Pinecrest. Actually, no one opposed her, so she automatically gets the job -- replacing Mayor Joe, who lives in our 'hood. Shannon's terrific -- lawyer, Mom, wife, and whip smart. She also happens to be VERY easy on the eyes. She emailed today, along with our friends Kenny and Joelle, who introduced us, and we plan to go to dinner this Fall and celebrate her victory.

Other than that, we've been taking stock lately. What to leave in; what to leave out. I was chatting at length with a friend about the stages of parenthood. Wifey and I are in the second to last stage -- grown kids and grandkids. We just want to enjoy them all. The last stage, when WE need the care -- ain't nobody looking forward to that.

My Dad never got that far. He checked out at 63. My Mom started needing a lot of care at 89. We still trace the beginning of her end to a car crash where she wrecked 3 cars -- luckily no injuries. From 89 until her death, at 93, things weren't great, though Rabbi Yossi would say that questioning the quality of even one moment of her life is sinful. Whatever. I still maintain that Dad died too young, and Sunny too old.

I just know, as Dylan sang in "Key West," that I've always tried to do what is good, tried to do what is right. Whether that proves to be true, I guess I leave to others to decide.

Meanwhile, the grandsons are due over tomorrow, and that brings joy to Wifey and me. Those boys -- so full of life and energy. The older one is whip smart and hilarious. The other day he asked Wifey if she would buy him Pokemon cards. Wifey responded she would, as soon as her visiting friend Giselle left. He sweetly went to Giselle: "Will you be staying long?" We corrected his rudeness, but barely hid our laughter. 

Paul and Patricia are back from a fortnight in Europe -- would we meet for dinner? We would -- and so tonight we're headed to Sra. Martinez -- a place we've enjoyed with Joelle and Kenny. Giralda Street has a new art installation -- it should be lovely to post dinner stroll beneath it -- maybe peek in on the NBA Finals game at one of the many bars there.

Next Sunday is FD -- MD's po relation. We have reservations at Platea -- Barry, Donna, and Josh will join us. Not sure yet about July 4 -- I kind of want to do SOMETHING, since it's our 250th birthday.

Man -- I am so old I still clearly recall the Bicentennial. We were 15, and had fake IDs, which got us into Beefsteak Charlies where we drank beer and sangria, before hiking down to Eisenhower Park to see fireworks. I recall walking across Hempstead TPK to Modell's after the show, to call my Dad from a payphone for a ride home, and all of us packing into his large sedan. "I don't smell alcohol, do I ?" he asked. "No Dad -- Gerry uses a lot of cologne." Pretty sure he knew we were less than truthful.

Turns out, a lot happened in the following half a century. I finished high school, worked hard at Rite-Aid , and moved to Miami the day after graduation in June of '79. Dad got 3 more years. Mom got 31 more.

I went to law school, and practiced for about 6 months before realizing I didn't like being a lawyer. But it was a decent gig, I learned that he who gets business makes the shekels, and focused there.

I also realized, beginning in 1988 and again in 1992 that being a Dad was my main identity. It still is.

So maybe I WILL celebrate myself next Sunday.

To get back to the Boss: "These are better days, baby."

Boomer Dinosaurs

 So last night we had a terrific dinner with very close friends, and were joined by their younger son, with whom we are also very close. He recently started his first real job -- a position he found himself with no nepo help, and we're thrilled for him. Important for his parents, he finally has health coverage, and so his Dad can cease the huge Obama care monthly premiums...

We asked him all about it, and he mentioned that he was still planning a trip to Europe in late September -- although he gets no vacation time with this start up until he's there a year, he had told them during the application process that he already had plans and would miss that week. The company agreed.

Wifey, who like her late mother says what's on her mind, starting questioning him -- why did he need to take that trip, shouldn't he be more concerned with impressing his boss with his commitment than leaving so soon for what is truly frivolous, why wouldn't he put it off? He's already been to Europe a few times, so this isn't some "dream of a lifetime" excursion -- and it's funny to note his parents, hard working for decades, have NEVER been to Europe.

Our young man was polite but steadfast -- no -- he WAS taking the trip -- it's what he wanted, had gotten an early pass, and that was that. Hopefully all turns out well -- his millennial boss gets it, and his budding career with the start up doesn't get quickly abridged.

On the way home, Wifey and I talked about it -- I told her things really HAVE changed. D2, during her tenure as a "People" officer with a company, what we used to call "Personnel" or later "Human Resources," explained that a long tenure with an employer was a liability. In our day, it was impressive to hear someone had been with a company for decades. Now, apparently, if someone stays more than a few years without some sort of equity in the operation, they're frowned upon -- not aggressive enough about advancing their own career such that it's harder to get a new job. Wow.

I thought back on my first lawyer job -- enduring blatant anti-semitism from my boss, and simply accepting it since Wifey and I had a mortgage, I wasn't a top of the class guy, and was happy to have the paycheck. Wifey's jobs were also rife with issues -- but it seemed like such a privilege to get paid for what we did, we stayed and got the pay check.

We ARE so out of touch, as Mick Jagger sang when he was still a young man. Now in his 80s, he's REALLY out of touch. In matters of careers, it seems, we are, too.

And it's not just jobs. The WSJ, which I finally broke down and subscribed to, electronically of course, had an article about Boomers giving more to their adult kids while they were alive, as opposed to waiting until estate time. Wifey and I always did that -- the Ds chose public schools throughout, and the money I would have paid in tuition towards Ransom, and Emory, and whatever, I invested for them -- and given the rise of the markets over the past decades, made them, in the words of Hall and Oates, rich girls.

Maybe that was folly. When I started making money, maybe I should have turned to cocaine, and exotic sports cars, and expensive escorts. Ha -- I'm SUCH a Walter Mitty -- a reference the youngins won't get.

Wifey and I and the Ds have enjoyed an amazing life -- yeah, due to my work efforts, it turned out, and I never took it for granted. We've lived in a house for nearly 26 years now where EACH time I pull into the driveway, beyond the gates, I can't believe I live here.

Back when I used to go to the street to fetch the Herald, I always expected to hear "Hey kid -- what the hell are you doing here -- get the hell out!" I still feel that way -- we are SO lucky and blessed.

When Wifey and I were first married, if we needed a new AC unit for our 1200 square foot house, it would have freaked us out. Last week I happily Zelled Danny the AC guy nearly $8K for a new bedroom unit, and was happy that we ought to be good for another decade or so with the Rheem/Rudd (they've merged, it seems).

So we Boomers probably would be most helpful getting the hell out of the way. Paul and I sure have in the law business. We still have a firm, but other than referring cases that still come our way, and Paul grinding the guys who take over about the results -- we're pretty irrelevant. The other day Paul mentioned a statute of limitations question. I reminded him those changed like 7 years ago!

I guess every generation, as they age into decrepitude, defaults to the "In my day" mode. Jeff and Lili's girl is a rising 3 L in Chicago. Turns out, they no longer torture law students with the socratic method. I wonder how that will play out when some client has his lawyer come under pressure in a major case.

My doctor friends are always flummoxed at how soft the new Residents and Fellows are. I guess we'll all find out how that turns out as we need more and more medical care from young doctors. 

Who knows? Maybe AI will render much of that moot, anyway.

So I chose MY path, and it will NOT include cocaine, luxury sports cars, or escorts. Even though Wifey was initially turned off by my lease of a Buick, last night she saw, for the first time, the LED strip lights and said "Wow -- this looks like a limo."

I WILL splurge on better vodka. I plan to have Stoli Elit and Zyr for my 65th. And then the best all of us Boomers can do is watch and listen.

Our old ways are passing into history.

Grandkids

 So Wifey and I both grew up with loving parents, but no real involvement with grandparents. For Wifey, it's on account of the Nazis killing all 4 of hers, along with most of the rest of my late suegros' families. For me, my Dad's Dad was gone 6 years before I was born, my Mom's Dad died when I was just a little boy (I have a single memory of visiting him in a hospital bed) and I wasn't close with my grandmothers.

Jennie, my Dad's Mom, always seemed SO ancient to me, and our bi-monthly visits to her apartment in Jackson Heights were most memorable to my child self for the strong stench of urine, due to her incontinence. My Dad would bring her some groceries, and the daily Forward, the Yiddish paper she preferred, and then we would go upstairs and see my Aunt and Cousin -- also not close -- but no urine smell.

Wifey got to meet Jennie once, and it led to a humorous misunderstanding. We were in NY, and I wanted to have Wifey meet my Aunt, but she had other plans that day (there was a reason my Mom only barely tolerated her sister in law) but she told me which nursing home "Mama" was in. It was funny, I always recalled Jennie as cold and mean, but in her final time of dementia, she had become a ray of sunshine -- smiling and giggling.

I told her hello, and that I was her grandson, and she said no -- she only had Steve. I said I was Hy's son, and she insisted Hy had Trudy and Susan. I guess the memory banks ended in the 40s or 50s, and my 1961 birth didn't make the cut. But then I introduced Wifey, and decided to use the Yiddish version of her name,  Faye, since I figured the Hebrew name would be confusing. They met, and that was the last time we saw her, but then came the funny part.

Weeks later, Anne called my Mom and said she had no idea I was gay. What? "Mama said David came to visit with his faygellah (Yiddish slang for gay). So I had no real relationship with Jennie, but at least the final event was hilarious.

Anna, my Mom's Mom, DID spend time with us on LI, but between her mumbling and heavy Yiddish accent, I never understood a single word she said. She had so many grandkids and great grandkids, and so I treated her with respect, and she was nice enough (though inscrutable to me) but I recall zero meaningful encounters. My Mom would tell me snippets of her folk wisdom, but I never got them first hand.

Wifey got to meet her, too, once -- at a nursing home in West Palm Beach. She was indeed ancient -- I think she made it to 97, and for me, that was a woman who seemed old world ancient in her 60s.

Wifey's parents and my Mom were indeed close with the Ds. Since Wifey is an only child, the Ds were kind of a big deal to the two Holocaust Survivors. And MY Mom was a hoot to them -- her quirkiness was the seed of warm memories, like the time she broke the silence in our mini van to sigh and say "Ah -- it's 430." The Ds asked -- so what? Was she expecting a call, or was there a show on? "Oh now, I just looked at my watch. To this day, 430 is Grandma Sunny time...

And now...well...we kind of cotton to D1's boys. Friday was Baby Man's last day of preschool 3 performance, and Wifey actually made it into the car at 730 am for the trip to North Miami! Wifey no longer does mornings. It was a delightful scene -- Little Man mad a sign for his brother, and sang and danced along to the songs the little ones performed.

There's lots of exotic Jews there -- South American, European, along with the garden variety ones like us. One little girl looked Asian -- sure enough -- Jewish Dad and Asian Mom. I asked D1 if she was accepted to MIT yet...

We decamped to Bagel Bar East, and D2 met up with us. She and Jonathan are working hard at bringing a new member to the Band as well. Big Man willing -- we're hoping that's the news of 2027.

The boys left for Naples with their Dad -- soccer tonight, and some time at Wolf Lodge, which they love. The Ds, Wifey, and I went to D2's house and spent quality time with Betsy the enormous puppy, and Lemon, the skittish Spaniel. Lemon came home with us since D1 has a friends' reunion in Chicago.

One of her group is Caroline, a delightful and brilliant young woman, now a doc there. Her father Michael was an amazing man -- top surgeon in Miami -- the kind of guy who went to patients' houses to check on them, and had yearly charity trips to Haiti. He was a Richard Corry -- had it all -- but also demons -- he killed himself in 2018. As I saw the photo of Caroline , it struck me how sad her Dad will never meet his grandkids. 

So today, the skittish Spaniel will get a walky walk soon, and then a chill Saturday until this evening -- we're meeting Barry and Donna for dinner in Doral at Basilico -- precisely 20 minutes from each or our houses. Donna jokes that she will be an OLD grandma -- Scott, who is married, doesn't seem too close to having kids with Sam, and Josh is finding his path professionally now.

I hope they get this supreme blessing. I've heard it a lot, but now I know for myself -- grandkids are pretty, pretty, pretty wonderful. What I missed out on as a grandchild, I am MORE than gifted with as a Grandpa. And I dig it.

If You See Her, Say Hello

 So for me, it was a busy am. I awoke late, near 9 am, and spoke to Paul in Provence -- enjoying the beauty of the place but able to do without the French. It reminded me of an old friend Vince, Sr. who was there during WW II. He said Paris was the most beautiful city he ever visited -- if only Italians lived there, instead of French.

I began my constitution and called lawyer Tom in Michigan, who referred us a client -- his daughter's friend. She lost a finger tip in a bar in Key West. Who hasn't? We referred the claim to young Michael, and he go another absurdly positive result -- settling for probably 4 times what I thought the case was worth. Tom was thrilled, of course, and we talked football. His son in law, from upstate NY, is, strangely, a huge Dolphins fan -- likely since he resented the local Bills for their omnipresence there. We agreed his son in law would NOT be celebrating this year, or for many seasons...

I then ran into neighbor Oscar, whose son is serving decades in Federal prison. I tried to refer the son to my friend Joel, but the young man's ex wife picked his lawyer -- a move I never understood. Oscar told me they're appealing -- using a guy Joel respects. Oscar is a sweet man -- late 70s, Muslim from Guyana -- served the US Army in Vietnam. He's none too pleased with the government these days.

I came home and made a call I've been Jonesing to make -- to Florida Blue. I told them I had made my final payment of $2200 for my ObamaCare plan, with its high deductibles. First, I shut off Auto pay, and then called the company -- telling them my Medicare begins July 1. I figured they'd try to sell me one of their inferior Medicare Supplement Plans, but the agent did not -- just confirmed the dates, and that was it.

Young Josh called to ask if I was free tonight -- I told him other than bartending for Lili during Mah Jong, I was. He may stop by -- and if he does there'll be pizza along with a martini or two. His parents' 35th anniversary is today -- I plan to make him nauseous by telling him maybe go home REAL late -- lest he catch them cavorting naked in the swimming pool. I know how to sicken adult kids...

Meanwhile, I got to feeling nostalgic, and put "Blood On The Tracks" on Sonos -- hence the title of this entry. I guess 65 drawing close hits hard that far more years are behind me than ahead. And that's ok. There have been good times. DAMN good times as David Lee Roth sang.

Yesterday was the 40th anniversary of our law school graduation. They were heady times. I was clerking for Dan Schwartz, an insurance defense lawyer and avowed anti-semite who I though was Jewish. He thought I was NOT. "I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew," he said. I needed the job, wasn't exactly top of my class, and so I just laughed him off. I only stayed until August of '87 -- his biggest clients fired him when they realized he had left control of the firm in the hands of Vanessa, his name only partner who spent more time doing cocaine than working the cases.

Dan died young -- my friend Pat told me he had become a pariah at Riviera CC for cheating at golf. Yeah -- I didn't mourn his loss, and, in fact, appreciate the strange tales that first job gave me. As for the anti-semitism, he sort of beat the Christmas rush, so to speak. I wonder if he'd send money to the likes of Tucker Carlson, AOC, and Platner in Maine if he was alive...

So the days flow on and on, and it's nice to enjoy them. And if you see her, say hello...

All Cool in the 305

 So Jorge and his boy Marlon, a Music student at Miami Dade College, arrived bright and early Friday, to remove our old (11 years) bedroom AC unit and replace it with a new one. Wifey and I left around noon for North Miami -- Marlon said they had about an hour to go.

Danny had assured me they were fine to trust in the house. I laughed. I got nothing much to steal! I have one hidden safe with cash and some gold coins, and I guess Wifey's jewelry, but the rest of the stuff? We returned home late, and the bedroom was nicely cooled -- the fellows did their work.

We found our way to the Scott Galvin Center, named for the first openly gay mayor of North Miami who secured the funding for the lovely facility. And as we watched the kindergartners parade in, it struck me why Barry and Kenny chose Pediatrics -- children are precious. They performed, and got their diplomas, and the cuteness level was immeasurable. Little Man beamed -- he's off to the First Grade Gifted Program in the Fall, and had LOTS of questions about whether that meant it would be more work. It would.

Wifey and I decamped to Temple Beth Moshe to fetch Baby Man, and take him to D2's house where Tio Jonathan was working from home. Baby Man is a delight -- so much more mellow without his hurricane older brother, and we enjoyed him, too, before all re-locating to D1's for Uber Eats Turkish food and a cocktail for Jonathan and me -- toasting the first of what will hopefully be many more graduations.

We packed Little Man into the car, and before we hit I-95 he was fully PTFO. We got him home, and he wanted to collapse onto the couch, but I shepherded him upstairs and the deepest of 6.5 year old sleeps. It had been quite the day.

Saturday, D1 suggested we take him to see a new kids' movie out, but he instead decided to enjoy the privilege we provide here: doing nothing. D1 has a multitude of activities when he is home -- here he can watch shows, play on his IPad, build with blocks...

I took him to the Falls Roasters, and got the news that they were closing -- the rent had become untenable. But, most of the staff was simply relocating 1.5 miles north to the Dadeland location. Little Man was given a going away black and white, and I was given a $25 gift certificate. That'll pay for one breakfast with Trump era prices -- assuming I avoid the lox!

Later, we visited Chick-Fil-A for a takeout order, and then I FaceTimed with Dr. Barry as I squeezed orange juice --Little Man loves it in a cup, as his Grandpa Dave drank his with some vodka, and we toasted the graduate. No one advised him about "plastics." I guess these days it would be "AI."

Sunday we were up early, to House of Bagels, where we got chocolate chip bagel and cookie for Baby Man, and chocolate chip bagel and a B and W for Little Man. I dropped him with D1, who had plans to take them to a Balloon Museum pop up (Ha!) at Wynwood and a birthday party afterwards. I came home and napped.

I cut a check for Baby Man's 4th -- to be held at Mitzvah Kitchen the am after MY birthday -- since D1 will be in Cali on his actual birthday. Rabbi Yossi and Nechama run it -- the kids get to play in the activities they have for the special needs kids, and bake cookies for themselves and to box off for food challenged folks. It's become quite an operation -- corporations have team building sessions there, and Camillus House gets thousands of meals -- glatt kosher -- though they don't care about that.

This am I was back at the gym, and then Danny emailed me the new warranty info and invoice for the new AC -- nearly double what it cost 11 years ago. But, apparently I can get a tax credit -- so there's at least SOMETHNG good for the rich white man.

But most importantly -- the new unit works -- WELL. No AC -- we would be heading elsewhere to live -- especially in the Summer. 

Each time I feel its refreshment -- I give thanks. This cool, rockin' Daddy and Granddaddy in the USA needs to actually be cool...

Friends Lost Along The Way

 When I turned 40, I threw myself a BIG party at Villa Wifey. Loffler's Caterers presented a clam bake -- tons of delicious seafood everywhere -- and a VERY busy bartender. Back then, Paul and I were at the height of our law biz, and I invited referral lawyers, doctors, and our whole staff.

The staff surprised me -- told me to come outside and look up -- there was an airplane flying with a banner that said "Happy 40, Dave." It was the first and only time I had been so honored -- as important as Coppertone!

At the cake cutting, my sister Trudy gave me a beautiful complement which was SO accurate. She said she and her husband, like many, collected things in life -- like antiques, but I collected PEOPLE. It's true. Among things I'm proudest of, it's my long term friendships -- the closest dating back 4 and a half decades. I treasure them.

But alas, some folks (the Ds love when I use that old term -- particularly when referring to someone's parents) fall out of your life -- and that's ok, too. In my case, when I got close to someone, I tended to put a halo above their heads -- imbuing them with qualities that were often not there. And that's ok, too.

In college, I grew close to Vince. We met in the most comical way of any of my friends -- staring at the same girl's ample bosom from either side of her -- in Calculus class (I was still pre-med). I looked up and saw a guy with glasses and huge nose. He looked at me and gave me the thumbs up sign. We instantly knew we were fellow connoisseurs...

He was a few years ahead of me -- grew up in North Miami, Irish Mom, Italian Dad. His father was an Italian version of mine -- same high school in The Bronx, even -- self taught intellectual. Vince, Sr. owned a schmata factory in NYC and ran afoul of some bad hombres -- and Vince recalled being about 9 and being rushed into the family station wagon to drive to Miami for a new life -- his Dad opened a factory in Hialeah. Vince went to FSU and partied too much -- his Dad brought him back from Tally with an ultimatum: bring up your grades, or come be my janitor in the factory. Vince picked Door #1 and did well enough to get into med school.

He met his first wife in my apartment -- Barbara was headed to law school -- lovely and smart young woman from Chicago. The marriage only lasted a few years on account of -- well -- that's not important -- but Vince ended up marrying the nurse with whom he was having an affair -- and having his kids with her. That marriage ended when a prettier and more exotic nurse crossed his path -- separated from an angry Persian man.

The story of our friendship is long and varied, with the loss of all 4 of our parents -- but nurse number 2 ended up being wife #3 AND #4. Our friendship ended when Vince asked me for a big loan to start a pain clinic -- and having been burned by a donut investment from another college friend, and knowing he had paid millions to wife #3, I said no -- maybe ask now wife #4. He said, straight faced "Oh no -- she'll never trust me with money again."

Turned out, Vince was so disappointed in me, he ended the friendship. I found out later, at a lunch with his even older friend Fred, maybe it was for the best. When Fred's wife was dying young, of cancer, Vince was nowhere to be found -- broke his fellow Italian's heart, And later, through FaceBook (TM), I learned from Vince's sister upstate that he sort of abandoned his dying mother, too -- the sister bore the entire load of her loss alone. So probably not a guy to have in my life, anyway.

Another loss was John, who I met when he was a young lawyer and I a clerk the Summer of '85. He was WAY cool -- Southern guy, former USAF pilot, engineer before going back to law school. The firm didn't hire me, but we kept friends -- he jumped from firm to firm, and we handled a few cases together -- one, a blown tire case, he did VERY well on. He also repped my friend Sandy's step dad against UM after they botched the care of Sandy's Mom, Frances.

Much later, John was looking for a landing spot to re-launch his career after his wife died, and he was leaving another close friend, Curtis. I advocated strongly for him to join our group, on account of Stu was smart but comically lazy and needed someone to take charge of the cases.

Long story short: turned out John was lazy, too, and the relationship soured. John found another landing spot -- with a major TV lawyer I called Saul Goodman after the "Better Call Saul/Breaking Bad" character, and stole a major case from us. John became, forever, Fredo to me -- to this day everyone in our circle calls him that.

We ended up having to sue, and a resulting trial lasted most of a week. We got some of the money back, and could have settled for some more, but, as Paul pointed out, I wanted vengeance for the betrayal more than the money -- and so we got to air our grievances publicly. He's probably correct.

Anyway, Robert/Better Call Saul fired John, too, and last I heard John was up in West Palm -- still working in his mid 70s. He had a fraught relationship with his daughter, who I helped get accepted to UF via a key connection I had there, and I wonder whether it's still fraught. I'd bet it is.

Other friends -- well -- over time we just fade apart. Wifey is more blatant in that regard than I am -- with a single exception, she is no longer close with most of her formerly close friends. One she was close with, Elizabeth, died in her sleep 5 years ago -- we just spoke of that sad anniversary last week. But for most -- she had no drama -- just no longer the energy to keep the relationships going more than a few times per year lunch or so. 

As usual, John Lennon sang it best, about people in his life: "Some forever not for better -- some I've lost, and some have changed."

I'm not looking to add to my people collection anymore. Nice neighbor couples have asked to get together with Wifey and me -- we politely make sure the dates never get set.

Yet my love for those in my true inner circle remains as strong as it ever was -- stronger, even. And that makes me a very blessed man.

Cooling News

 So ever since Danny's man Jorge came by nearly 3 weeks ago, and recharged our bedroom AC with coolant, all has been fine. But yesterday Danny called to remind me we were living in an AC Fool's Paradise -- likely the stuff was still leaking.

Jorge was finishing up a job at Julie's -- Norman's ex's house. I joked with Danny that I guess Julie kept access to him after the divorce. I was only kidding -- Danny is amazing -- I once texted him Sunday at 11 pm and he called me back -- arranged to have a tech out first thing Monday am.

Anyway -- Jorge came by to check, and sure enough, found the small coolant leak in the air handler -- slow seeping out -- probably had another few weeks before we faced tropical nights -- untenable.

Danny told me a new coil for the handler would be about $3500 -- but I reminded him we had already discussed it -- it was time for a replacement. The existing Rheem was 11 years old -- and these days -- 10-12 years is what you can expect out of a South Florida central unit.

Later that evening -- Danny sent me a proposal. In 2015 the 5 ton unit cost $4500 -- now just under $8K. I trust Danny, but was curious -- did an AI search, and indeed the replacement cost ranges from $7500-$10K. I emailed Danny to go ahead -- he'll install the new unit probably next week.

And if it gets me to 75? That'll be just fine. FPL used to give rebates -- that ended. But the IRS still does -- I think I can get about a $1500 tax credit -- somehow some of the green tax breaks survive the GOP Congress and president. So that'll be a nice kicker next tax year.

Meanwhile, life continues to be daunting. I got my vehicle registration renewal emails, and paid online. Only the one for my old Caddy/New Buick came. I emailed the tag agency, and sure enough -- no record for the Lexus tag. The state shows the VIN with a NEW license plate -- were they gonna tell me? So I'm waiting to see if that comes in the mail, or I have to go to the local tag agency in Sunniland. It's ALWAYS something...

So that means I'll have to change stuff on our Pay to Park app, as well as change the SunPass info. Caramba! Why can't we just be left alone????

On a happier note, we FaceTimed with Little Man, and I asked what he wanted as a kindergarten graduation gift. He responded, happily: "$200!" I'm not sure where that number came from, but after my workout this am I dutifully traveled to the bank and withdrew 20 $10 bills. When that boy asks (his brother, too); I act.

The plan is to go to the graduation -- held at the Scott Galvin Center in North Miami -- named for the longtime mayor who was openly gay. I always thought that pretty cool. From there, Wifey and I will fetch Baby Man and take him to D2's, or maybe to his own home -- and then we'll all meet for shabbat candles.

Wifey and I will take the new grad home, and Saturday take him to see "The /Sheep Detective," a new kids' movie D1 is sure he will like. I have to re-home him early Sunday as D1 has several other weekend events planned. I'm sure Wifey and I will spend Sunday evening re-charging after playing parent for the 2 nights...

And actual Summer draws near. Growing up on LI, Memorial Day was when the lifeguards returned to the beaches -- so that was sort of the start of Summer. Summer effectively ended Labor Day.

In Miami, Summer is really  May- at least October. It's hot and humid.

Hopefully that new 5 ton keeps humming along each night...

Crime in The Neighborhood

 So Norman scored our posse some fine Marlins seats, and he and his boy Ben, Barry and his boy Josh, and Eric and I mustered on hallowed ground (site of the old Orange Bowl) for a banner Sunday. It was a great atmosphere, as I said what I always do at a Fish game: "I really love it here -- I need to come more often." And the Marlins won with a walk off grand slam -- first time I've ever seen one of those in my 60 years of baseball fandom.

After we dropped Ben, Norman and I were headed to Villa Wifey so Norman could get his whip, and I saw a Channel 10 News truck parked doing a story. I stopped to ask what was going on -- last time news crews were in Devonwood was for the FBI raid on a house where a young murder accomplice had lived -- ended up getting launched by Judge Altman for 30 years in a scheme for revenge against a car pimper in Kendall. Because: Miami.

Anyway, the nice young reporter named Byron walked over, with the nice cameraman ALSO named Byron, and told me that at 2 am, a stolen BMW had stopped there, and tried to steal some stuff out of a parked car, at the house where a 3DCA judge lives. A Pinecrest cop was on scene, tried to arrest the young fellows, and instead they jumped into the Beemer, backed into the police cruiser, and took off.

The cruiser gave chase, but was told to abort on the Palmetto near Sunset Drive on account of they didn't want to kill anyone over a petty larceny (though hitting the cop car elevated things to a felony). The young knuckleheads ended up crashing on I-95 in Broward, where the most knuckleheaded of all got arrested, while the more fleet of feet knuckleheads scrambled away.

Nope -- told the reporter -- no idea -- I was asleep at 2 am. Turns out, so were the occupants of the targeted car. Would I be interviewed? I would, and so wearing my vintage Marlins cap, a gift from Norman years ago, I said how quiet was our 'hood, but stupid stuff happens everywhere. It truly does.

I told the young reporter last time I was on Channel 10 was to explain the OJ verdict differences -- how one jury could say he was responsible for murder whilst the other acquitted him. I got that unpaid gig from my then roomie Mark, whose then wife Gail Bright was a reporter. They sent the truck out to our Falls house at like 10, and I was interviewed for the 11 pm news by spiffy Dwight Lauderdale, who lived in the 'hood and turned out to be a playa for real.

They liked me and asked would I come to the studio the following am to be interviewed by Doug Dunbar for the early news? Who was I to deny my public starving for legal analysis? Alas, my career on TV ended there...until yesterday!

So we all got laughs, including politically incorrect ones regarding the demographics of the criminals. My neighbor Gloria, a REAL smart Italian from The Bronx, actually believed me when I said the suspects were Chasidic Jews...

And then, as we called the Ds, turned out there was ANOTHER incident. D1 and Lemon the skittish Spaniel were visiting D2 and Jonathan and Betsy, the enormous dog. Lemon alerted Betsy to something outside, and Betsy joined in barking, and Jonathan looked out to see the spec mansion across the street was being toured by a couple of young men who didn't appear to be real estate investors -- especially at 9 pm Sunday driving a Nissan Altima.

He called the cops, and the fellows left -- so no harm, no foul, but again the political incorrectness in my mind soared. A Nissan Altima? The Wayan Bros taught me that was THE car of the Inner City...apparently since so many car rental companies buy them they are amazingly cheap to buy used.

Since I tend to follow the advice of the great Python Eric Idle from "Life of Brian" and always look on the bright side of life -- the positive here is that these annoying crimes generate interest.

Wifey and I remember a Miami back in the day, where the coke guys slaughtered each other routinely, sometimes getting bystanders in the crossfire. Later, there was a spate of German tourists in rental cars who, given Germans' aversion to paying tolls, would exit and try to navigate through the worst Miami 'hoods in their identified rental cars, where locals would carjack and mug them -- a few even got killed.

It was so common that one of our law school softball teams was named "Dead German Tourists." Yeah -- that name wouldn't fly today, any more than "Korean Airlines Pilots" did after THAT tragedy.

Later still, folks would get robbed of their Rolexes in their driveways -- pretty scary.

So on the crime scale, casing vacant spec mansions and stealing from opened parked cars are pretty minor. Annoying -- but minor.

Sunday turned out to be a VERY active day. Today, Memorial Day, I reflect on our lost servicemen and women -- other than leaving early for my workout --I'm laying low.

And for the record, I do NOT lock up my leased SUV -- I can handle the less than $10 in cash and coins I keep in it as a loss. May all life losses be this petty...

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.

Grandma Sleepover

 Wifey and I have been blessed with our parents -- beloved by both mom and dad - though Wifey's parents did their best through the trauma of The Holocaust. In contrast, my parents Great Depression and WW II childhoods and youth were walks in the park (Crotona Park, in The Bronx). But in the grandparent department...

Wifey never met hers on account of the Nazis killed them along with much of my suegros' family. My paternal grandfather Simon died 6 years before I was born, and my maternal grandfather Isidore died when I was, I guess, 4 or 5. I have one memory of a very old man (he was probably my age) in a hospital bed -- so no impact on my life.

My Dad's Mom Jennie spoke English, with a slight Yiddish accent, but never seemed much interested in me. My memories were going with my Dad to visit her in Jackson Heights to bring her groceries, and my holding my nose against the stink of urine. It was a relief when we were able to leave and go upstairs to my Aunt Anne's apartment where there was, mercifully, no incontinence. But I recall zero conversations with Jennie -- really until the final year of her life, and that had funny consequences.

Wifey and I were together, I guess '84 or '85, and we went to visit her. I tried to see Anne, to introduce her to my intended, but Anne had a lunch with friends that day she apparently couldn't reschedule (my Mom said she was petrified she might have had to buy us or prepare lunch). So we found Jennie, and she was SWEET. This was a woman I never saw smile, but in her dementia was positively lovely. I introduced Wifey using her Yiddish name, Faygele, and that was the last time I saw her.

Later, Anne called my Mom and said she never knew I was gay. Apparently her mother said "David was here with his faygele," which is Yiddish slang for gay, and so my Mom laughed heartily and explained. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that.

My maternal grandmother, Anna, both mumbled and had a HEAVY Yiddish accent, such that I truly never understood a word she said. She was warm to me -- I recall one visit to our house on LI, and visits to her in Spring Valley where she stayed with my Aunt Lorraine in the Summer, and Miami Beach where she snowbirded at the "Edvaard" (Edward) Hotel on 10th and Collins. My mother said she was a woman of great folk wisdom, and I assume she was -- I just never got it first hand. One tidbit I recall is her answer when her kids complained of life being too hectic. "You want peace? There's peace in the tomb." Indeed.

So it brings me great joy to see our grandsons being so close. And yesterday, Wifey drove to Miami Shores, fetched D2 and Betsy, and then they got Little Man. They were selling Italian Ices outside of his school, and he allowed as how D1 "never lets me have this," so Wifey bought him one. From there, they spent time at D1's, and enjoyed the afternoon, and when it was time for Wifey to re-home D2 and Betsy, Little Man begged for "Ippi" to spend the night.

She did -- after the short dropoff to Miami Shores, and texted me about post bedtime story conversations with the VERY bright 6 year old -- about religion, why Jesus was killed if he was a nice man, etc...He thinks more deeply than most kindergartners.

Wifey got up 5 am to pee, and was met by him "Are you up now? Are you going to do morning things?" As Dean Martin sang: "Memories are made of this."

I read recently that the best a grandparent can do has zero to do with gifts -- or even experiences, like taking them on trips. Rather, the grandchild should know that when they are together, the grandchild is by FAR the most important person in the room. And so it is with our boys -- they definitely know that.

So it was a lovely evening. Hopefully I see them this weekend, but it seems their days are mighty packed with activities. If so, I'll cruise up next week for a visit -- but I won't sleep over. Wifey has more patience than I -- and I mind driving less.

Wifey is exploring cruises for this Fall. She has a milestone birthday in December, which number cannot be revealed or even hinted about by saying things like she was born when Eisenhower was president. In January we celebrate our 40th anniversary. July I turn 65 -- so yeah -- bunch of big signs marking time on the trail of life.

Maybe it'll be Portugal. Barry and Donna have interest -- I sent info to Mike and Loni last night, though they have a granddaughter coming in July, and I think they have visited the areas already, as have Dana and Eric. Joelle and Kenny have taken one of the cruises we're considering -- and they'll be in Maine this Fall. So we'll see.

But as we pass these milestones, indeed grandkids are a highlight. Pretty sure if you asked the garrulous grandson -- he'd agree.

Graduation Days Of Yore

 So my alma mater held its graduations last week and weekend. I saw one pic photobombed by Jon Bon Jovi -- turned out his son Romeo graduated the Music School. And my friend Norman attended his step son's med school graduation. And then I saw the speaker at the UM Law ceremony was Judge Roy Altman, my new man crush, as D1 noted. Ah, the spigot of memories opened.

I don't clearly recall my HS graduation, in June of '79. In my mind, I was already headed away from Long Island to Miami. I DO recall that my friend Eric (LI Eric, not Miami Eric) did one of the meanest passive aggressive stunts ever -- surely the biggest to that date. My HS girlfriend Alison and her parents threw me a surprise going away/graduation party at their house. I had zero idea about it, and the plan was Eric and I were to head to Alison's to fetch her and head to a local diner.

On the way, Eric said to me "You know about the surprise party, right?" Um, no dude -- what are you talking about? He feigned shame, but I knew right away he told me out of envy -- he had no girlfriend, and was headed to Nassau CC instead of university. So, I walked up to the house, and faked surprise -- the Cohen's had at least 25 people there, including my parents -- and everyone yelled "Surprise!" and handed me a UM T shirt (the Ibis was still smoking a pipe back then). It was a lovely party, and very nice bon voyage, and the next day Eric (putz), Mark, Mike, John, and Gerry gathered in front of our house to say goodbye.

We caravanned the 2 cars (my '78 Firebird and my Dad's '75 Olds 98) to Virginia, boarded the Autotrain the next am, and we were Florida bound. Au revior, Long Island!

Well, the next 4 years a lot happened. On the great side, I made lifelong friends (Eric and Barry and I are still brothers), I fell in love, had my heart truly broken. On the awful side, my Dad died in my arms the Summer before Senior year, in a barbershop chair.

I clearly recall college graduation. It was on the green by the library, outside and hot as hell. My Mom had been seeing a guy -- I barely knew him and was annoyed that he got to be part of my graduation -- that was pride saved for my beloved Dad. But Mom liked the fellow, who was named Bernie if memory served.

The speaker was a South American president with an impenetrable accent. Afterwards, we went out with Eric and his parents and sister, and my friend Jeff and his brother and parents. We were all solidly middle class -- the meal was at Steak and Ale in Kendall -- with a salad bar! After dinner, Jeff and Eric went home to their Kendall houses, Sunny back to Delray with Bernie, and I went to spend the final night in my on campus apartment.

My friend Jean, who is a non practicing lawyer I still see, was one of the only other people in the building. She was leaving for Duluth for the Summer, and then off to UCLA Law. I had a bottle of fine wine (either Mateus rose or some blush stuff) and we drank together and toasted -- both of us realizing we were at an inflection point in our lives, with treasured memories from Building 22 -- including theme parties that were the envy of many (Serbian New Years, AntlerFest, Super Bowl, Drinks Around the World).

I left the next am for summer in Delray -- a great job as a pharmacy tech at Boca Hospital before returning to Coral Gables for Law School. Barry dipped on Eric and me on plans for a 3 bedroom place by Dadeland, and so it was besheret that we pick a different garden apartment where a quirky, funny, pretty 26 year old was living upstairs -- later to become Wifey.

That same month, I also met Mike, Jeff, and Norman as 1 Ls, and our friendships endure to this day -- trips together around the world, and too many great times to mention -- spouses, kids, and for Mike and Jeff and me, grandkids. Yeah -- lots happen over 4 decades.

Law School graduation was mercifully inside, at the Dade County Auditorium. This time I think I fetched my Mom -- no random dudes. Wifey and I were "Exclusive!" as the Ds love to lampoon, and she was there -- beaming with my Mom.

The speaker was the Dean they named a month before, and none of us knew her. We wondered why our beloved Dean, Claude Sowle, was benched, and sort of protested by talking on the stage while the random new woman spoke.

I really don't recall where we celebrated, but since my future in laws were probably present, I'm guessing it may have been Canton, which we all loved -- maybe a large "special steak" which came sizzling.

The next Monday I was back at work, for my comically anti semitic boss Dan, where I was clerking ("Hell, I thought you were German, like me. I wouldn't have hired you if I knew you were a fucking Jew! I hate Jews and Cubans."). Maybe Miami wasn't the right match for Dan, though he as born and raised here and died here years ago. I didn't mourn his loss -- kind of chuckled when I read the obit.

So those were the 3 graduations for me. We got to see a combined 6 for the Ds -- high school, college, and Master's programs. D1 graduated high school 20 years ago this June. I AM old...

But I love graduations -- our next is May 29th -- the kindergarten ceremony for Little Man. That's one I WILL remember.