So my friend Mike convinced me that now is the time to see the aging rock acts -- music groups we really dig or dug are fading fast. Other acts, too -- like Barbra. I scored nice tix to her show and took Wifey last year.
When I was young, I was content to merely have a ticket. But now I'm old and spoiled -- I only want to go if I get great seats -- preferably Club, in an arena. So in the coming month or so, we're seeing Hall and Oates and Paul McCartney at the AAA, and Wifey's favorite, U2, at Joe Robbie.
Of course, the stadium has had 10 names since Joe Robbie built it, in the 80s, but old timers like me continue to call it after the dude who built it with no public money. These days, I think it's SunRock, or something.
Anyway -- in January U2 announced they'd play there, and I decided to buy "pre sale" tix. To do so, though, I had to join a U2 fan club, for $50. I'm nearly 56 and NEVER joined a single fan club in my life. I guess it was time...So after I joined, I was given the privilege of buying 4 seats -- upper deck, but ok. We invited Norman and Deb, and decided we were going to get a limo and avoid the parking hassle, plus drink the whole way there. We were all set...until...
Yesterday I got an email from the Canes Club. They had a "special offer" - you could, through them, buy Club Seats for U2. I jumped on it -- seemed wrong to take a limo to a show to sit in the upper deck -- and went online and bought 4 seats. With the "facility fee" and other charges, well, let's just say the 4 tickets cost more than a luxury cruise of a week's duration. I justified it by realizing that there would be no vacations this year, at least until after D1's wedding. So we're set to cruise to Joe Robbie in style and eat and drink well as Bono belts out "Where the Streets Have No Name..."
Then, I went back on the Ticket Master site, where I knew you could re sell you unwanted tickets. Not so fast! Turns out the earlier tickets I bought, through the stupid fan club, were "credit card entry," meaning I had to be there with my card and ID and whole party to get in. And they were not transferable, or saleable. And it got worse -- I bought the tix with an AMEX card in January that had since been replaced, so I had to send Ticketmaster my old statement, plus a new one, and they would re-jigger their system to allow use of the no longer wanted tickets at Joe Robbie!
Young Vince of my firm, of Irish background, said he was duty bound to take the tix off my hands. So I strategized we'd all go together (Vince and his TWO friends -- I needed to be the fourth) -- we'd get them in, and then I'd join my party in the Club. I had Amanda of my office scan in an old January statement, I emailed it to TicketMaster, and all seemed set.
But then...I got another email from TicketMaster saying that my January statement didn't have enough info -- I needed to send them more. No way. Now I called Amex Platinum, and played the spoiled rich guy card. Cynthia, in the Plantation office, agreed -- I had AMEX since 1989, and was a "valued Platinum customer." She said forget it -- they'd fight with TicketMaster and get me a credit for the first tickets. I'll tell Vince today he's out of the party. Since he has a Brazil trip planned with a James Bond girl-type escort, I think he'll get over the disappointment...
I hung up, and looked skyward -- thanking the Big Man that this was the type of "problem" I had to deal with.
So let the music begin...
Thursday, May 11, 2017
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Movin' on Down
I definitely live some of my missed life vicariously through my Ds. D1 took her true passion, food and nutrition, and turned it into her life's work. I so admire her for that -- for me, law was a great business, but never a passion for me.
Another thing I always wished I had done was live in NYC for a time -- preferably after college. Alas, it wasn't in the cards for me, as my widowed mom needed help figuring out life after my Dad died young, and so law school was to be spent at the U. Turned out great, of course, but I always wondered what the City may have held for a 22 year old version of me.
So I got to do it through D2, who moved there a year and a half ago. She and her man Jonathan moved into a "one bedroom" apartment in Murray Hill, a nice residential part of town. They soon found that most of their socializing was in Lower Manhattan, Tribeca, SoHo, and Greenwich Village, or as I call it using MY era's nickname, "The Village." Apparently there is now West Village and Greenwich Village. But really who can keep up with 'hood nicknames? Miami is doing it now, too -- I just heard about WOW (West of Wynwood) and even boring South Miami is trying to market itself as SoMI.
Anyway, Greenwich Village always had a magical place in my heart, mostly because my Dad thought it was the coolest place of all. Even though Dad was a classic WW II man in the gray flannel suit, he admired the fact that GW was the place that artists, writers, folk singers, and all Bohemians gathered. I have very warm childhood memories of walking there, pre Yuppie days, and my father just really feeling at home there.
Well, D2 told us yesterday that she and Jonathan got an apartment they applied for -- on 11th street and 6th ave, right in the heart of that beloved neighborhood. It's very close to the Stonewall monument, site of the first gay rights event, back in the late 60s. Apparently they 'hood retains a lot of those residents, and their younger version.
It's a prewar building, which means bigger apartment, but laundry and trash in the basement. But the building DOES have a doorman, something this protective Dad insisted on. I just like the idea of having someone there when you come home at night, to watch over you.
So I guess it'll be adios to the Affinia Dumond and Gansevoort Park Avenue, the go-to hotels blocks from D2's Murray Hill apartment, and hello to whatever hotels are close to the new digs.
All I know is I'm thrilled for her and Jonathan, and for me, too. Something my Dad dreamed of doing, living in "the Village," is finally happening, just two generations later. I plan to toast his memory, with D2 and Jonathan, first visit I make.
Another thing I always wished I had done was live in NYC for a time -- preferably after college. Alas, it wasn't in the cards for me, as my widowed mom needed help figuring out life after my Dad died young, and so law school was to be spent at the U. Turned out great, of course, but I always wondered what the City may have held for a 22 year old version of me.
So I got to do it through D2, who moved there a year and a half ago. She and her man Jonathan moved into a "one bedroom" apartment in Murray Hill, a nice residential part of town. They soon found that most of their socializing was in Lower Manhattan, Tribeca, SoHo, and Greenwich Village, or as I call it using MY era's nickname, "The Village." Apparently there is now West Village and Greenwich Village. But really who can keep up with 'hood nicknames? Miami is doing it now, too -- I just heard about WOW (West of Wynwood) and even boring South Miami is trying to market itself as SoMI.
Anyway, Greenwich Village always had a magical place in my heart, mostly because my Dad thought it was the coolest place of all. Even though Dad was a classic WW II man in the gray flannel suit, he admired the fact that GW was the place that artists, writers, folk singers, and all Bohemians gathered. I have very warm childhood memories of walking there, pre Yuppie days, and my father just really feeling at home there.
Well, D2 told us yesterday that she and Jonathan got an apartment they applied for -- on 11th street and 6th ave, right in the heart of that beloved neighborhood. It's very close to the Stonewall monument, site of the first gay rights event, back in the late 60s. Apparently they 'hood retains a lot of those residents, and their younger version.
It's a prewar building, which means bigger apartment, but laundry and trash in the basement. But the building DOES have a doorman, something this protective Dad insisted on. I just like the idea of having someone there when you come home at night, to watch over you.
So I guess it'll be adios to the Affinia Dumond and Gansevoort Park Avenue, the go-to hotels blocks from D2's Murray Hill apartment, and hello to whatever hotels are close to the new digs.
All I know is I'm thrilled for her and Jonathan, and for me, too. Something my Dad dreamed of doing, living in "the Village," is finally happening, just two generations later. I plan to toast his memory, with D2 and Jonathan, first visit I make.
Monday, May 8, 2017
Every Junkie's Like A Setting Sun
Wifey and I met Lois when she and her UM Art Professor Carlos moved across the street after Manny and Lujean sold their post Andrew renovated house. Carlos was a proud Peruvian artist, and Lois was a LA girl -- Stanford educated. Their two boys were close in age to the Ds.
The two moved here from Champaigne, IL. Carlos was offered a position teaching Art, and Lois became Chair of English at Palmer, a private school in South Dade. We became good neighbors quickly -- I've always dug teachers and university professors, and when a now estranged family member was looking for his first teaching job, Lois hired him.
Two students entered Palmer, and had some troubles. Their Dad happened to be a very well known basketball coach, a Tony Soprano -like guy who gets stuff done. He first hired Lois to privately tutor his kids, and they thrived. So the coach made Lois an offer she couldn't refuse -- he convinced her to leave her job at the school, doubling or tripling her salary, I forget, to tutor the kids full time at her house. She did this for awhile, banking the money all the while.
When the coaches kids graduated, Lois took her gains and started an academy -- to fill a niche. Turns out there wasn't a good local alternative for local rich kids who got booted from the known array of private schools, like Palmer, Ransom, and Gulliver. These kids had to be home schooled, or sent off to boarding places. Lois saw the opportunity and grabbed it -- starting an academy in Palmetto Bay. It thrived.
Most of the students were behavioral problems or drug addicts. Lois and her staff got most of them back on track. She and Carlos divorced, and Lois remarried a very nice fellow, who taught at her school -- he was a retired military man. Wifey and I had them over once -- we planned to get together again, but Lois sold the school and moved to Orlando. Her oldest son had gotten a great gig as a musician with a touring company, and they were based near Disney. Plus, by selling her Miami house and business, and moving North, she was able to greatly increase her lifestyle. Miami has gotten so damn expensive.
Anyway, Lois and I follow each other on FaceBook. Over the weekend, she had a very sad post -- saying she was heartbroken. One of her former students, a young man, now 25 named Eric, had died. It wasn't clear how, but it was either suicide or drug overdose.
The young fellow's name was familiar to Wifey and me, but we didn't know them well. I went to his FaceBook page. He was handsome. His posts were those of a bright and articulate young fellow. He attended and then dropped out of UCF. In January, he moved to Delray Beach. That was telling -- young people tend to move to Delray and the area for a sad reason: it has become a center for drug addicts. Over the past 15 years or so, a bunch of group homes have opened in the older part of town -- away from the ocean, but near booming Atlantic Avenue.
I noticed this during my Mom's final years there. When we'd go to a restaurant, there would be a lot of young folks crowding the local coffee shops -- many tatooed and pierced. Years ago, a friend who has been in recovery for a long while told me if one ever wants to meet local addicts -- go to the coffee houses. Nicotine and caffeine are the only drugs addicts are allowed to have -- so if you see a young, tatooed person smoking and drinking coffee at one of these places, you wouldn't likely lose money betting they had a substance issue -- unless they were heavy metal musicians, and then you'd be certain they had one.
So the move to Delray was telling. But just last week, Eric posted lovely photos, of himself on a cliff. And now he is gone.
I just thought about the pain his family must suffer. It's awful. Such a waste and tragedy. The sun really set on them.
The two moved here from Champaigne, IL. Carlos was offered a position teaching Art, and Lois became Chair of English at Palmer, a private school in South Dade. We became good neighbors quickly -- I've always dug teachers and university professors, and when a now estranged family member was looking for his first teaching job, Lois hired him.
Two students entered Palmer, and had some troubles. Their Dad happened to be a very well known basketball coach, a Tony Soprano -like guy who gets stuff done. He first hired Lois to privately tutor his kids, and they thrived. So the coach made Lois an offer she couldn't refuse -- he convinced her to leave her job at the school, doubling or tripling her salary, I forget, to tutor the kids full time at her house. She did this for awhile, banking the money all the while.
When the coaches kids graduated, Lois took her gains and started an academy -- to fill a niche. Turns out there wasn't a good local alternative for local rich kids who got booted from the known array of private schools, like Palmer, Ransom, and Gulliver. These kids had to be home schooled, or sent off to boarding places. Lois saw the opportunity and grabbed it -- starting an academy in Palmetto Bay. It thrived.
Most of the students were behavioral problems or drug addicts. Lois and her staff got most of them back on track. She and Carlos divorced, and Lois remarried a very nice fellow, who taught at her school -- he was a retired military man. Wifey and I had them over once -- we planned to get together again, but Lois sold the school and moved to Orlando. Her oldest son had gotten a great gig as a musician with a touring company, and they were based near Disney. Plus, by selling her Miami house and business, and moving North, she was able to greatly increase her lifestyle. Miami has gotten so damn expensive.
Anyway, Lois and I follow each other on FaceBook. Over the weekend, she had a very sad post -- saying she was heartbroken. One of her former students, a young man, now 25 named Eric, had died. It wasn't clear how, but it was either suicide or drug overdose.
The young fellow's name was familiar to Wifey and me, but we didn't know them well. I went to his FaceBook page. He was handsome. His posts were those of a bright and articulate young fellow. He attended and then dropped out of UCF. In January, he moved to Delray Beach. That was telling -- young people tend to move to Delray and the area for a sad reason: it has become a center for drug addicts. Over the past 15 years or so, a bunch of group homes have opened in the older part of town -- away from the ocean, but near booming Atlantic Avenue.
I noticed this during my Mom's final years there. When we'd go to a restaurant, there would be a lot of young folks crowding the local coffee shops -- many tatooed and pierced. Years ago, a friend who has been in recovery for a long while told me if one ever wants to meet local addicts -- go to the coffee houses. Nicotine and caffeine are the only drugs addicts are allowed to have -- so if you see a young, tatooed person smoking and drinking coffee at one of these places, you wouldn't likely lose money betting they had a substance issue -- unless they were heavy metal musicians, and then you'd be certain they had one.
So the move to Delray was telling. But just last week, Eric posted lovely photos, of himself on a cliff. And now he is gone.
I just thought about the pain his family must suffer. It's awful. Such a waste and tragedy. The sun really set on them.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Wynwood Saturday
So Friday night Mike and Loni hosted a Cinco de Mayo party, and Wifey and I joined the fun. They catered with, no kidding, Taco Bell -- individually wrapped tacos of undetermined filling...Mike manned the margarita machine, but I stuck to vodka -- I figured since it's a fake holiday anyway, at least one person ought to celebrate the murder of the Russian Trotsky in Mexico, and that person was me. Of course, the vodka was Tito's, which is from Texas, but it all seemed to make sense.
We talked a lot of Canes game trips past, and whether we'd make an away game trip this year. Mike advocated for the Arkansas State game -- we laughed. That's not exactly the kind of historic college we want to visit -- like Nebraska or Notre Dame, but Mike insisted the campus is "only 4 hours from Memphis." The UNC game is being played during the height of Fall leaf season -- maybe that will be our trip.
Saturday am I was drinking coffee with a spoiled Spaniel at my feet when Eric called. He pointed out that the weather was gorgeous -- unseasonably cool -- and would we like to meet him and Dana in Wynwood. Wifey arose to my room service coffee and said she would. So we got into the little girlie Caddy and drove to the former warehouse area, now arguably the nation's art hub.
We met Dana and Eric at Panther Coffee, which clearly contains crack cocaine, as it is the best coffee anywhere. I had told D1 we'd be in her 'hood, and she said she and Joey were having lunch at Enriquetta's, a local (her 'hood) Cuban place. We decided to walk over to meet them -- a bit less than a mile. As we arrived, I saw D1's text "it's a pretty far walk," but we had made it easily in the gorgeous Miami sunshine.
We sat at a large table in the back. Dana and Eric had never met Joey. They welcomed him to the family with warm hugs. Dana is a Zumba lover, and that's Joey's company, so they instantly hit it off. We ate well and cheaply, and then said adios to the young folks, and headed back to Wynwood.
The place is really something -- packed with locals and tourists, all taking non stop photos of the colorful murals and colorful people. We headed to a craft brewery, and sampled their wares, and then to an even bigger one -- called Concrete Beach. Wifey found a trivia card game, and peppered us with questions as we drank our beers. We then took photos and laughed at the years.
Eric and I met in '79, and Dana came along in early '83. I met Wifey 7 months later, but at the time it seemed Eric and Dana had been dating forever, given that 7 months to early 20 somethings is equal to years to older folks. And now decades later, we are about to see our kids get married -- Jennifer's date is three weeks away, and D1's big fat Colombian wedding is in September.
After the brewery , we walked some more -- Wifey stepped into a Botero gallery, which turned out to only have one Botero, and we went to the Wynwood Walls - an outside gallery of truly amazing art. I took a photo of Eric, the cardiologist, standing in front of a painting of a guy with his heart outside of his chest. It made for a nice FaceBook post...
Dana and Eric love coming to Wynwood. We're among the older people there, but where they live, in Palm Beach County, they're typically the youngest, when they visit local attractions. Miami really is no longer a city for old men, or women. I guess that's why we love it here.
Today the weather remains gorgeous, but we have plans for a far sadder event. We're going to fetch my suegra, and take her to visit my father in law's grave. It'll be the first time she's been there since his funeral -- 16 months ago. I'm planning for some tears.
Still, I savor days like yesterday. I plan to have many more of them.
We talked a lot of Canes game trips past, and whether we'd make an away game trip this year. Mike advocated for the Arkansas State game -- we laughed. That's not exactly the kind of historic college we want to visit -- like Nebraska or Notre Dame, but Mike insisted the campus is "only 4 hours from Memphis." The UNC game is being played during the height of Fall leaf season -- maybe that will be our trip.
Saturday am I was drinking coffee with a spoiled Spaniel at my feet when Eric called. He pointed out that the weather was gorgeous -- unseasonably cool -- and would we like to meet him and Dana in Wynwood. Wifey arose to my room service coffee and said she would. So we got into the little girlie Caddy and drove to the former warehouse area, now arguably the nation's art hub.
We met Dana and Eric at Panther Coffee, which clearly contains crack cocaine, as it is the best coffee anywhere. I had told D1 we'd be in her 'hood, and she said she and Joey were having lunch at Enriquetta's, a local (her 'hood) Cuban place. We decided to walk over to meet them -- a bit less than a mile. As we arrived, I saw D1's text "it's a pretty far walk," but we had made it easily in the gorgeous Miami sunshine.
We sat at a large table in the back. Dana and Eric had never met Joey. They welcomed him to the family with warm hugs. Dana is a Zumba lover, and that's Joey's company, so they instantly hit it off. We ate well and cheaply, and then said adios to the young folks, and headed back to Wynwood.
The place is really something -- packed with locals and tourists, all taking non stop photos of the colorful murals and colorful people. We headed to a craft brewery, and sampled their wares, and then to an even bigger one -- called Concrete Beach. Wifey found a trivia card game, and peppered us with questions as we drank our beers. We then took photos and laughed at the years.
Eric and I met in '79, and Dana came along in early '83. I met Wifey 7 months later, but at the time it seemed Eric and Dana had been dating forever, given that 7 months to early 20 somethings is equal to years to older folks. And now decades later, we are about to see our kids get married -- Jennifer's date is three weeks away, and D1's big fat Colombian wedding is in September.
After the brewery , we walked some more -- Wifey stepped into a Botero gallery, which turned out to only have one Botero, and we went to the Wynwood Walls - an outside gallery of truly amazing art. I took a photo of Eric, the cardiologist, standing in front of a painting of a guy with his heart outside of his chest. It made for a nice FaceBook post...
Dana and Eric love coming to Wynwood. We're among the older people there, but where they live, in Palm Beach County, they're typically the youngest, when they visit local attractions. Miami really is no longer a city for old men, or women. I guess that's why we love it here.
Today the weather remains gorgeous, but we have plans for a far sadder event. We're going to fetch my suegra, and take her to visit my father in law's grave. It'll be the first time she's been there since his funeral -- 16 months ago. I'm planning for some tears.
Still, I savor days like yesterday. I plan to have many more of them.
Friday, May 5, 2017
When FaceBook (tm) Works the Right Way
D2 has me pegged -- I'm a bit too addicted to FaceBook. I have a great curiosity about people, too much time on my hands, and, probably worst of all, I'm a frustrated comedian, and FB gives me an outlet. I'm the second funniest poster I know -- Norman is funniest.
Sometimes FB is annoying, like the time I posted about a bunch of idiots I saw on US 1 passionately against circumcision. I made a smarmy comment, but made the setting "open," and one of my FB "friends" shared it, with ultra Lib morons, and next thing I knew there were a slew of comments from strangers saying I was, essentially, advocating child abuse. I have a feeling I know the culprit -- the ultra lefty son of an old lawyer friend -- a kid who despite being Jewish is very anti Israel -- but I can't be sure it's him. In the end, it was actually a funny episode, although D2 fears one of these zealots might try to come find me.
But at its best, FB lets old friends connect, and maybe renew friendships, and so it was yesterday. I've known Kathy since we were 5 -- quiet and smart pretty Irish girl -- and we were classmates all through junior high and high school. She was VERY shy later on, and I really only knew her to say hello, but she did go to prom with my brilliant but socially uneasy buddy Ken -- I think it was a one off date.
We met at our 20th reunion, and I learned she had gone to Dartmouth Med School, and was a Peds professor at U Va. I was impressed -- not too many MacArthur High alums had done that well -- we had lots of sweat hogs, as the 70s show Kotter called us, and the typical alum went to a little college if at all and ended up working at Grumman or maybe as a cop or fireman. Medical professors were rare as hens' teeth.
But FB connected us, and the other day she messaged me -- she was coming to Delray to visit her 90 year old father, and could we meet for lunch? We could, and as she had become a "rural girl" living in Virginia, could we meet in the middle, rather than have her negotiate Miami. I picked a place on Las Olas called Mango's. I'm so NOT a 954 guy -- I learned it closed quite a while ago. So I remembered a place called YOLO -- I met my California friend Cheryl there years ago, and we set the date.
It was delightful. Kathy lives near UVA, where her husband is a Psych professor. She has a boy and girl -- a senior and rising sophomore at William and Mary. I told her an old friend of mine from the U was Provost there -- she was going to have her daughter look him up. Kathy left the academic world after growing disgusted at the dysfunction -- apparently even the prestigious school of Tom Jefferson is a hotbed of silliness and pettiness.
Now she's in private practice -- a mostly poor patient population -- and she loves it. She told me about a new tick borne disease she's been seeing -- the toxin makes patients fatally allergic to meat. Really. I told her if I got so bitten, I might as well just take some propofol with my final NY Strip and say goodbye...she said she understands.
We compared family notes -- her mom died young, of cancer, and her Dad remarried. He lives with his younger wife, 85, and had quite a burden for many years. Her sister, one year older, was drug addict and mental patient, and Kathy's Dad lived to care for her. She got arrested often, and then decided 5 years ago, she needed a gun, and, this being Florida, bought one legally despite her mental illness. Kathy's oldest brother is a retired LI cop, and the family had a madcap tale about getting the sister to give up her guy.
Last year, her sister ended the misery -- she stepped in front of a Tri Rail train. Kathy said she picked Kathy's birthday to do it. Kathy said her sister taught her that just because someone is psychotic, it doesn't mean they can't also be a selfish asshole, and so her sister was...
But most of our shared tales and wisdom was happy -- her kids seemed destined for good, but varied futures -- her daughter is a passionate environmentalist, who LOVES plants. To Kathy, all plants look alike. Her son is studying business and physics.
She told me another classmate, Debbie, who attended Cornell with Kathy (turns out there were three from our class who went to Cornell), had done the best. She moved to SF, and was working for hotels when she met a nice fellow who went on to found Travelocity. They're now living a rather charmed life in the Bay Area.
So there was a reason for Cornell, Kathy said. Back in the day, they had an Agriculture School, which was much easier to get into than the typical Ivy League college. Kathy and the other two applied and got in, and then transferred to the "regular" Cornell. All of these machinations escaped me back in '78 when I applied to college -- for me it was Stony Brook, or Hofstra, and then, at my Dad's urging, a place still sort of known as Sun Tan U. I'm so happy I chose the last.
Anyway, we're going to keep in touch. Kathy invited Wifey and me to VA -- she says there are tons of cool things to see in Charlotesville, and she promises to NOT make us take long hikes -- she and her husband are outdoors types. Likewise, I told her next time she visits her Dad, bring her professor husband along, and let me be tour guide to the 305. Hopefully she'll do it.
She attended the last reunion -- year 35 -- but I opted out. The 20th turned me off -- most of the classmates I found onerous. I keep in touch with those I like -- many of the others are sort of like the minor players on the "Sopranos."
But my friend Kenny really wants to attend our 40th -- coming up in two years. I told Kathy we'd go -- maybe make a Hamptons weekend out of it, and go to whatever crappy hall or restaurant they hold the thing in. I guess when you have a solidly Long Island past, to steal from Arthur Miller, attention must be paid.
Sometimes FB is annoying, like the time I posted about a bunch of idiots I saw on US 1 passionately against circumcision. I made a smarmy comment, but made the setting "open," and one of my FB "friends" shared it, with ultra Lib morons, and next thing I knew there were a slew of comments from strangers saying I was, essentially, advocating child abuse. I have a feeling I know the culprit -- the ultra lefty son of an old lawyer friend -- a kid who despite being Jewish is very anti Israel -- but I can't be sure it's him. In the end, it was actually a funny episode, although D2 fears one of these zealots might try to come find me.
But at its best, FB lets old friends connect, and maybe renew friendships, and so it was yesterday. I've known Kathy since we were 5 -- quiet and smart pretty Irish girl -- and we were classmates all through junior high and high school. She was VERY shy later on, and I really only knew her to say hello, but she did go to prom with my brilliant but socially uneasy buddy Ken -- I think it was a one off date.
We met at our 20th reunion, and I learned she had gone to Dartmouth Med School, and was a Peds professor at U Va. I was impressed -- not too many MacArthur High alums had done that well -- we had lots of sweat hogs, as the 70s show Kotter called us, and the typical alum went to a little college if at all and ended up working at Grumman or maybe as a cop or fireman. Medical professors were rare as hens' teeth.
But FB connected us, and the other day she messaged me -- she was coming to Delray to visit her 90 year old father, and could we meet for lunch? We could, and as she had become a "rural girl" living in Virginia, could we meet in the middle, rather than have her negotiate Miami. I picked a place on Las Olas called Mango's. I'm so NOT a 954 guy -- I learned it closed quite a while ago. So I remembered a place called YOLO -- I met my California friend Cheryl there years ago, and we set the date.
It was delightful. Kathy lives near UVA, where her husband is a Psych professor. She has a boy and girl -- a senior and rising sophomore at William and Mary. I told her an old friend of mine from the U was Provost there -- she was going to have her daughter look him up. Kathy left the academic world after growing disgusted at the dysfunction -- apparently even the prestigious school of Tom Jefferson is a hotbed of silliness and pettiness.
Now she's in private practice -- a mostly poor patient population -- and she loves it. She told me about a new tick borne disease she's been seeing -- the toxin makes patients fatally allergic to meat. Really. I told her if I got so bitten, I might as well just take some propofol with my final NY Strip and say goodbye...she said she understands.
We compared family notes -- her mom died young, of cancer, and her Dad remarried. He lives with his younger wife, 85, and had quite a burden for many years. Her sister, one year older, was drug addict and mental patient, and Kathy's Dad lived to care for her. She got arrested often, and then decided 5 years ago, she needed a gun, and, this being Florida, bought one legally despite her mental illness. Kathy's oldest brother is a retired LI cop, and the family had a madcap tale about getting the sister to give up her guy.
Last year, her sister ended the misery -- she stepped in front of a Tri Rail train. Kathy said she picked Kathy's birthday to do it. Kathy said her sister taught her that just because someone is psychotic, it doesn't mean they can't also be a selfish asshole, and so her sister was...
But most of our shared tales and wisdom was happy -- her kids seemed destined for good, but varied futures -- her daughter is a passionate environmentalist, who LOVES plants. To Kathy, all plants look alike. Her son is studying business and physics.
She told me another classmate, Debbie, who attended Cornell with Kathy (turns out there were three from our class who went to Cornell), had done the best. She moved to SF, and was working for hotels when she met a nice fellow who went on to found Travelocity. They're now living a rather charmed life in the Bay Area.
So there was a reason for Cornell, Kathy said. Back in the day, they had an Agriculture School, which was much easier to get into than the typical Ivy League college. Kathy and the other two applied and got in, and then transferred to the "regular" Cornell. All of these machinations escaped me back in '78 when I applied to college -- for me it was Stony Brook, or Hofstra, and then, at my Dad's urging, a place still sort of known as Sun Tan U. I'm so happy I chose the last.
Anyway, we're going to keep in touch. Kathy invited Wifey and me to VA -- she says there are tons of cool things to see in Charlotesville, and she promises to NOT make us take long hikes -- she and her husband are outdoors types. Likewise, I told her next time she visits her Dad, bring her professor husband along, and let me be tour guide to the 305. Hopefully she'll do it.
She attended the last reunion -- year 35 -- but I opted out. The 20th turned me off -- most of the classmates I found onerous. I keep in touch with those I like -- many of the others are sort of like the minor players on the "Sopranos."
But my friend Kenny really wants to attend our 40th -- coming up in two years. I told Kathy we'd go -- maybe make a Hamptons weekend out of it, and go to whatever crappy hall or restaurant they hold the thing in. I guess when you have a solidly Long Island past, to steal from Arthur Miller, attention must be paid.
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Keeping House and Garden
We bought Villa Wifey almost 17 years ago, and at the time it was a nearly new house -- just three years. Well, even the arithmetic challenged like me can tell that the house is now close to two decades old -- time for some repairs and upgrades.
Despite three hurricanes and a few nasty unnamed storms, we were free from roof leaks -- at least indoor ones. There was a pesky leak onto one of the front porches, or loggia as the builder called them. But I ignored that one -- would just sweep off the puddled water after a major rain. Then, a month or so ago, our burglar alarm went off, at 2 am, even though I hadn't set it. The company called, I struggled to remember the password, and then the agent said a smoke detector had tripped.
I went downstairs, to the curious look of two sleepy dogs, and saw a puddle by the pool door. I figured the wind had blown in rain, and then I felt some dripping -- from the smoke detector. Sure enough, the roof had leaked around a dryer vent, and the water came in through the detector -- shorting it out and making it cause the alarm.
My good friend Norman had THE roofer -- sure enough, Infinity came out, gave an estimate, and the following week, over three days, fixed the leaks and restored some rotted wood. A few weeks later, the manager called to tell me to pay the company $1000 LESS -- they used fewer materials than they budgeted for. They now have a customer and referral source for life.
We've also had to replace 3 of 4 a/c units -- apparently after 14 years, you CAN stop a Trane. Again, Norman was the man -- referring me to Danny, the best a/c guy around. He suggested I go with the cheaper Carrier units -- just as good as Tranes, and much easier to get parts. Sure enough, last month a lizard decided to end his reptilian life by electrocuting himself on a condenser. Danny fixed it with a part he had in his truck. Had it been a Trane, he said, we'd have been hot for at least a week...
Yesterday Wifey's project was 2/3 completed. She's wanted to upgrade the landscaping, but got too involved with issues of her dying father, and then peripatetic 92 year old Mom to focus. She finally did -- hiring Sara -- the IT landscaper in our 'hood. Sara is very impressive -- came to the US as a migrant worker, learned the trade, and now owns a company that does major projects -- many of the $5 M plus mansions use her. She really beautified the grounds -- lots of rocks, and xeriscaped plants -- I told Wifey my days of dealing with constant sprinkler system repairs are in my past.
We are now the proud non owners of grass -- it never grew well in our back yard, on account of the heavy shade trees, and it's been replaced by pea rock. I approve heartily -- the dogs haven't reached their decisions about the change yet.
And we got lucky -- 3 hours after Sara's crew left, we were blessed with a torrential rain -- lasted several hours. This am as I was checking the work out front, our neighbor Ben walked by, and I told him about the lucky rain. No, he said -- I had to thank him. He added water to his pool, and now it overflowed. So the rain came via Murphy's Law at his house.
So the joys of owning a house continue. Wifey still wants to move, but I have her at bay, for now. We've agreed to see where D1 and her man buy their place -- and then relocate close by. If we're fortunate enough to get grandkids, we can be the type of grandparents Wifey's parents were -- ALWAYS available to babysit, and send the young parents out on date nights. My inlaws were wildy annoying -- my suegra continues to be so, but I always agree they WERE kick ass grandparents.
Of course, when (and I say when and not if) D2 comes home, and she chooses a part of town far from her sister, well, we might have an issue then. But I think the two Ds would also like to live close to each other.
Anyway, given what I have been up to for the past 31 years - owning property - it might be time to rent. As we learned, there's no guarantee real estate appreciates, and renting might be the way to go.
For now, though, the repairs and remodels will continue --the so called privilege of ownership.
Despite three hurricanes and a few nasty unnamed storms, we were free from roof leaks -- at least indoor ones. There was a pesky leak onto one of the front porches, or loggia as the builder called them. But I ignored that one -- would just sweep off the puddled water after a major rain. Then, a month or so ago, our burglar alarm went off, at 2 am, even though I hadn't set it. The company called, I struggled to remember the password, and then the agent said a smoke detector had tripped.
I went downstairs, to the curious look of two sleepy dogs, and saw a puddle by the pool door. I figured the wind had blown in rain, and then I felt some dripping -- from the smoke detector. Sure enough, the roof had leaked around a dryer vent, and the water came in through the detector -- shorting it out and making it cause the alarm.
My good friend Norman had THE roofer -- sure enough, Infinity came out, gave an estimate, and the following week, over three days, fixed the leaks and restored some rotted wood. A few weeks later, the manager called to tell me to pay the company $1000 LESS -- they used fewer materials than they budgeted for. They now have a customer and referral source for life.
We've also had to replace 3 of 4 a/c units -- apparently after 14 years, you CAN stop a Trane. Again, Norman was the man -- referring me to Danny, the best a/c guy around. He suggested I go with the cheaper Carrier units -- just as good as Tranes, and much easier to get parts. Sure enough, last month a lizard decided to end his reptilian life by electrocuting himself on a condenser. Danny fixed it with a part he had in his truck. Had it been a Trane, he said, we'd have been hot for at least a week...
Yesterday Wifey's project was 2/3 completed. She's wanted to upgrade the landscaping, but got too involved with issues of her dying father, and then peripatetic 92 year old Mom to focus. She finally did -- hiring Sara -- the IT landscaper in our 'hood. Sara is very impressive -- came to the US as a migrant worker, learned the trade, and now owns a company that does major projects -- many of the $5 M plus mansions use her. She really beautified the grounds -- lots of rocks, and xeriscaped plants -- I told Wifey my days of dealing with constant sprinkler system repairs are in my past.
We are now the proud non owners of grass -- it never grew well in our back yard, on account of the heavy shade trees, and it's been replaced by pea rock. I approve heartily -- the dogs haven't reached their decisions about the change yet.
And we got lucky -- 3 hours after Sara's crew left, we were blessed with a torrential rain -- lasted several hours. This am as I was checking the work out front, our neighbor Ben walked by, and I told him about the lucky rain. No, he said -- I had to thank him. He added water to his pool, and now it overflowed. So the rain came via Murphy's Law at his house.
So the joys of owning a house continue. Wifey still wants to move, but I have her at bay, for now. We've agreed to see where D1 and her man buy their place -- and then relocate close by. If we're fortunate enough to get grandkids, we can be the type of grandparents Wifey's parents were -- ALWAYS available to babysit, and send the young parents out on date nights. My inlaws were wildy annoying -- my suegra continues to be so, but I always agree they WERE kick ass grandparents.
Of course, when (and I say when and not if) D2 comes home, and she chooses a part of town far from her sister, well, we might have an issue then. But I think the two Ds would also like to live close to each other.
Anyway, given what I have been up to for the past 31 years - owning property - it might be time to rent. As we learned, there's no guarantee real estate appreciates, and renting might be the way to go.
For now, though, the repairs and remodels will continue --the so called privilege of ownership.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Go Panthers
My friend John and I were talking last week, ahead of his trip to Gville to watch his only child graduate from UF. He asked me if I cried at any of the Ds college or grad school graduations, and I told him I did one of four times, but it really didn't have to do with the Ds.
D2 got 2 degrees from UF, and it was an awesome day. But UF, being the elite Florida school, has most kids being parents of college grads. All were proud, but the college thing seemed a given for most of our kids. In fact, of the Ds friends growing up, they can count on one hand the kids who DIDN'T get at least a bachelor's degree. And UF reflected that -- same thing when D1 graduated.
But FIU is the true immigrant families' U. At D1's MS ceremony, it seemed a majority of the families there were cheering on their first in the family college grads. Indeed, the featured kids told of overcoming the Haitian earthquake, and political prison in Cuba and Venezuela. Being around that ceremony brought tears to my eyes -- getting the degrees seemed sacred to these people, not just a pleasant, but assumed rite of passage.
So I really dig FIU. Indeed, Wifey is an alumna -- she the daughter from first generation immigrants herself.
When I was first to start making some nice coin, the first thing I did was put away money for the Ds' educations -- assuming both would go to pricey private places. They both went to UF on full scholarships -- D2 even earned a healthy academic for her Master's tuition. D1, more the princess, seemed headed to private grad school, but she opted for FIU, too.
It was 2010, and the firm had a nice year. So when D1 was accepted, I met with her program chair and asked how much the total tuition would cost. It was about a third of what a private program would have been. So I made a gift to the FIU School of Public Health -- essentially agreeing to pay for a student's tuition who couldn't afford it. To me, I was still paying only 2/3 of what I had expected, and I'd get a nice tax deduction, and, hell -- it was just the right thing to do.
It wasn't huge money, but FIU made a big deal out of it. Turned out, no one had funded a scholarship in that school before -- except a partial one, and that was born of tragedy. A young student named Medina came out as gay in college, and her parents rejected her on account of their religion, and the student ended up killing herself. The School funded a partial scholarship in her memory. So our gift was the only one born out of happiness.
The Director, an awesome lady born in Turkey, took me for lunch. She explained that rather than just pay for one student, they were going to invest the money until it got to a certain level, and then use it to help deserving Dietetics and Nutrition students who were great academically, and with true need. This was 7 years ago.
Well, earlier this year, the money had achieved the level they sought, and, being an academic institution, they formed a committee to pick the scholarship recipients. They asked D1 to be a member. They chose two young women who had completed their studies, but needed to do unpaid internships to get their certifications. Both came from working class families who couldn't afford to subsidize them. Yesterday was the School's graduation, and they invited us to the post graduation ceremony.
Students from other areas in the Public Health School were recognized. We were blown away. One young man, from Ethiopia, who looked to be about 15, was getting his PhD in Epidemiology. He had already published 5 papers in peer reviewed journals. He didn't smile much. You could just SEE his smarts -- he was headed back to Africa to help with disease control. Other students, from South America, were likewise amazing -- advanced degrees, volunteering to stop human trafficking -- that sort of thing. I got those familiar tears again.
Then the Dean put up a poster with our family name, and told the tale of our scholarship. We were asked to stand and the room applauded. One of the recipients, a Central American girl, wasn't there -- her best friend was being married in Tally, and she attended that. But the other was -- at our table.
She was born in India -- her parents were there, too. They live in Coral Springs. Dad spoke only Hindi -- he worked in a factory. Mom was a nurse at a Broward Hospital. "Our" student had graduated with a 4/0 in her MS program, and was beginning her internship at the Miami VA. She commuted each day from Coral Springs. She was delightful, and thanked us profusely for how this scholarship was truly letting her do it -- her younger brother was a computer science student at FAU, and the family's finances were totally strapped.
D1 spoke to her at length -- they will keep in touch, though it appears "our" girl is headed to academics --she wants a PhD and to become a professor.
The Dean and I chatted. He's a Miami bred, Cuban born guy -- Gables High, UF, and spent the last decades as an assistant Dean at Johns Hopkins and Columbia. He studies brain trauma in football players. I could tell he was quite a "get" for FIU -- bringing his Ivy League and arguably best med school in the US experience to West Miami Dade is impressive. He told me Miami has always been home -- his parents live 10 minutes from his new house. I told him I look forward to continuing to interact with him.
So Wifey and I left the campus beaming. I looked skyward -- endowing something like that, with his name, would have made my Dad pretty proud.
The night before, we were out with some friends -- Wifey's bud, and her retired doctor husband. He's a real toy guy -- just bought a boat, does other expensive hobbies, and has a tv and stereo system that cost well more than the amount of the scholarship money we gave. He really loves his stuff, and I applaud his happiness with them.
But Wifey and I talked about it -- I really can't stand stuff. When I hear someone buys a boat, my first thought is having to deal with it in an approaching hurricane.
Nah -- to me, enjoying days like yesterday is my true luxury. And FIU is a fine place to do it.
D2 got 2 degrees from UF, and it was an awesome day. But UF, being the elite Florida school, has most kids being parents of college grads. All were proud, but the college thing seemed a given for most of our kids. In fact, of the Ds friends growing up, they can count on one hand the kids who DIDN'T get at least a bachelor's degree. And UF reflected that -- same thing when D1 graduated.
But FIU is the true immigrant families' U. At D1's MS ceremony, it seemed a majority of the families there were cheering on their first in the family college grads. Indeed, the featured kids told of overcoming the Haitian earthquake, and political prison in Cuba and Venezuela. Being around that ceremony brought tears to my eyes -- getting the degrees seemed sacred to these people, not just a pleasant, but assumed rite of passage.
So I really dig FIU. Indeed, Wifey is an alumna -- she the daughter from first generation immigrants herself.
When I was first to start making some nice coin, the first thing I did was put away money for the Ds' educations -- assuming both would go to pricey private places. They both went to UF on full scholarships -- D2 even earned a healthy academic for her Master's tuition. D1, more the princess, seemed headed to private grad school, but she opted for FIU, too.
It was 2010, and the firm had a nice year. So when D1 was accepted, I met with her program chair and asked how much the total tuition would cost. It was about a third of what a private program would have been. So I made a gift to the FIU School of Public Health -- essentially agreeing to pay for a student's tuition who couldn't afford it. To me, I was still paying only 2/3 of what I had expected, and I'd get a nice tax deduction, and, hell -- it was just the right thing to do.
It wasn't huge money, but FIU made a big deal out of it. Turned out, no one had funded a scholarship in that school before -- except a partial one, and that was born of tragedy. A young student named Medina came out as gay in college, and her parents rejected her on account of their religion, and the student ended up killing herself. The School funded a partial scholarship in her memory. So our gift was the only one born out of happiness.
The Director, an awesome lady born in Turkey, took me for lunch. She explained that rather than just pay for one student, they were going to invest the money until it got to a certain level, and then use it to help deserving Dietetics and Nutrition students who were great academically, and with true need. This was 7 years ago.
Well, earlier this year, the money had achieved the level they sought, and, being an academic institution, they formed a committee to pick the scholarship recipients. They asked D1 to be a member. They chose two young women who had completed their studies, but needed to do unpaid internships to get their certifications. Both came from working class families who couldn't afford to subsidize them. Yesterday was the School's graduation, and they invited us to the post graduation ceremony.
Students from other areas in the Public Health School were recognized. We were blown away. One young man, from Ethiopia, who looked to be about 15, was getting his PhD in Epidemiology. He had already published 5 papers in peer reviewed journals. He didn't smile much. You could just SEE his smarts -- he was headed back to Africa to help with disease control. Other students, from South America, were likewise amazing -- advanced degrees, volunteering to stop human trafficking -- that sort of thing. I got those familiar tears again.
Then the Dean put up a poster with our family name, and told the tale of our scholarship. We were asked to stand and the room applauded. One of the recipients, a Central American girl, wasn't there -- her best friend was being married in Tally, and she attended that. But the other was -- at our table.
She was born in India -- her parents were there, too. They live in Coral Springs. Dad spoke only Hindi -- he worked in a factory. Mom was a nurse at a Broward Hospital. "Our" student had graduated with a 4/0 in her MS program, and was beginning her internship at the Miami VA. She commuted each day from Coral Springs. She was delightful, and thanked us profusely for how this scholarship was truly letting her do it -- her younger brother was a computer science student at FAU, and the family's finances were totally strapped.
D1 spoke to her at length -- they will keep in touch, though it appears "our" girl is headed to academics --she wants a PhD and to become a professor.
The Dean and I chatted. He's a Miami bred, Cuban born guy -- Gables High, UF, and spent the last decades as an assistant Dean at Johns Hopkins and Columbia. He studies brain trauma in football players. I could tell he was quite a "get" for FIU -- bringing his Ivy League and arguably best med school in the US experience to West Miami Dade is impressive. He told me Miami has always been home -- his parents live 10 minutes from his new house. I told him I look forward to continuing to interact with him.
So Wifey and I left the campus beaming. I looked skyward -- endowing something like that, with his name, would have made my Dad pretty proud.
The night before, we were out with some friends -- Wifey's bud, and her retired doctor husband. He's a real toy guy -- just bought a boat, does other expensive hobbies, and has a tv and stereo system that cost well more than the amount of the scholarship money we gave. He really loves his stuff, and I applaud his happiness with them.
But Wifey and I talked about it -- I really can't stand stuff. When I hear someone buys a boat, my first thought is having to deal with it in an approaching hurricane.
Nah -- to me, enjoying days like yesterday is my true luxury. And FIU is a fine place to do it.
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