August 24, 1992 - Before and After

 Today is a date I always recall, as does everyone who lived South of Flagler Street that Summer of '92. Before dawn, an Atlantic tropical typhoon commonly known as Hurricane Andrew stuck us -- and hard!

In the days before, it appeared it would hit farther north, and I couldn't imagine my elderly, frail mother living through a storm alone in her condo. She had just turned 72! As I approach that age, I don't feel elderly or frail -- but to a 30 something, I guess I am. So we brought Mom here, and ironically into the heart of the storm -- Delray was untouched. In fact, we moved there for a few nights after the storm, before my suegros were able to go home to their WELL built 1950s era house, with $4K of damages, and we decamped to an apartment on Brickell Key friend Linda , in a great clutch, secured for us, knowing that The Falls was no place to live.

Anyway, I've described the storm each year, but what was funny is that for years afterward, when a fellow South Dade denizen would describe an event, it was always "Before" or "After" and we immediately knew what they meant. "Remember that Miami Vice looking place in The Falls -- before?"

Well this season is looking to be a quiet one, thanks apparently to El Nino and Saharan Dust -- hopefully it stays that way. Andrew was a Cat 5, and we learned first hand what that meant -- we rode out Cat 3s afterwards (Wilma and Katrina) and no big whoop outside of no power and loose roof tiles. Of course, Villa Wifey is built like the proverbial brick outhouse, whereas the other house was literally one of cards -- no roof nails holding the deck -- only staples -- and the thing was, as 3 year old D1 said at the time, "mistroyed."

But 1992 was a microcosm of life. It was a major pain to lose most of our stuff and move 2 times (Brickell Key and then our suegros' house X mas night), knowing we had a third move when the house was finally rebuilt -- which took until March of '94. But D2 was born that February, and I made my first big money on a case I brought in -- coupled with the literal financial windfall from converting our crap into money, we went from doing ok financially to going next level.

In fact, I was comfortable enough to leave a great gig with my firm to start OUR firm with my brother on another Paul in November 1994 -- an enterprise which did great for clients, and financially helped many -- secretaries, managers, and our comptroller who was also and is still my brother in law. But the Firm is another blog post...

Anyway, the lesson this year is the point of view when judging age. We took Little Man with us Friday, to a Marlins game, and then for a sleepover -- amazing time with him, as always. He noted how fast the players run, and allowed as how he doesn't really enjoy running (another sign he is my spirit animal). Wifey said she didn't like to run, either, and he remarked "Ippi -- you're very old -- old people don't run!"

She still loves him.

But if we're lucky to be given many years, we must enjoy them. I started my BP medicine and will see Thursday if it's having any effect. I gave myself my own stress test this am -- running up and down the gym stairs faster than usual -- and I didn't keel over -- so I got that going for me.

The old, annoying English Major in me always looks for symbolism. When Wifey and I married, we borrowed some lines from Dylan for our vows -- we would always be each other's shelters from the storms of life.

After Andrew, we laughed at that -- we didn't mean ACTUAL Cat 5 hurricanes! But we weathered it, and other actual storms, and worse -- the metaphorical ones of parental deaths, illnesses, sadness, and all manner of suffering.

Each time, we rebuilt -- sort of like I hope to rebuild my circulatory system into one far less likely to burst. Yeah -- that for me would be worse than losing a Falls Area house...

The Downside Risk Became Acute

 So I have always tried to analyze things I have done in life using a very simple calculus: upside benefit versus downside risk. I learned this empirically, at first, and then as a lawyer, as a way to give clients a basis for deciding whether to accept a settlement offer or go to trial. Usually the settlement was the way to go.

Clients would ask me what a jury would do, and I would respond that I would tell them if they told me who the jurors would be. I also used OJ's case as an educational tool (putting aside the differing standards of proof in criminal v civil proceedings). One jury said OJ was a murderer - another said he was not.

And so it has been over the past years with my eating and drinking habits. I always tend to the zaftig, and over the years have tried the Adkins diet, and more exercise. Covid was, ironically, extremely healthy for me. We had a brand new grandson, and I feared this terrible pandemic might take him. I walked daily. A LOT -- most days near 10 miles -- all around the 'hood. And I ate little, and as a result, probably went "down" to 200 lbs -- still more than this 5' 11" guy should be, but comparatively svelte.

My friend Kenny snapped a shot of me while we were walking after his shift at Baptist, and compared it to a shot of me with MUCH more poundage at his 25th anniversary in Wine Country. I truly looked thinner and better.

Well, Little Man survived Covid, and was joined by Baby Man, and I no longer had the existential dread of Dickensian loss. I kept walking, but now do 3 miles the days I don't train with my trainer. And I do THAT twice per week. The past few blood draws have shown pretty good numbers, even though the past couple of years I have been eating and drinking like a college boy. 

The upside was the pleasure of that 4th slice of pizza, and third (sometimes 4th) martini. I liked it. And since my health was pretty, pretty, pretty ok, the downside risk, while there, didn't seem acute. I happily called myself a fat slob, but a mostly healthy one.

And then...I saw a specialist and they took my blood pressure. It was high. Far too high. I saw the office in follow up, and laughed it off as "finger in the tush syndrome," a more serious version of being nervous in a doc's office, what they call "white coat syndrome." But I decided I'd better follow up with Rigo, my doc.

And I did, this am, and sure enough, the BP was high -- far too high. He put me on Lisinopril, which I shall start as soon as Walgreen's fills my scrip, and also, to the approval of the Ds, a GLP -- an oral one. D1 is an RD and wanted me to take a GLP for years -- she has MANY patients on them, and they all thrive.

Rigo has been on one for years -- he's probably down 50 lbs from where he was. So a new beginning.

He told me that where my BP was, if I didn't treat it, I wouldn't be around for long, at least as intact as I am. So indeed the downside risk is acute -- I hope to get 20 more good years -- and not as a stroke victim or cardiac cripple.

After 85 -- eh. With rare exceptions, it seems life isn't so great after that. My Mom was fine until 89, and then a comical car wreck (3 cars in a lot when she hit R instead of D) was the beginning of a sad, slow, 4 year decline. My father in law made it to 90, but could have done without the last 5 Alzheimer's ridden years. My suegra made it to 97 -- again -- after the late 80s, not so great.

So I may well drop, but at least I'm gonna give it the good ole GLP and BP med try.

Rigo says if I DO lose the weight, I may well wean off the BP meds. That would be fine.

And then other stuff stressed me today, and I FaceTimed with Barry, thinking maybe share an adult beverage. But then I read about alcohol and BP on a Mayo Clinic site -- until hypertension is controlled, stay off the booze.

So my plan is to get that diastolic number well under 100. Once I do -- one or 2 vodkas -- either at tailgates, or maybe on our December planned cruise from Barcelona to Lisbon.

Here's to reducing that downside!

That Bill W -- What A Guy!

 So the Summer Heat breaks records, but I walk early and actually get in my steps without sweating! But I spend most of my time, since I'm no mad dog or Englishman, inside this time of year, reading, "counting my beans," as D2 calls my working with my finances, and trying to learn new stuff.

Of course, nostalgia creeps in, and on FaceBook (tm) the other day, I was invited to join a group: Friends of Bill W. It brought back a funny memory...

I guess it was 1997, and Wifey and I took our first luxury trip -- a Med cruise from Istanbul to Rome aboard a small ship, long since broken: the Marco Polo. It was delightful -- we met way cool people, including a WW II hero named Phil Fouche, who was with his family enjoying a 3rd generation graduation from Texas A and M, and visiting a memorial put up for his crew in Cassino, Italy.

But the first night, as I read the itinerary of events on the small ship, I saw that at 5:30, there was a "Happy Hour for Friends of Bill W." Wow -- I showed Wifey -- what a dream. This guy Bill W had so many friends they all took an exotic cruise with him -- and this was back in the last century when exotic cruises were a thing! And I gave him no more thought, except to think -- someday I'd love to take a trip like this with enough friends to have our own Happy Hour.

Well, a few years later, we were with the Ds on an Alaska cruise, and same drill: the first night I saw again, at 5:30 "Happy Hour For Friends of Bill W." I was gobsmacked -- Wifey -- this guy Bill W is on another cruise with us! Amazing. Hopefully I run into him.

Alaska was delightful, with a memorable event in which neither D1 nor Wifey could figure out a kayak, but they felt better since another fellow dunce happened to be, really, a rocket scientist from JPL in Pasadena! Both were towed around by the Viking looking tour guide -- D2 got stuck with me.

And then...fast forward another few years, and we were on a Baltic cruise, and...yep...Bill W again! This was CRAZY -- this same fellow had precisely our travel taste -- from the Med to Alaska to the Baltic! I HAD to meet him.

I found our Julie (Boomer reference) and asked her if she could point out Bill W at the Happy Hour. She laughed -- was I pranking her? Not at all -- but this fellow, popular with his crew, was now on the THIRD cruise we had taken! The Julie explained he was probably on EVERY cruise there was -- Bill W was the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, and the "Happy Hours" were a way for the drunks to get together sans alcohol and do what we've seen tons of times in movies and shows -- affirm that they are alcoholics and I guess, can take a cruise without falling either off the wagon or into the sea.

Ha. I told Wifey -- and then she recalled -- Oh yeah -- she saw the movie "I Am Bill W" but never made the connection!

I guess I got invited to join the FB group from some algorithm -- I order a lot on Total Wine! No thanks -- I enjoy my vodka now and then -- maybe a few times per week -- rarely alone.

In fact, Sunday afternoon I was watching the Marlins while Wifey was out with the Special Needs Spaniel -- getting him his Lubrella shot at a 7 day vet. Josh called -- he was in the 'hood before meeting Norman's boys at Flanagans -- did I want company? I did, and offered him a Zhyr and fresh squeezed mandarin orange. He accepted, and had one. I had a second.

Wifey came home in a foul mood -- the vet she thought was a bargain versus the one she used in years "Snuck in" a $70 "tech fee," and I was late ordering DiNapoli for her to pick up, and she had to wait 15 minutes for it! Worse, I ordered the chicken she does NOT like, and had to settle for eating only the mushroom pizza. We all must endure...

Anyway, the 2 Zhyrs made Wifey's hangri-ness tolerable -- and she popped back to normal after 3 slices -- and we watched "The Westies," my new favorite series.

So rock on, Bill W, but I don't plan on attending any of YOUR happy hours...

Duped

 So Paul has a late friend who died at 69, a disbarred lawyer we all knew as a loveable scoundrel. I mean, the clients he stole $1M from to support his gambling addiction didn't find him so loveable, but he tried, sort of, to make things right, and lived his disbarred life as a paralegal for the associate he trained, who took over his law firm.

I always felt badly for his son -- now nearing 50. His Mom was a piece of work -- lifelong drug addict, mentally unstable -- moved from Miami to points West, and died young, too -- Paul and I attended her funeral at that cemetery under the flight path to MIA where the services always have to wait for the heavy jets to pass...

But I recall one call, when the son was in college at USC, where the Dad was in our office, and the son was saying he needed a few hundred for books. The Dad said sorry, son -- all tapped out here -- and then caught a taxi to MIA where he headed to a weekend in Cabo with some lady of ill repute...

Anyway -- fast forward -- Dad died, and the son somehow fended off the IRS and HOA liens and kept the apartment in The Grove. He married a lovely Israeli -- he had lived there for years, and actually fought in the IDF, which I thought was way cool. They have 2 kids, and with his USC and Masters contacts, the son always seemed to be starting some business or another -- last Spring he sent me a prospectus for a start up and I told him no way -- I don't do startups.

And I didn't hear from him until a text chain yesterday -- he reached out to several people -- could he couch surf or stay in a guest room for 2 nights, or maybe 2 weeks?

That wasn't even a thought for us -- Wifey and I are VERY selective about overnight guests unless they share most of our DNA, or are life long friends -- one of whom is now off this mortal coil and another permanently estranged from me.

My first thought was to ignore the request, but sitting around, I thought -- hey -- I give to charities all the time -- I knew this guy's Dad -- what could have happened? Paul theorized his businesses were bust, maybe his wife decamped with the kids to Israel, and the HOA finally got him booted?

So I texted him -- no guests allowed, and I don't loan money, but I would Zelle him $360 -- at least that would buy him a low priced hotel for a few nights in our low season of August. He thanked me, but said he really needed to borrow $5K while "Waiting on a second mortgage" -- maybe Paul was interested and he was NOT like his Dad who skipped out on debts, and Paul could keep a painting of a courtroom he always admired...Paul wasn't interested.

And then I called Dave -- the lawyer who took over his Dad's firm -- did he know what was going on? He sure as hell did. The son was arrested last Sunday -- Domestic Violence and False Imprisonment -- and Dave had bailed him out -- an office suite mate of Dave had gotten the False Imprisonment charge dropped, but the DV remains. Dave told me that unlike the Dad, the son "has a temper" and it flared with his Israeli wife.

Wifey, herself Haifa born, sort of observed this entire affair, and I asked her what it was about Sabras that drove men to such anger and violence. She smirked. Wifey has a world class smirk...

So I was duped. I give lots to charities, but when the objects are Dudes who hit women, or worse, abuse animals or kids -- no way -- they can all sleep under bridges, for all I care.

Paul thinks the son will try to drink again at my trough. Yeah, no, to use Miami speak -- the trough is empty.

I hope for the kids' sake he gets his act together -- maybe he and the Israeli can work things out. But I'm out -- no more help for old time's sake. Tessio asked Tom to get him off the hook for old time's sake -- didn't work for him, either.

So back to my small version of what Sinatra did -- see tales in the news and give help there -- Go Fund Me is an easy platform for that -- but never when the requesters have any family money -- that disqualifies them.

And no mas for DV dudes...

State of Florida v. Wifey

 So in June, Wifey was on the phone with her lunch friends waiting for her at the Aventura Mall, and as she drove looking for a spot, made a wide right into the building and gently scraped a Honda to her left. The young man and she pulled to the side, and Wifey called me to handle it since I handle EVERYTHING, and I tried to explain to the fellow we would pay his damages, he could photo the Lexus tag and Wifey's license to show we were legit, etc...

He was in his 30s and said "I have to call my Mom!" Turns out -- he was Jamaican, and I kind of dug the fact that that group can have failure to launch, men/boys, too. At any age past 20, I would NOT have called my mother about anything like this, but, hey -- different times?

The Mom wasn't having me, and insisted that police be called, and Aventura sent a numbskull PSA who gave Wifey a ticket, even though he didn't witness the accident, and had no video proof. Note to self: when my friend Paul becomes Mayor, which will happen in a few years -- get him fired! Ha. Not really. Maybe.

Anyway, we learned the other day that my new insurance settled the property claim, and I realized I hadn't heard from the lawyer I sent her ticket to, who shares the name of a dead comedian from Philly, about her ticket. I had paid him and sent him the ticket, and he said he'd get it dismissed. So I texted him, and he texted back that the case would be set for trial, we would get the notice when he did, and he would handle it, but I could check the progress on the Miami Dade Clerk's website.

Since I'm OCD, I did, and saw Wifey's license was suspended as of 8/6 for failure to pay the fine! The lawyer forgot to send in his notice/plea of not guilty, and the case was treated as if Wifey were a scofflaw. I reflected on this for a few beats. If I did nothing, and Wifey got stopped again, the cop would see she was driving with a suspended license, and would have arrested her. Hilarity would have resulted, as Wifey would have gotten to spend at least a few hours with, as the Standell's  song says, with the "muggers, lovers, and thieves." Also plenty of whores and drug types.

Nah -- I couldn't let that happen. So I called David, keeping my cool, and he of course apologized. NOT! He started telling me he got the ticket the day he was home from vacation, and his WIFE was supposed to handle it, etc... I politely told him I gave zero bowel movements about his life -- fix it!

Late last night, he sent a form showing Wifey's license would NOT have been suspended until 9/1, and he would file his Notice and Plea. So we'll see.

Wifey makes MUCH fun of my OCD -- how I double check anything official. She's right -- once I hire a lawyer for her, for example, I should just let things play out. Great stories would have resulted...

Well next time, I go back to the Ticket Clinic, owned by Paul's law school friend Mark, himself a character who dated multiple escorts and strippers. So I guess traffic ticket law doesn't attract the creme de la creme...

Hopefully Wifey stays our of the hoosegow. I guess we'll see...

FDOS and Move In at the U

 So yesterday was Miami Dade Public School's First Day of School, or FDOS as I have long called it. Little Man began First grade, while Baby Man had his last day of camp at the synagogue, before beginning Pre K in the same venue next week.

Wifey and I cruised up to Beth Moshe and fetched Baby Man, who regaled us with tales of his recent trip to Disney -- how he and his brother "Saved the Earth" on one of the rides. He is illegally adorable. We took him to D2's house, where he was given snacks by his Tia, and watched some videos, and then D1 and Little Man arrived.

We heard LOTS about his FDOS -- who he sits with, the importance of "not blurting" when you know the answer, which he typically does. It was delightful, and I told Little Man that he got to choose dinner in honor of his FDOS -- he went with Chik-Fil-E, and D1 put in an order for him and his brother and Wifey, since the rest of us were having sushi, which Wifey does not favor.

I took the boys to fetch the sandwiches, and we arrived home where D1 had set out a Ketel and glass for me -- even though I might well have skipped -- the buzz of the FDOS was enough. We ate delicious sushi bowls -- later Jonathan claimed his was "fire." And after a few hours of happy chaos, we left for home, and the quiet of older peoples' lives.

I recalled MY FDOS in First Grade -- I still well recall Mrs. Mills and being one of the smartest kids, but soon learned that Jeff and Debbie might well be smarter. Debbie became, per FaceBook, a kind of strange spinster-type woman -- living alone in NYC and working at NGOs. I hope not, but suspect she may have voted for Mamdani. She wouldn't be the only one.

Man, the school year seemed to last SO long. Now the years fly. Just yesterday we were bringing Little Man home from Jackson Memorial, after a keen watchful eye check by Dr. Barry. And now he's starting real school.

I also see on FB that the kids are moving into UM. The dorms are now all luxe -- as expected of a $100K per year college. We were thrilled with our cracker boxes, as we called the prison-cell like rooms in the 1968 complex. Man -- I felt like a grown ass man -- no more Mom around to do laundry or make my bed.

And I enjoyed a classic college experience -- meeting people VERY unlike the white ethnic NY types I knew -- my first roommate was from Karachi, Pakistan and put down his prayer rug and prayed throught the day. Ahmjed, who I thought called himself Jed, as in "I am Jed" and I introduced him around that way and he was too polite to correct me for weeks.

Dem were great years, until Dad dropped the Summer before my senior year -- but that gave me the most basic life lesson -- everyone dies -- not just people you sort of hear about or aren't very close to.

But now is the time of renewal -- FDOS all around.

Next week we're taking Little Man -- I plan to get tix for the Marlins Friday night -- Harry Potter Night! Wifey is actually coming, too. He's not into Harry Potter yet, but D1 will be thrilled if he converts -- she LOVES HP -- even waiting on line at Shakespeare and Company her Summer studying in Paris for the latest book to come out.

So a chill weekend hopefully awaits. I need to drive over to the Friendship Circle campus -- bought 4 challahs from the latest -- Mitzvah Bakery. They have the special needs folks help out, and use the money for the Center. I bought 4 -- will freeze a few for the Ds.

Tzedekah is essential. Eating challah while doing it? NOW we're talking.

Here's to a great school year for all -- especially our boys. As D1 says, the days are long but the years are short. Little and Baby Men are lucky to have such a smart Mommy...

The Very Energetic Boy Gets A Chill

 What a banner weekend for those of us whose lives revolve around our kids and grandkids. Friday pm Wifey and I fetched Baby Man, and heard about his happy day at camp, and headed to the Miami Shores Theater to see Little Man perform. The kids were terrific -- 4 through high school -- with a dedicated staff. The Director is a British lady who, you can tell, has a dream job. Little Man got his lines spot on, and to Steve Miller's "Abracadabra" danced wonderfully, including a turn with a little girl D1 reports is yet another girlfriend...

From there, we retired to D1's house, and the boys played, and D2 and Betsy joined us, as did Harley, D1's friend who was dog sitting. It occurred to me it was not only 5:00 somewhere, it was 5:00 on a Friday in Miami Shores, and we had some wine and, for me, Ketel, followed by some Uber Eated in Prima Pasta -- successfully keeping it away from Betsy, who lately has been stealing from the boys if they don't pay attention. 

We drove home, with Little Man a font of questions and observations. He IS scary smart -- a true sponge, always seeking more information, and processing beyond his years. I love to playfully tease him -- telling him stuff not true, and he typically catches on very fast -- like when I told him we now had agama lizards (True) that are 5 feet long (not true).

Wifey gave him a bath in our absurdly big tub, which a designer wanted to get rid of on account of it gets little use, and we realized it was great to keep just FOR the grandkids, and then there was snuggle time before bed.

As I expected, Saturday EARLY there was Little Man, reminding me of our tradition of BAFL (bagels at first light) and we left for House of Bagels, where the counter lady, very white but who speaks in Ebonics, greeted him happily -- he's a regular. Alas, the black and white cookies were gone,but he settled for a chocolate chip muffin, which Wifey negotiated with him for part of. When it comes to chocolate, Wifey is a naughty 9 year old girl...

I got us tickets for "Minions v Monsters" at the newly renovated Falls theater -- they did a great job -- now it's one of those luxe places with the airplane business class-type seats, and service. We all loved it, though Little Man will grow up without the experience of waiting in line for popcorn and M and Ms -- they get brought to you now. I told him we took his Mommy and Tia D2 to the theater their entire lives, and when they got older, they went with their friends, or at least they so told us while sneaking off to parties. Great scam -- it worked very well, though I guess now that kids get tracked via their phones, the 90s era scams will have to update.

We offered to take him afterwards to either a cool park, or a pretty new Barnes and Noble, but instead he chose the option of just coming home to chill.

D1 has him in non stop activities -- I think this upcoming semester there is violin camp, padel camp, karate, and maybe another I'm missing. So he knows when he is with us, down time is allowed, and he seems to really savor it.

Last night, after some nature videos Wifey found, it was time for another epic bath, and then sleep -- up early again today. He had saved one half of his chocolate chip bagel for today, and wanted it. Rookie move, I reminded him -- Wifey found the bagel half last night and it was no more. He settled for a plain bagel instead, reminding me "Grandpa -- we really DO have to hide chocolate from Ippi -- she eats ALL of it!"

We left for a meeting place at El Carajo -- the gas station on SW 17th Ave which has great food, and we reunited with Baby Man. The boys are off to Disney with their Dad today -- 3 nights before school begins Thursday.

As I hoped, after a stop at Walgreens to fetch some meds (I waited behind a painfully annoying older Cubana who had LOTS of questions about her Medicare Plus plan), I came home to a quiet house. One Wifey and one ancient, mostly sedentary Spaniel. We watched the final Larry David episode, and concluded, "Eh."

But tonight is MY latest show -- The Westies -- though Wifey finds it hard to follow. But soon the Fall will be upon us -- football, and the return of "Your Friends and Neighbors" and "Landman," which Wifey and I both really dig.

I think this week brings a Marlins game -- Norman and I are planning on Tuesday night -- Barry and Josh have been invited but tend to let us know right before -- I know the Pirates on a Tuesday night in early August won't be a hard ticket to score.

And maybe next weekend, we get to hear all about Little Man's first days of First Grade. We really dig those boys, and are thankful we only need to watch them part time...

Zoom Armpit Sniffing

 My trainer Jonathan and I have gotten very close -- we enjoy our twice weekly hourly sessions immensely. I am inherently lazy -- but for meeting him -- I would NOT do the balance and strength exercises crucial to keeping me mostly upright. Hell -- the other day I even showed off: I can balance on one foot for a LONG time, which, I have read, is an indicator that I'm less likely to drop like a sack of potatoes...

The sessions fly by, and I always remind him of the sage words of my Organic Chem professor Harry P Schultz: We are ALL students in the study of human nature. This weekend is a big one for Jonathan -- his girlfriend Lesley is moving in with him, and Jonathan has been peppering me with questions about making this thing work from a dude who approached 40 years of marriage to the same, quirky woman.

I told him the most sage advice came from the write Jack Nicholson played -- a writer of romantic books praised for how well he "thought like a woman." When asked his secret, he said he applied logic and common sense to a given situation, and then completely turned it around -- ending up with the spot on woman's perspective. Jonathan is a fine pupil -- he will get it and live happily, I predict.

And, since, like the Styx song, I've got too much time on my hands, I have the luxury of analyzing and thinking about things that matter little. This week, that was an aborted Zoom meeting with my cousin Russ. We connected last week, and spoke for the better part of an hour. Unlike the majority of my first cousins, who I have no desire to spend time with, Russ seemed to be in a very similar place: well off retired guy, living in SoCal, fraught relationships with his other family members, adult kids (though no grandkids for him and his second wife). We really hit it off, even though, far as we could recall, we last were together in person in 1981.

Wifey and I get lots of requests to socialize. Years ago, our friends Susan and Steve told us we were "an IT couple" --cohorts in Pinecrest thought we were WAY cool to hang with, and when we had dinners with Steve and Susan, they were "honored." Ha -- hardly -- and we enjoyed our times with them, but Susan sadly died last year while visiting grandkids in Texas. She actually got flown back to Miami and died here, but whatever caused her death started in Dallas.

I nicely reject most invites -- lovely neighbors, for example, and Wifey is even MORE explicit -- she has let drop LOTS of old friendships on account of she no longer has the energy. She truly cares about ONE friend, and has mah johnng buddies, and comes along with me with my dear friends and their spouses -- but her formal social butterfly self has lost her wings.

So it was unusual that I actually made an effort to spend more time, albeit virtually, with Russ. I suggested a Zoom cocktail, since I had no plans to travel to SoCal nor he to SoFla. He eagerly accepted -- maybe last Monday? No -- he texted -- plans -- but would definitely text Tuesday to confirm Wednesday -- assuming his wife had no jury duty. I have him the text thumbs up.

And then yesterday I realized I had been ghosted. I sniffed my armpits -- did I have BO? Wait -- you can't smell that through Zoom, can you?

It's funny -- he had told me how he was estranged from his brother Gary -- Gary was "selfish and rude" and they haven't spoken in years. A HA! Maybe it was Russ who was that way!

Again -- my life will be fine without the reconnect after more than 4 decades -- but it's strange how he seemed so eager to catch up and compare first cousin notes about our lives. That's ok.

Once again, the adage proves true: friend's are G-d's compensation for family. And so it was last evening -- Barry and Scott and I FaceTimed over a few adult beverages. I had told them I was out of pocket tonight, our usual Zoom, since Wifey and I are fetching Little Man after his gender fluid theater camp performance, and will likely be with D2 after the show.

Scott was supposed to leave for Boston, but his flight was canceled -- he and Sam are off this am for, as I reminded him, a Manilow "Weekend in New England." I decided last night was besheret booze. Scott loved that. I reminded the young journalist you never go wrong with alliteration.

So adios cousin Russ. You now join all my others in the dustbin of my family history. Eric recently flew up to Jersey to photograph his neice's bridal shower. Jeff flew to SF to hang with HIS cousin before the older fellow went in for a bone marrow transplant. In MY case, the Big Man decided that I don't even get a Zoom cocktail reunion with mine.

And that's just fine. Three weeks ago yesterday, all those truly sacred to me gathered for my 65th, to help me honor Hashem with giving me 65 years of a comically amazing life. Not a cousin was within hundreds of miles. Well, not true -- Jeff lives in Broward -- that's less than 100 miles. When I have a bad event -- ain't reaching out to anyone other than who was there 7/18. When I am given reason to kvell -- same thing -- those peeps share in it -- everyone else hears second or third hand.

I guess I also have to be thankful I'm not a Democrat in Maine. The guy who replaced the rapey Nazi Platner had kids with his second cousin. Yuck. Just as well I have Zoom connected stinky armpits...

Political Incorrectness

 So part of being a dinosaur is totally not getting this new era we're in, where everyone is offended. I just read a news story that Miss North Carolina was stripped of her title for using the N word -- and she's a woman of color herself! On our Canes chat, one that would derail the career aspirations of some of us if we tried to become federal judges ( I guess that's no longer so, at least under the GOP presently), one of us noted that "Given the way she looks, a title is the last thing that should be stripped from her."

The story brought me back to MY childhood in white, ethnic New York. My friend Michael, my oldest buddy, was from a mixed marriage: Italian Mom and Irish Dad. Mrs. M was an awesome cook -- I NEVER refused an invite to "eat over." My Mom, of blessed memory, cooked every night, but one of 4 things -- none of which tasted like Mrs. M's stuff. Mr. M was, wait for it, a NYC fireman and prodigious drinker, who spent afternoons off at the local Pin Up Bar (acronym cleverly PUB). Mike and I would be tasked with fetching Mr. M for dinner, and he would always say "Hey guys -- say hi to my boy Mikey and his Jew friend Dave!" The firemen would chuckle, ask if my Dad was a doctor or lawyer, and I would say "Nah -- just a salesman" and that was that. Was I offended or hurt? 

Of course not -- we all used identities like that. Fitz the Mick. Mark the Swede. Joe the WOP, etc...I guess you can't do that no more.

But speaking of Long Island...I saw some terrific news yesterday. My buddy John Nixon, who I've known since high school, finally has a date for the airing of the TV series based on his book about the capture and interrogation of Saddam Hussein. The book was "Debriefing the President" and the show is called "High Value Target." TNT is showing it early September, and I plan to host a watch party.

Back in 2011, a bunch of buddies and I went up to D.C. to watch the Canes opener at Maryland, and I hosted a dinner at The Palm and invited John. It was a banner night -- much better than the game the next day which the Canes lost in Al Golden's coaching debut. John regaled us with his stories of Baghdad, and Hussein, and how he was writing a book about the experiences.

He did, and mentioned Norman, Mike, and me and our dinner in the acknowledgments. The book did great, and a movie, later series, was to be made, but Covid delayed everything. Finally Joel Kinnaman got involved -- producing and playing John, and the show got made with Cairo filling in for Baghdad.

John made a princely sum, which he needs badly -- his wife Barbara is badly disabled from MS and John is a dutiful husband and caregiver.

But I am SO proud of him -- he and my friend Kenny both had great careers of service to the US -- Kenny as a flight surgeon during the Gulf War, aboard the Saratoga, and John with "The Company" as they call the CIA. And now he's going to be truly famous for what he did.

I already joked with him that the movie star handsome Kinnaman isn't really good enough to play him -- should have been, oh, I don't even know the young actors anymore.

But I celebrate when my friends soar -- schadenfreude is for others -- and his is a gleaming moment for a guy I still remember in my basement putting together a play about Apollo astronauts for our First Grade Class -- my Mom dutifully trying to write down our scripts.

So not bad for my Irish Catholic buddy John. The Italians and Jews are SO proud of him...

Dinosaur

 So yesterday was chock full of errands, and later on the realization that I am, truly, a dinosaur.

First, I had to get some legal papers witnessed and notarized, and fortunately recalled a friend had recently taken a job as a legal secretary nearby -- so I took the papers over to her office, and got it done. I had been by the Marcus Building, on SW 77 Ave, for years, but never inside. It's not what one would call Class A office space, but mission accomplished and then...a wait for a monsoon rain to pass.

From there, it was over to First Horizon Bank, to order some checks. I still had Gibraltar Bank ones left over, their last incarnation, and was running out. The cheerful teller told me that I was a "Premium Checking" client, so the 120 checks cost only...$80! I didn't have the energy to see an officer to get the charge stricken, and when I asked the teller about a toaster, he looked at me like a Gen Z guy who had zero idea banks used to give out toasters for new accounts. Now they charge you nearly $1 for every piece of paper you use...

I came home, and I had some legal work: finding a lawyer in Hawaii for a friend who was tripped, accidentally, by a tour guide and broke her shoulder. A quick search showed that Morgan and Morgan was in Hawaii -- I called the number, and got a "case intake specialist" NOT in Hawaii. No, I explained to the person, I needed to talk lawyer to lawyer, as I was referring a case and needed to work out the terms, so that I could remit the fee savings to my friend. 

The clerk basically went all HAL on me: "I'm sorry -- I can't DO that, Dave." Fine. I hung up and recalled I knew a senior partner at that intergalactic firm in Atlanta. I called the 404 number. Same thing! They wouldn't connect me with Greg! First -- they wanted all the information about MY accident.

I tried another tack. No case -- I just needed to speak to Greg. No dice. First tell me about the case. This person, despite the ATL number, was not even IN ATL. Screw it -- I abandoned that firm.

The next on the list was a 10 person firm -- AI wouldn't let me past telling my tale either. I hung up, annoyed. When Paul and I were in active practice, the thought we might miss a big case was our biggest fear. Apparently these days it isn't.

I finally got a human secretary, and she took the information -- but today sent a letter saying that their office was flooded out and they weren't taking new cases. But Pam, the paralegal, was nice, and referred me to a smaller firm. I checked out their web page -- all 3 lawyers dressed in Hawaiian shirts! One guy, the senior partner, looks like Big Daddy Flanagan, the famous local pub owner who died years ago. I hope he's the one who calls me back.

Yes -- times have changed.

Meanwhile, the documents I had Uber Couriered to Hollywood have a scrivener's error -- the page where the mortgage was recorded was 592,  but the firm typed it as 529. So I'm guessing I'll have to sign, have witnessed, and notarized an entirely NEW document -- this time Wifey may actually have to leave the house to go with me to do it. The horror.

Everything is daunting. I guess that was true of actual dinosaurs -- back in the day.

Checkout Day At The Hotel For Dogs

 I love dogs -- I truly do. And yet, if I had my way, once the Special Needs Spaniel Bo crosses the Rainbow Bridge, I would be done getting any new dogs. Wifey tells me this is non negotiable -- our house will always have "at least one, preferably two, dogs."

I try to point out that she rarely comes downstairs before 10:30 or 11 am each day, so her idea of having a dog is really having ME take care of her dog, and I'm kind of over it. I am happy to be the sitter for grand dogs. Alas, I shall lose this marital issue, I fear -- may Bo long continue to nap on our sofa.

So Betsy, the enormous puppy, came home with us nearly a fortnight ago, so D2 and Jonathan could enjoy a trip to Portugal. She weighs north of 105 -- probably more now with the daily Publix chicken I give her with her kibble, and she is not, as Wifey would say, a background dog. She is always underfoot, or plopping down next to me -- she is truly delightful -- but the time has come for her to return to Miami Shores -- D2 and Jonathan returned safely last evening.

We shall meet them at a cool, LA import Italian place this evening, Jon and Vinny's, and I plan to have a martini or two with my son in law and share some great casual Italian whilst hearing all about their trip. Wifey and I are headed to Portugal in December -- the ending port of a cruise from Barcelona with Barry and Donna -- D2 and Jonathan already warned us about Lisbon -- lots of hills -- maybe we "elders" should hire a guide with a golf cart, as they observed. We probably will...

And D1 entrusted us with her Skittish Spaniel Lemon last week -- she is now north of Knoxville on a lake vacation. Lemon is portable, when you can corner him -- and he sleeps in the crate with Bo, so not a midnight tripping hazard on our bedroom floor like Betsy is.

The plan is to return Lemon Friday when we travel up to see Little Man's theater camp show -- as his mother suspected -- he is LOVING it. We fetched him there last week, at the Miami Shores theater, and he regaled us with excited tales -- and a purely modern one. "Grandpa Dave -- you won't believe this: my counselor is a girl, with a boy's haircut, and told us she feels like a boy!" D1 tried to politically correctly explain gender identity to him -- but his precocious 6.5 year old self seemed confused -- saying you were either born a boy or girl, right?

I look forward to watching him and Baby Man and ALL the younguns navigate this brave new world. When the grandsons are old enough to drink, I plan on admitting to them that most of my guy friends and I sort of wished we could have stomached the sex part of being gay men -- life would have been so much simpler. Their Mom will be horrified...but the joy of being an old guy is you get away with more stuff.

So our hotel for dogs will, later this evening, be down to the usual resident and one additional Spaniel. Pretty easy for this canine innkeeper.