Banner Weekend

So it turned out that Thursday was just the beginning of a banner weekend, one D1 called a "top 5 of her life."

Friday evening we headed to some new private club called Soho Miami, just south of the Fountainbleau on the Beach. My partner Paul's son and daughter in law joined the club, which is in an old Beach hotel, with different decor on each floor. The club prides itself on limiting membership to "creative types," and supposedly has a small quota of allowable doctors, lawyers, and financial types. Whatever.

Paul hosted a birthday dinner and cocktail party for his girlfriend PAtricia and D1, and about 40 of us drank and laughed on the terrace overlooking the dark Atlantic. Our friend Elizabeth was staying with us, and came along and had a fine time, as did Mirta, my now ex emplioyee (Stuart took over her salary).

Afterwards, there was an "after party" for the young ones at some club with a Swedish DJ. D2 got to go, even though she's not 21, and by all reports, all had a great time, though D1 learned first hand about the rudeness and excessive charges they get away with on the Beach. Apparently, the group had a table, which meant their guests were to be admitted, but the boorish doorman said no. Again --whatever.

Miami Beach isn't my scene, and hasn't been since they closed Wolfies and Rascal House...Although I do enjoy driving through and recalling the many family vacations we had there in the 70s... a time when the place was crumbling and seedy and you could still get delicious Jewish soul food at many places on Washington Avenue.

Saturday am I woke D2 after just a few hours of sleep, and we were off to see the final Canes game. We had a fun time, but the team was awful, and we left before an overtime that I knew was going to lead to another loss.

I started considering not renewing my season's tickets on the long drive home, but then, Saturday night, the news came that they fired the moribund coach, and would commit to winning again. So, we'll see...Maybe I'll renew for my 32nd season after all...

Sunday D2 left for Gainesville, and made it back after a 7 hour drive! Apparently an accident on I-75 north of Ocala slowed the drive to a crawl, but D2 and her dear friend Ben chatted away and solved the world's problems in a way that only optimistic but sarcastic college freshmen can.

D1 went on the inagural cruise of the Allure of the Seas, with her friend Perry, whose dad is an exec with the cruise company. The ship sailed just offshore, far enough to allow gambling, and apparently made circles as the passengers, D1 included, marveled at the ship.

They docked yesterday am, and, alas, D1 had come down with a bad cold, following this amazing weekend. I brought her chicken soup yesterday, and she rested, as she has to rally for her first graduate school final today.

Meanwhile, D2 called me from UF to report that she was approached by an evangelical on campus, singing songs with exactly the opposite message she believes --with lyrics like "It ain't ok to be gay."

We laughed together on the phone. Exposure to morons is a huge part of one's education, and UF is large enough and diverse enough to include many of them.

Today I'm home awaiting the tree trimmer Dave, who comes every few years in a bucket truck and trims the ficus and banyans and palms away from the roof of Villa Wifey --to keep rodents away, and, more crucially, to leave a clear view for my satellite dish.

This may become important and relevant again with my Canes hiring a new coach...

Thanksgiving

The holiday is a bit redundant for me, as I feel grateful and give thanks each day. I guess I'm just wired that way. I remember being thrilled in kindergarten when my mother bought me McDonald's hamburgers.

Still, last night I sat at my kitchen table with both Ds. The three of us had returned from visiting ancient Mom, and D1 decided to spend the night here.

Wifey sat across the room at a computer. The Ds watched humorous videos on YouTube. They giggled, and occasionally guffawed. My girls' laughter is by far my favorite sound in the world.

Wifey, as usual on about a 5 second delay, kept demanding to know what was so funny. Of course, her asking on her delay was what was so funny, so we all laughed some more.

At one point, the Ds looked up from the laptop and saw me staring at them. D1 said to D2 "Look at Dad." Then they hugged me.

If there's more than that to be thankful for --I can't imagine what it is.

It's 8 am, and all of them are sleeping --both Ds in D2's bed, like when they were little girls.

To paraphrase Yeats, they shall arise and go, and go to Key Biscayne. We're headed to the Ritz Carlton for their T Day brunch, which, after last year, we've decided to make our tradition.

I'll think of my friend Todd's proper funmaking of my blog, and how I write about going on lavish trips and to fine restaurants. He's right.

But, hey --I'm a rich white guy! What can I say? The Republicans just won big in Congress and here in Florida. Rich white guys are COOL again!

The truth is, for most of my childhood, I was solidly middle class. During grad school and in the years right after, I probably dropped a bit to somewhat lower middle class. At 25, when I graduated UM Law, I had a net worth of minus $30 thousand.

I found a rich girlfriend ( her net worth when we married was a positive $7 thousand) and off we went.

At Thanksgiving 1986, I was EXTREMELY thankful. I had passed the Bar Exam, and I therefore wouldn't be fired by my first boss, despite his rabid anti semitism. He needed me to attend hearings, and "relate to the Jew Claims Manager from NY." He used to warn me to count my fingers after shaking Stu's hand, since, "You can never trust those people." Ha. Dan. I was even thankful for him --he DID pay me $28 thousand per year, though he despised my essence."

By Thanksgiving of 1989, Wifey and I had D1! And then 3 years later, although we lost our house and most of our stuff in Hurrican Andrew, we had D2 as well.

And it just got better and better. D2 turns 22 on Saturday. D1 is thriving as a UF freshman. I've given up the daily grind of lawyering.

So here, on Thanksgiving 2010, sits the most blessed, lucky, and thankful man in the world.

Holiday Week

I sat on our front porch with D1 last night, drinking "Daddy Tea" and enjoying the light of a full moon shining from behind some clouds. D1 is still dealing with some heartache from the end of a 2 year relationship. I understand. A 2 year relationship to someone who is in their early 20s is like a 20 year marriage to old farts like me and my generation.

We reflected on this week --T Day week. Her birthday is coming up on Saturday. 22 years! Caramba. I feel like Rip Van Winkle --I took a nap one afternoon in the late 80s, while my toddler slept in the Pack N Play next to me, and I woke up and she's in graduate school.

D2 is due home this afternoon. She leaves with our third daughter from another mother Andrea around 11. I'll inhale deeply, since I have to hold my breath for the entire 5.5 hour trip down the Turnpike, and hopefully I'll get to exhale with her arrival around dinner time.

Ah --to have Villa Wifey alive again, with the giggling and chatting of our Ds...

Wednesday we'll go visit ancient Grandma. I called her last night, and started to tell her I was coming, and she launched into her internal dialogue designed to cover the fact that she can't hear on the phone. "Is Wifey OK, David?" "No Mom --she's dead." "Oh, that's good..."

I think she gets that we're coming up to see her pre T Day.

Thursday we'll head over to a hotel for brunch. Last year we did that --just the 4 of us plus the now ex D1 boyfriend, and realized we truly love the holiday most when it's simple like that.

When I tell folks we're having a brunch with just the nuclear family, they all look wistful... They quickly invite me to have us join THEIR large, extende groups, and I politely decline...

Friday my partner Paul is hosting a birthday party for his girlfriend on Miami Beach. Somehow, it's now also a party for D1 as well... He's rented out a room on the ocean on South Beach. I'm sure we'll all end up having a great time, after 2 or 3 $25 martinis...

Elizabeth is due here tonight, as well. She has T Day with HER sister and parents, but opts to stay with us. I look forward to catching up with her and her tales of grad school while working while being, um, no longer 25. She's exhausted, but does it somehow --with a 4.0 GPA.

Sat am D2 will accompany me to the last Canes game. They play at noon, so our tailgate with be breakfast.

D2 really loves me. She ABHORS waking up early when she doesn't have to , and yet is agreeing to do so on her vacation Saturday to come with the old Dad to the game.

Time passages, as Al Stewart sang. Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight.

Lubavitcher Chronic

Carl Hiassen famously said that it's very tough to be a novelist in South Florida because things happen here that are so weird that they go beyond anything a fiction author could conjure up.

Yesterday I went to visit my friend Rabbi Yossi. He's asked me to write some pieces for his Center, and I've agreed. If he doesn't like my work, he doesn't have to pay me. If he DOES like what I come up with, he doesn't have to pay me. Ever the opportunist, the rabbi likes this arrangement.

Yossi owns an acre parcel just south of his Center. He bought it years ago hoping that someday he'd be expanding his congregation. In the mean time, he rents out the 3/2 house there. Two years ago, he signed up a tenant who has been paying each month like clockwork. He never asks the rabbi for anything, and Yossi has not visited the house since 2007.

Last week, a Miami Dade detective knocked on Yossi's door, and asked all kinds of questions about the house and tenant. It turned out there was a MAJOR marijuana growing operation taking place. I know it's major because the tenant was arrested and bail was set at $500K! That's a serious amount of weed!

I walked over to the property with the rabbi, and he opened a window. Sure enough, that unmistakeable smell was everywhere. PVC pipes ran through several of the rooms, and various hydroponic equipment was lying around.

Unfortunately, his Cheech and Chong left a lot of damage, and Yossi is making a claim with his insurance.

We stepped outside the gate, and stood there for awhile. A large, noisy Harley pulled up to us, with a middle aged guy in leather and an obese biker chick behind him. "Yo --Jose around here dudes?" "Nah --he got arrested."

The Harley peeled out faster than I thought possible for a motorcycle holding over 600 lbs of human cargo.

So, into the colorful cast of characters in the Rabbi's life, we add the pot growing tenants.

The prodigious amounts of alcohol poured at Chabad celebrations are what attracted me to them. If they start passing around a bong with high grade, Torah approved mother nature, I may attend a few more services...

Instability in Calm Weather

The Hurricane Season has passed. It's still too damn warm, but at least the nights we've been able to sleep a/c free. The other Hurricane season, involving my beloved football team, is ALSO essentially over. They blew a game yesterday. The only way they'll ever return to elite status is with a new coach, and that won't happen for a long time...

Strangely, the stable weather has seen a lot of marital instability among my friends. Two husbands of longtime marriages (22 and 8 years) have moved out. More, I think, are on the way. I guess it's classic: as the kids become adults, there isn't a lot to keep folks together.

I remember this happened among my childhood friends. Divorce was completely unknown to my working class corner of Long Island. I think I knew exactly one kid from a "broken home," as it used to be called.

Within 2 years of high school graduation, the wives started bailing faster than rats off a sinking ship. And, interestingly, it was always the wives who seemed to be the ones fed up with the disinterested, heavy drinking husbands.

So it'll be niteresting to see how things pan out for my 2 buddies. I have a feeling everyone will survive, some divorce lawyers will make some money, and life will go on.

Hell --Friday night, while I was at the Patti Smith lecture, I got a text from Wifey. She was at her friend Cara's on Miami Beach, and was too tired to drive home, even though at that time of night, we're talking 25 minutes. So, she stayed over there.

This was the first time in our nearly 24 year marriage either of us slept out within Miami Dade County. So maybe I'll be moving in soon with one of my 2 separated buddies --who knows?

Dylan sang that you don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows...

Back to the Canes... for the first time in 31 years, yesterday I entertained thoughts of possibly not renewing my season tickets. And it's not because of the losing record.

A big part of the joy for me is the togetherness at the games. And yet, we're all now in different places in life. Dr. Eric had a lovely tailgate, but he still has a teenager attending. Dr. Barry's boys are in Middle School.

I took my friend Joel to the game, but his boys were in a little league game, so I drove up to the stadium myself.

Last year, I had the pleasure of going with D2, but she'll be in Gainesville for 3 more years. D1 will go to, at most, one game.

Wifey stopped going years ago, and now, as I mentioned, she's looking into moving to Miami Beach.

I'm starting to think I might as well watch the games on TV...

So I'll see...

Stable weather, unstable hurricanes...

Because the Night.

So after several martinis at Trulucks, I made my way over to the Miami Book Fair just in time to see Patti Smith.

At the time the punk rock scene was going on, in NYC in the 70s, I didn't pay much attention to it. Like a fool, my musical tastes in high school were for the over produced, pretentious stuff like Yes and Emerson Lake and Palmer.

A few of my HS mates would take the LIRR to NYC, and return with tales of CBGBs, and groups like the Ramones. My group stayed at the Nassau Collisseum, and Jones Beach Theatre, and thought groups like Crosby Stills and Nash (already warmed over and sappy by the late 70s) were the coolest.

When I got to the U I started to listen to punk. I remember parties in Building 22 where we'd dance and slap the low ceilings to "Sheena is (stop) a Punk Rocker."

I had a crush on Chrissie Hynde, but I listened to Patti Smith. And I did it again last night.

The auditorium was packed. She came on stage, looking as elegant as if she came off a 3 day drunk and got dressed in the Metrorail bathroom. Her hair was gray and stringy. She started to read her book, in her NJ accent, and the audience was taken to 1975, and her room with her lover Robert Mapplethorpe at the Chelsea Hotel.

She read, and interspersed her words with some singing on her guitar. The crowd, which ranged from my age on down to kids in their teens, was transfixed. She's a fine teller of tales. She's self deprecating but strong.

During a break, when she took questions, a simpering professor type, clearly intent on showing off his intelligence (I always think of the great Marshall Mcluen scene in "Annie Hall," asked her about an essay where the writer talked about Mapplethorpe's death. "What are you trying to say? Spit it out.!" The wussy professor slinked away. It was clear Patti Smith had kicked more than a few asses in her day...

Someone asked her about her best known song "Because the Night," which she co wrote with Bruce Springsteen. She said she'd explain later --and boy did she!

She talked about waiting on the phone for a long distance call from her then boyfriend that never came. She brought us back to the 70s, when one planned a long distance call, because of the expense.

While waiting, she picked up a tape that Springsteen's producer Jimmy Iovine had given her, and she thought it was magnificent, even with the mumbling from her fellow Jersey-ite. She added to the lyrics, and a classic was born.

At the end of the night, she picked up her guitar and played it and sang it. At the beginning of her talk, audience members had each jumped up and recited lines from a Rimbaud poem, in honor of Patti's favorite poet.

Now, she sang, and the audience sang those powerful words back at her "Try to understant, how I feel when I'm in your command."

It was as if the 900 folks there all remembered the passion of young lust and love, and got it, all at the same time. (Clearly, the waning effect of my martinis didn't hurt in my case).

At the last shouted lyrics "Because the night belongs to love!" the audience erupted. IT was something to behold.

Mitch Kaplan, my local hero, took the stage --obviously moved and spent. He looked like he needed a cigarette. He said that he'd seen a lot in 27 years of the Book Fair, but never had a night quite like that one.

We filed out, hopped the People Mover, and headed for the suburbs, still in the spell of a 63 year old skinny, powerful, not the least bit pretty woman with quite a tale to share.

First Job

So yesterday Stuart and I hosted Rabbi Yossi at the office. He came to bless Stuart's new operation. Somehow I ended up paying more for the blessings...

And it might have worked! Hours later, I had a phone conference with a Guardian Ad Litem on a minor child's case, and she said she'd approve a full fee for my firm. So there you go...

The Rabbi, like everyone else who learns that I'm giving up my office, asked what I planned to do professionally. I told him I had no idea.

So...ever the opportunist, he asked if I would write some "reflections" about his Congregation's 15th anniversary. I had my first writing assignment!

I dashed off my project early this morning. I thought about having the piece translated into Spanish, in keeping with the whole "Quince" theme, but I stayed in English.

It really IS remarkable that he and his family have been here a decade and a half. TIme flies. Sunrise, sunset...

Wifey and I greeted Rabbi Yossi and NEchama and their 1 year old boy, Mendel, on the sidewalk outside the rental house we offered to let. I went to shake Nechama's hand. She pulled it back, saying "We don't take hands." I had no earthly idea what she meant.

I learned later it was a modesty thing. You don't touch no women but your own! Hand shakes can lead to hugs which lead to well... It's no surprise they'd vote for Sarah Palin if they could.

Political differences aside...we've grown very close. They now have 7 kids, and the 8th is on the way. Amazing.

So, I've put in more time at the office than I have in the last month. I've had meeting each day.

Tomorrow I'll stay home for the computer man, Carlos, to reconfigure some stuff for us.

And to keep me blogging the crappy blog!