Leaving Paradise

The weather the last few days has been exquisite.  January in Miami is typically the most beautiful weather month, and today is a prime example...brilliant sunshine, almost comically blue skies, temperature in the high 60s, and a lovely cooler night coming.  Someone would have to be crazy to leave this to travel to gray and freezing NYC, or they would have to, like me, have a daughter there they adore.

So on Thursday, Wifey, D1, and I will jet up to LGA.  I don't really mind the cold -- D1 and Wifey do.  D1 has been calling her sister daily for weather updates, and Wifey has already been setting out her North Face (tm) Arctic-level coat.  As if she would forget to take it!

On Friday, my baby daughter turns 25, and we're going up to celebrate.  D1 has our restaurant list all picked out -- with a small assist for me.  Thursday we're going to Pietro's -- I just read an article about them in the Times.  They're the last remaining Mad Men era Midtown steakhouse.  The Palm is there, of course, but it's now a chain.  The other classic places, where three martini lunches and NY Strips were readily served, are gone.  But Pietro's remains, and we're headed there.  I hope D2's man Jonathan can get off work early enough to join us.  Right now, it looks iffy...

D2 is taking off Friday -- something she NEVER does.  We plan to have brunch at Sadelle's, and then play tourist -- maybe see the observation platform at the new Freedom Tower, and the cool new train station -- maybe the Whitney Museum, which D2 can get us to free, as a Macy's executive.  I guess we'll see how it goes.  Friday night we have reservations at a sushi place in what is now called NYC's Little Japan.  Who knew?  Apparently this is a thing there, now, and we'll go check it out.

Saturday night is the big event -- we're hosting about 20 friends of D2's at Sammy's Romanian, on the Lower East Side.  I took D2 to Sammy's a few years back, with Jonathan, and it became a favorite.  The food is ok -- skirt steaks, chopped liver, kreplach...and they serve Stoli bottles in blocks of ice.  But the real fun is the DJ -- an enormous Israeli with Borscht Belt humor, who keeps everyone dancing and laughing.  Sammy's is essentially the best bar mitzvah party anyone has ever attended, and that's how D2 plans to mark her first century on the planet.  I admire her style and taste -- my Dad would have, too.

By Sunday we should all be in a food coma, and recovering from the weekend.  We then get to return to paradise -- not a bad gig at all.

The years truly have flown.  It seems far less than 23 years ago that I'd return home from work,  and Wifey would greet me at the door with our gorgeous baby in her arms -- and D2 would push Wifey away to get to me.  She was a Daddy's girl from the beginning -- Wifey would laugh, and ask if she were just a mean nanny or something.

And then D2 would be off to annoy her Marcia Brady-like sister -- ruining D1's perfectly set play stages, or interrupting D1's dance performances.  Now the two are best friends, something Wifey and I encouraged greatly.  Mission accomplished.

So we will fly to the cold for the warmest of warmth -- the love of D2, as she celebrates a milestone.  Bring on the cold weather!

We Really Ought To Go There More

Every once in awhile, Wifey and I visit a place, typically close by, and we say to ourselves "Selves -- we really should come here more often!"  And so it was Friday with Black Point Marina.

BPM is only about 15 minutes south of us -- a county facility with a tiki bar and restaurant, set on a lovely marina .  Wifey and her book club often meet there for lunch to enjoy the company and food and NOT discuss the book they've been assigned.  We for for the occasional dinner.

So Friday it was lovely out, and we called some friends to gin up interest, and Mike and Loni were game.  We fetched them and headed down Old Cutler Road, which was jammed, so Mike used some phone technology, found us a shortcut, and got us there in a jiffy.  My friend John was at a bar, though as a patron, so he couldn't get me my drinks for free...but he was solo, and we invited him to join us.

The staff found us a table right on the water, and the drinks flowed, and the laughter followed.  John is quite the raconteur, and has a wealth of tales from his days as a USAF fighter pilot.  The joke I always tell is that he got bored with flying supersonic, and being treated like a rock star by the local girls in the tiny AF towns he'd visit, and so went on to law school for real excitement.

He told one tale about a case where a patron of a South Beach bar was bitten by a parrot, and claimed the bird gave her a usually sexually transmitted disease.  To me, any tale with a parrot in it is likely going to be funny, and as Mike and I riffed on John's story, well, we all laughed so hard that hearing a splash from our falling into the water was a real hazard.  But we kept our footing, and enjoyed ourselves -- toasting John, whose 65th birthday was the following day.

Saturday Jeff picked me up, and we headed to Mike's to muster for the Canes game.  This was a rare occurrence -- Jeff is typically too busy with his elderly and failing widow mother to join us -- and it turned to another fine time.  Our fellow law school friend Peter was along, and we watched the Canes upset North Carolina at a rocking arena.  Saturday night Wifey and I had a quiet dinner at our local go-to Thai place, and I joked that, without D2 there, I was free to order my favorite king of the sea soup, which D2 always says smells like feet to her...  It does, but a good kind of feet, so I really enjoy it.

Sunday Wifey and I drove to Wynwood, on a rainy, cool day, and met at Joey's, where D1 and her man Joey (no relation) and Joey's mom Jackie gathered for a brunch.  We caught up, and chatted about the upcoming Big Fat Colombian wedding.

The weather stayed gray, which matched the mood for our next stop -- visiting my mother in law. We ordered sandwiches at Hole in the Wall, which is our local hole in the wall.  It was packed.  The place has been there for years -- simple -- TVs, beer and wine, and great wings and sandwiches.  The owner, Sam, was struggling to read the takeout orders.  I offered him my readers, but he said he was "resisting."  He's nearly 50 -- resistance to near sighted vision is futile.

Wifey made me laugh at mi suegra's place.  The old woman kept barking VERY LOUD, and each time Wifey would cover her ears like she was at a Metal concert.  The old woman kept saying "Vy you laugh?  I don't say nothing funny!" which made things even more hilarious.

Anyway, the weekend ended with a cool, star filled night, where I moved a rocking chair to the middle of my front steps and gazed up, to remind myself of the infinity of creation, and how the problems of a couple of people doesn't amount to a hill of beans...

But I WILL visit Black Point more...

The Boys of Winter

So my brother Norman has been the complete social director this week.  Saturday he invited me to a bachelor's party for one of his firm's young lawyers, and last night the fun continued.  He had four awesome tickets to see Don Henley at the Hard Rock Arena up at the Seminole Reservation, and made a men's night out of it.

I took the train to my office, and then met Mike at his, after a walk over the Brickell Bridge on a truly spectacular afternoon.  I paused at the bridge's zenith and looked out at the mouth of the Miami River, to Biscayne Bay.  I never get over how gorgeous the city is...particularly in the wonderful weather months of Winter...

Mike and I drove to Norman's office, and then we three braved traffic up to Casa Carajo, a/k/a Broward County.  We parked and tried to get some drinks at Martarano's outside bar.  No dice -- the two overworked barkeeps never even looked up.  So Mike and I went inside, and Norman waited on Jim, our fourth, who lives in Casa Carajo, a/k/a Cooper City.  We 4 mustered inside, over adult beverages.

Jim sheepishly admitted why he was late:  his wife asked him to stop at a CVS to buy some feminine hygiene products -- the height of emasculation.  No, I corrected him -- Jim was being a showoff -- as his wife was the only of the four spouses of us still of that age...We all laughed heartily -- preferring, as always, the company of men...

There was a serviceable opening act -- an indie-type bluegrassy band from NYC called JD and the Straight Shots.  They have several songs in chick flicks, like a Meryl Streep thing called Osage something or other.  We 4 agreed we never watch such tripe...

And then Henley came on, and he rocked immediately.  Norman had scored FINE tickets -- front row in the second floor section -- perfect to see and hear.  The arena was sold out, and, as opposed to going out in Miami, we were far from the oldest ones there.  In fact, there were plenty of EARLY Boomers -- late 60s and maybe even a few folks 70 or so...

People immediately started taking cell phone shots, and Henley put a stop to it -- saying they were permitted when he sang a song about a hotel everyone might know.  And it worked -- all phones were put into pockets until the strains of "Hotel California" were heard...

Henley was in fine voice, and his band was terrific, too.  He played great Eagles songs, and his solo hits, including "Heart of the Matter," which he co wrote with Bruce Hornsby, a fellow U alum, so the song is his best. He talked about how his first hit and many others were recorded "just south of here."  Two know it all women behind us said "Oh -- he means Key West." I almost turned around like a snooty professor to correct them, but then Henley said "It was in Coconut Grove."

We all 4 loved it -- he even covered a Tears for Fears song, which Norman and Jim really enjoyed -- that's their wheelhouse of music.

We also took turns making a few visits to the men's room -- I noted sadly that when I used to go to Canes game in the Orange Bowl, and needed to pee, I would NEVER get in line at the trough behind a middle aged or older guy -- it takes too long.  Alas, I an now that guy...

The show ended, and Jim went off to see a friend who was playing at one of the other places.  Mike, Norman, and I went to Norman's suv and, well waited.  It took an hour to get out of the lot.  I guess President Trump hasn't fixed everything yet.

It was, all told, a fine night with fine gentlemen.  We got to see Henley before he joins his brother Glenn Frey in that great Eagles nest in the sky.

In the aging rockers department, I scored 4 tickets for Norman and his wife Deb and Wifey and I to see U2 -- in June.  I think I'll spring for a limo to that one...the ladies will enjoy it as they endure a night out with extremely funny men...

Oh Very Young Why Did You Leave Us

So I woke up this am to a very sad tale in the news: a 14 year old foster child hung herself live on a FaceBook (tm) stream.  Apparently she went into a bathroom and did it as her foster parents slept, and the police were alerted by friends, but arrived too late.  The girl was beautiful, and although a few grades behind in school, had been keeping a journal, and wished to someday write a book about her difficult life.  I guess she chose a different ending than a possible book tour.

This sad affair brought back memories of my foray into the world of foster kids -- probably now 6 years gone by.  My partner Paul had gotten involved as a guardian ad litem, and encouraged me to do the same.  D2 was off at college, and I had plenty of free time, and so I channeled my inner do gooder and signed up for the required course, which took two weekends.  I received my certification and passed a background check, and was assigned a young lady to meet and advocate for.

She was 15, and in may ways like the girl who killed herself today.  She happened to be very beautiful, and, as I learned, possessed of a genius IQ.  She was born into the wrong family.  Her father was in prison for life after killing a rival drug dealer, and her mom made some poor boyfriend choices.  One of these paramours decided he didn't like crying babies, and so tried to crush my young friend to death under a glass coffee table.  She nearly died, but made it, and the State of Florida decided maybe Mom wasn't her best choice for a living place.

She was given to an aunt, and that worked out for awhile, but an older cousin became a militant lesbian (I'm not making this up) and decided to bring the then teen into her world.  The State didn't think that was cool, either. and so she ended up in foster care, where I met her.

We got to know each other.  I decided I would be the missing male role model for her life.  I knew there was no better father to daughters, especially smart ones, than I was.  I met with teachers, therapists, and spent a good amount of time with my client.  I explained that, given her natural gifts, a scholarship to an Ivy League college awaited her -- just keep focused on school, and you can transcend your awful, unfair childhood.

I got to learn first hand, the absurd incompetence of the system, and its bloated bureaucracy.  I'd attend group telephone conferences attended by, no kidding, EIGHT Department functionaries (psychologists, case workers, liasons, and others with titles out of Orwell).  They'd talk and talk, and no one would do anything except schedule a future meeting to "check progress."

One time, a visit was required of the place my client wanted to move.  One of the voices on the call suggested I do it.  I exploded -- EIGHT of these idiots were on the state payroll, and they wanted the one volunteer -- me -- to schlep to Florida City to do the check???  A case worker's assistant, or some such, meekly agreed to do it instead.

Well, my client took a different path.  Despite my cheerleading, and the "efforts" of this team of support state salaried staff, my client got pregnant with her high school dropout boyfriend.  I was really disappointed, and told her.  No -- she was going to have the baby, and finally a being that "HAD to love her."

My supervisor called and said it was decided that I be GAL for the baby, too.  No, I said.  First, I wasn't looking for an 18 year commitment, and second, there was a clear conflict of interest.  What if I thought the baby, for example, needed to be placed elsewhere, and my teen Mom client desperately wanted to keep her?  How could I advocate for both?

The powers that be called and decided there WOULD be only one GAL, and I could either take both spots or neither.  I took neither.  My adventure as a GAL was done.  I made sure my now 17 year old client had my contact info, invited her to call if she wanted advice, and wished her well.  I never heard from her again -- she must be 23 or so, now.

I hope she found a way out of the cycle her family had put her in.  I fear this is unlikely.  Today showed me the spectacular way a young like can be failed, by the State, and more closely, by a despicable set of parents.

It was a sad tale to start a Wednesday.

Bustin' Balls

So Wifey and I were just sitting around Saturday afternoon -- planning to do something, but somehow succumbing to the inertia with living in a house we both love to be in.  Wifey says she wants to move, but admits she loves it where we are -- big lot where she has taken to spending hours outside, cleaning the many garden beds.  I got a text from my friend inviting me to a bachelor party for a young member of his company -- turns out they have a tradition of throwing these things whenever a member gets married.  I asked Wifey if she wanted to do anything -- her answer was to see a movie -- I typically can't stand movies anymore -- and so I decided to go.

The groom to be used to work with a young fellow I know well -- as did several of the group's participants.  The events of the evening are not important -- except for one -- we rode to our destinations in a big limo-type bus.  And that was by far my favorite part.

The younger fellows all knew each other well, and my buddy and I were the elder statesmen -- not quite old enough to be these guys' fathers, but close.

One of the participants was former military, then a lawyer, and now an entrepreneur -- he was also hilarious, as he mercilessly made fun of the future groom for "outkicking his coverage" or, marrying above his station.

The rest of the trip, both there and back, was more of the same -- the return trip even funnier due to the social lubricating effects of alcohol.

We were an ethnically diverse group -- a couple of Irish guys, a Southern Californian Mexican American, and a few American Jews -- and we all bonded over shared inability to truly understand women -- and not for lack of trying.

The proteges looked to me for some answers -- married nearly 30 years -- and I was only able to offer the advice of hanging in there.

I was dropped off during the wee small hours of the morning.  I figured this was good practice for D1's wedding -- 7 months off, but scheduled to be an all night affair.

Ah -- guys hanging together, busting balls, like my favorite parts of The Sopranos...it was a fine way to spend an evening...

Wow -- It Really WASN'T a Movie

So yesterday I had a phone conference set for 11, and decided to stay home to attend it.  Turns out it was the right move, as the day ended Downtown with a monumental traffic jam as nice, Lefty kids protested the Trump inauguration by marching onto I-95, effectively shutting down the city during the evening rush hour.

Wifey and I watched a lot of the festivities.  She kept making disgusted sounds.  I simply thought -- wow -- somehow this guy really made it to be president.

Like most of my peers, I thought Trump's entire campaign was a silly diversion during the otherwise serious season.  I wasn't even really shocked that he beat the rest of the GOP field -- they were a collection of losers, in one way or another.  Marco Rubio?  A wimpy guy who changed like the wind.  Jeb Bush?  He couldn't even gain admission to Miami's top WASPy country clubs anymore.

Still, I figured Trump's nomination was simply the end of the GOP as it exists today.  Hillary staved off the Larry David looking liberal from Vermont -- really Brooklyn.  Other than silly kids thinking everything is free -- Sanders wasn't a real candidate, either.  So Hillary would coast into office -- the smartest girl in class who nobody really liked, except the dumber girls who wanted to cheat off her exams...  A HRC presidency would be tolerable -- hopefully Obamacare would be tweaked and made better, and she would be tougher and not be afraid to say "radical Islamist" like Obama was.

And then, damn -- the reality tv guy -- the cartoon character -- won.  It didn't seem real.  He said he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue in NYC and still win.  And he was right!

Truth is, for my family and me, Trump is probably better for us.  Our taxes will be lower, and he'll be better for Israel, which, as Jews, we care a lot about.  My lefty friends kept forgiving Obama all his anti-Israel moves -- sort of like battered women forgiving the latest slap by their husbands -- but his act was wearing thin on me.

Not Trump.  He and Bibi are buds.  Together they'll be large and in charge.

Of course I voted for HRC.  I think it's right to vote for the country, even if it goes against selfish interest.  But the truth is, the poorest folks, the ones who are going to get most royally screwed by Trump and his incoming administration, couldn't be bothered to go out and vote.  Blacks voted for Obama in record numbers, but largely stayed home for HRC.  So now they get to see how it works out for them...

I get a kick out of my lefty friends on FaceBook.  They go on and on as if the Trump gestapo is about to invade their large houses and take them prisoner.  As for me, I like Dave Chappelle's approach, when asked by some friends if he was moving to Canada now that a "racist pig" was POTUS.  "Nah -- I'm gonna stay right here and see how those tax cuts work out for me."

And so it shall be around here, too.

I guess I learned early on to not take presidential elections too seriously.  As a teen, I truly thought Jimmy Carter was going to be the best ever.  After the scandal of Watergate, and boredom of Gerry Ford, Carter would bring greatness.  Turned out he was probably the worst president of modern times -- in 4 years made the US a laughingstock, internationally.  I remember meeting some European kids at UM in '79 and them telling me how when someone saw a US passport, it was a big deal.  With Carter, the customs guys laughed.

And, history has now judged Ford much better -- took a broken nation and healed it, like a kindly, and prudent grandfather might heal a fractured family.

So you never know.  Maybe Trump will turn out to be just fine -- cutting great deals for the US, being a steward of a rising economy.  Probably not.  But he's our guy -- Queens born, like I am, as Dr. Barry reminded me.  Dr. Barry's a Queens guy, too.  He wants to start the betting pool for impeachment.

Some very interesting times, like the Chinese curse goes, are upon us.

It was a banner night; it was a shocking night

So life, even for annoying optimists like me, has its peaks and valleys.  Last night held both of those.

First the peak:  Wifey attended a talk given by D1, at our local shul.  The talk capped an awesome day for D1 -- full slate of clients, followed by her first night of teaching at UM.  She was hired to teach a graduate level nutrition class, and, well, the way I tend to admire professors combined with my love of the U -- it made me incredibly proud.  And Wifey reported that the packed house at the shul, probably over 60 women, adored D1 -- hung on her every, rapid fire delivered word about improving their health.  D1's dear friend Alyssa surprised her and attended, along with her Mom Barbara, and I got to speak to the two giddy young ladies as they drove home together afterwards.  I've known Alyssa since Middle School, and she is an accomplished executive at a local Latin American company, and married to one of my favorite guys, Freddy, a Honduran.  Alyssa and Freddy and D1 and D1's man Joey double date -- the two Latin guys with their gringa ladies.  It's all so wonderful to me.

And then Wifey told me she had received an awful text from a dear friend, about the boyfriend of another friend.  It seems the other friend's boyfriend, a man in his late 40s, had died.

Wifey and I called the friend's sister, and she filled us in.  The fellow had been troubled -- a recovering addict and drinker.  I met him only once -- at a birthday party -- and liked him.  More importantly, he seemed to bring so much happiness to Wifey's friend, a life long single woman.

I had a strong suspicion he was a recovering addict -- I guess a career of representing a wide array of folks has given me a sense of who people are -- and it turned out my suspicions were correct.  The fellow took his own life, in his apartment in Fort Lauderdale.

I had only met him the one time, but I was still shocked and saddened.  He was young and handsome, and clearly a fellow who attended the gym.  He had a great time with the varied crowd at the Miami Beach party -- most of whom were a good deal older than he.  He was from Ohio and an Ohio State fan -- I joked with him that I forgave him for that -- and we talked about the infamous National Championship game.  I left the party thinking -- well, this is a fellow with a troubled past, but he seems ok now, and most importantly, has brought some new life to Wifey's friend of nearly 40 years.

And now he's gone -- just like that.

It's funny -- just yesterday morning, I had a long talk with one of my brothers -- about how some people have the capacity to experience true joy in life, while so many others simply can't.  This unfortunate latter group simply cannot ever let go and savor things -- they always keep control, and ruminate, and judge.

So the lesson I take from yesterday is simple -- when life brings you the good, like, for me, D1's soaring -- I will unabashedly celebrate, and crow, and let her know how much I adore her.  Around the bend, as the sages know, often lurks danger.

I went to sleep last night with Neil Young's words in my head: "Every junkie's like a setting sun."  May this fellow find the peace wherever his soul is -- the peace he didn't find among us.