So there was a highlight this week -- on July 1 - my first Medicare Day! My hope is to use very few of the benefits -- in fact, to be the opposite of the old Jewish curse: "May you make a million dollars and spend all of it on doctors."
So at 330, Norman, not yet on Medicare on account of he doesn't turn 65 until November and even when he does will keep his insurance from his law firm, rolled up to Villa Cipora, and I walked out, after the required questioning my Miriam, our long time housekeeper, about where I was going.
We had 5 pm reservations at Anthony's Runway, and good thing we left early, since a wreck on the Turnpike delayed us, but we arrived, and left the car for the valet even though he said they weren't open yet. The meal was grand. I had a couple of dirty martinis -- poor Norman had to abstain on account of medical stuff -- and we shared sausage, meatballs, chicken parm, and linguine and clams. Classic red sauce, done right. They are a supper club now, but we had to leave before the 7 pm Sinatra started.
Norman got us an Uber Enormous --yuuuuuge SUV -- and we arrived at Parker Playhouse. I thought I had been there before -- I had not -- I confused it with the War Memorial Auditorium next door. Norman scored us 2nd row tickets, strategically by stage right, where he knew Joe Jackson would be sitting at his keyboard.
The show was sold out. It was all OLD people -- like 60s and 70s! The prettiest girl was on those arm crutches. Our seatmate, a large fellow, warned us he would visit the men's room multiple times -- and he wasn't kidding -- I counted 5 during the show.
But Jackson was terrific. I knew all his old music, though I had forgotten the Latin vibe he had after his hit record in the 80s. The band was tight, as they say -- most of them had played with him since the early 80s. And I dug his new stuff, too, particularly a song called "Made God Laugh" based on the old Jewish saying about the Big Man not heeding the plans of Man -- or his demands, for that matter.
His ballads were beautiful -- particularly his ode to mistresses -- "Be My Number 2." Terrific show in all regards.
We had to Uber back to Anthony's, and walked down US 1 to a Courtyard. This driver was hilariously MAGA -- telling us right away that they were building a new YMCA but they couldn't use "Christian" anymore. I gently prodded the guy -- he wasn't buying my humor. Maybe angry older guy isn't the best gig for an Uber driver. But he did get us back, and we were off for home -- listening to the US beat, um, I forget now, in soccer.
And today is the eve of July 4th. I have friends who prefer to ignore it, on account of Trump. Not me -- I am still proud of the best country in the world -- the one where my grandparents fled the Tsar in the early 1900s to come to. The place has truly been our American Dream -- especially for this 3rd generation American.
Yeah -- plenty sucks -- but as Bill Maher reminded us about the Bicentennial 50 years ago -- Nixon had just left office, New York City was headed to near collapse, and we were much poorer and crime ridden than we are now. But still -- he wore his Bicentennial T shirt all Summer. I had one, too -- and 50 years later, we endure.
July 4 memories for me are teenaged, then college, then young parents. Teenaged highlight was '78, when my buddies and I took our surgically altered NY State licenses, made ourselves 18 instead of 17, "dressed up," which meant swapping out long sleeved shirts for Grateful Dead T shirts, and went to Beefsteak Charlies, where we consumed all the beer, wine, and sangria we could -- walking to Eisenhower Park afterwards to meet foxes and watch fireworks.
College will always be July 4, 1981 -- my friend Vince's parents' house in North Miami. His parents had decamped to the Keys, and we threw the party to end all parties -- I had made friends from Boca Hospital, and they drove down having never been to a rager (to use a later term) like we threw.
Vince and his childhood buddies, all local Italian guys, danced a hilarious choreographed piece to Springsteen's "Born to Run," in their Speedos, which weren't gross then as 20 year old guys. I still see the vision in my head whenever I hear that Boss anthem.
And then, fast forward to the age of the Ds. Early on, our JCC had a parade up SW 107 Avenue, and afterwards we would attend local fireworks. For years later, we got a room and cabana at The Biltmore where the grownups floated poolside with frozen drinks, and we saw the fireworks later.
Ah -- almost forgot a major attraction as I wander down Memory Lane -- July 4, 1984. Wifey and I had become "excluuuuuusive," as the Ds love to lampoon, and we spent the night of the 3rd at her friend Yvonne's South Beach apartment, the better to secure a spot on the beach for a yuuuuuuge Beach Boys concert. I think the day still holds the record for most fans for a band -- the Boys played in D.C. early, then flew to Miami for the evening -- more than 1 M in total, I believe.
Our show, which I saw after an entire day of drinking wine on the beach in the scorching sun, also had Ringo Starr and a few of the Moody Blues. Our friend Jeannette and her cousin Dennis were with us, and when Ringo appeared, Jeannette, a lifelong Beatles fan, ran maniacally to the stage. In my VERY inebriated state, I thought -- oh well -- we'll have to tell Bob, her husband back in NYC, what happened, as she was lost in the maw. But she turned up, we all got on with our lives, including 4 Ds among us, and 6 grandkids, so far.
Sadly, Bob died last year, barely past 70.
So yeah, I really dig July 4th. This year, I overcame Wifey's inertia, reminding her SHE was an immigrant and so had less say than I, a native born citizen (wow -- Trump must be wearing off on me), and we WOULD do something.
So I invited our neighbor Gloria, and we're meeting Barry, Donna, and their boy Josh, who, sadly, doesn't have a Vince friend equivalent to spend a much crazier July 4th than he will have with us, at Bahia Honda -- Cuban owned and run seafood place on 8th Street near FIU.
They have a Spanish guitar guy. Will he play any US songs? TBD.
Either way -- happy birthday, America, as D2 used to gleefully shout when she was in kindergarten.
I plan to enjoy my pride.
