Double Triangle: David's Blog

Welcome, Indy

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 14:23:55 -0700

And so, my friends, once again we find ourselves sharing our home with a member of the household who walks around naked all day and pees freely in the yard.

No, it's not me (thankfully). It's Indy (like Indiana Jones), our new female German Shepherd who bears more than a little resemblance to a wolf, but is gentle as a lamb.

Actually, I have to admit that I have some doubts that she's really a dog, because of the following observations:

1. She hasn't attempted to eat my children.

2. She hasn't attempted to eat me, my wife, or any of our friends.

3. She hasn't attempted to eat our shoes, socks, or furniture.

4. She hasn't destroyed our home.

Well, at least not so far.

So after months of research into every breed of dog, better ways of training them, the advantages and disadvantages of purchasing a puppy from a reputable breeder vs.getting a dog from a rescue organization, we wound up with Indy from a local rescue. She's an amazing dog and everyone in our family loves her. Actually, she seems remarkably perfect, to the extent that I'm just waiting for the other shoe to fall. But I prefer to be an optimist.

A few words about German Shepherds:

They're very smart dogs who are eager to please and, therefore, easily trainable.

German Shepherds are also loyal to their owners, and are pack animals, meaning they love to be in the presence of their fellow dogs or human family, but without being a pest. That makes for an ideal family companion.

Most people we meet while walking Indy around town like German Shepherds and don't hesitate to pet her. Indy happens to be very gentle with people, but I personally wouldn't stick my hand near the mouth of any dog I don't know. It's surprising that so many people would.

On the other hand, about 1 in 5 people just walk away when they see us coming. Some go around us in a wide semi-circle, and some people even turn around or cross to the other side of the street. Oh, well, I don't take it personally. Actually, it can be yet another benefit, depending on which way you look at it.

German Shepherds need to have a "job." That can be anything from police work to being a therapy dog. In our case, Indy's job is to be a great family companion and she takes her job seriously.

So, yeah -- the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart are absolutely thrilled with having Indy. No matter what kind of day they are having, their eyes light up with joy as they see Indy in Beautiful Eema's car when they are picked up from school.

As for me and Beautiful Eema: Mission: Get the Kids a Dog -- ACCOMPLISHED. Yes!!!

I Am Lucky

Thu, 24 Jan 2013 21:33:25 -0700

It was sometime around 7pm on Friday December 21st, 2012 when I got the news. Our family had just sat down for our traditional Friday night dinner, and the phone rang. I walked over to the kitchen and answered the call, though I'm not sure why I did, considering that usually I would not have interrupted dinner with the family.

I could see the call was from a blocked number, which is unusual.

"This is David," I said in a somewhat formal tone, not knowing if it was a business or personal call.

"Hi," said the voice and introduced himself. It was my dermatologist whom I had just recently visited for the first time in a year, for a routine examination during which he tested two small spots on my skin. The first spot was on my shoulder, and second on my wrist.

"I'm afraid I have some not-so-good news," said the doctor. "The spot on your wrist we tested came back as melanoma."

I held my breath for a moment, while I walked away from the kitchen and into a nearby room where my children would not hear the conversation.

"Sorry to give you this news on a Friday night, but I thought it best to tell you as soon as I got the results. If you have any questions, I'm here to answer them," continued the doctor.

My mind was racing at the speed of light. I know what melanoma is. It is a skin cancer for which there is no cure, if it is caught too late. But I couldn't bring myself to ask whether it was too late for me. I was 47 years-old at the time, in good physical shape, and the possibility of it being "too late" seemed unimaginable.

"Okay," I said finally, exhaling deeply. "What do we need to do to get rid of it?"

"Well," said the doctor, "I'm going to refer you to a plastic surgeon, since it is on your wrist. Otherwise I would remove it myself."

For some reason, I found the concept of being referred to a plastic surgeon to be comforting. I figured that if there were cosmetic considerations, it's good news. If it was "too late" for me, then there would be no discussion of cosmetic aspects.

"What's involved with the surgery?" I asked.

My dermatologist explained that the procedure would take less than 30 minutes in-office, no hospital and no general anesthesia would be required. I would be home possibly about an hour after the procedure began.

"And that's it?" I asked. "Then it will be all over?"

"Yes," said the doctor. "You're lucky we caught it at an early stage before it spread, so it can be removed easily."

On the one hand, I was relieved that the words "removed easily" were used and that it was caught early. On the other hand, I didn't feel all that lucky. "Lucky" would be to never have to deal with this type of thing in the first place.

I exhaled again deeply, mulling over everything I heard.

"Does this scare you?" asked the doctor.

"No," I said. "Having a small spot on my wrist removed by a plastic surgeon doesn't scare me. Having to go through chemotherapy would scare me. Having to say goodbye to my family would scare me. Thank God it's not that. At least not this time."

"I understand," said the doctor pleasantly. I thanked him for letting me know and we wished each other a Happy New Year and hung up the phone.

I returned to the dinner table, where my wife and kids were sitting. My daughter, the ten-year-old Sweet Sweetheart, was crying. Apparently, I wasn't quick enough to control my facial expression when I picked up the phone before leaving the room.

"Don't cry, Sweetheart," I said. "Everything's going to be fine. I just have to have this tiny spot removed from my wrist." I rolled up my sleeve and we looked at the spot. If you could imagine how small the circumference of an eraser on the tip of a pencil is, then this spot was even smaller. It was no different than the other various freckles and sun spots on my arms.

"Believe me, I won't miss having one spot more or less on my arms," I said, as the Sweet Sweetheart cheered up a little and smiled through her tears. But I could tell that she knew I was trying to minimize a bad situation.

"Please don't ever leave me," she said and hugged me tightly.

"I promise I'll be around for a long, long time," I said. "This spot is really nothing."

By Monday I met with the surgeon, who surprised me by telling me that he, too, had the very same procedure done recently. In his case, he needed to have the procedure done twice, as the first time was not completely successful. Still, he assured me that we were both incredibly lucky, and that "we won the lotto," by catching the melanoma at an early stage, so it can be easily removed within minutes.

"Yep," I agreed. "We got lucky." But again, I thought to myself that the surgeon and I would have been a heck of a lot luckier if neither of us had to deal with this situation in the first place.

Within a few days, it was all over. As the doctors had predicted, the procedure was very quick and, even with some traffic on the 101 Freeway, I was at home about 1 1/2 hours after the procedure had started. It was no big deal. Basically, quick and painless, and I was now free to continue living my life happily ever after.

Two days later, I was sitting in a barber shop in Thousand Oaks. My haircutter was just getting started, when she asked me how things were going for me since my last haircut.

At first I hesitated, wondering whether or not to mention my having the spot removed from my wrist. It's no big deal, but I considered whether it was of a more personal nature than I cared to share with her.

I told my haircutter that things were good in general, but then I decided to mention what happened and she stared at me while I spoke.

By now, I had known this haircutter for more than a year. She's a kind-hearted, hard-working mother of two, around my age, maybe a year or two younger. When I get my hair cut, we usually share a few funny anecdotes about parenting.

I finished telling my story, and her eyes filled with tears, so I looked at her curiously.

"I haven't told anyone here yet, and I haven't told my kids," she said quietly. "But I'll be leaving this job in June to have a mastectomy."

Now it was my turn to stare at her. My surgeon being the first person, she was the second person outside of my family to whom I had mentioned my procedure. And the second person who told me in turn that they, too, had battled cancer.

Suddenly, after hearing that my haircutter was facing such an extreme procedure, I felt almost foolish bringing up my own story. I also felt her pain of having received the bad news from her physician and the terrible emotions she must have been feeling since she found out.

But after thinking it over, I realized something else. I guess that I am lucky. Very lucky, indeed, compared to the experience of the other two people with whom I had shared my story.

I'm Feeling Bookish!

Sun, 07 Oct 2012 22:30:31 -0700

Yes, it's true, friends and family. In my spare time, which is mostly at night and on weekends, I've been writing adventure/mystery novels, and have now completed my first two books in the series.

The Mason Dexter Adventure Series is about a middle-school boy named Mason Dexter, who builds amazing gadgets and uses them to defeat assorted crooks and bullies. The series chronicles Mason's adventures together with his best friends Ron and Cheezer, and his faithful dog Pokey.

Of course, it's no coincidence that the main characters are in middle-school, considering that our children are around the same age and I wrote these books primarily for them to enjoy.

In the first book, Mason Dexter: The Original Adventure, Mason, Ron, and Cheezer discover weapons hidden in a dark warehouse on the edge of town and they help save the day. It's a feel-good, quick-paced, fun book to read.

In the second book, Mason Dexter: The Explosive Adventure, Mason and his best friends are called upon by a legendary U.S. Army General to recover a top-secret device which was stolen from an Army research facility. This is a longer novel than the first, with the action and adventure stepped up for more sophisticated readers.

The books are suspenseful, action-packed, and funny. They are meant to provide good-natured fun for anyone who enjoys the feeling of being young and experiencing fantastic adventures with loyal friends.

When I read these books to my children before their bedtime, they couldn't wait to hear the next chapter. I really enjoyed their eagerness to hear more, and the two months during which I read them the books almost every night, have been some of the best times for our family. And that's saying a lot, because we've been blessed with so many good times together.

I've also enjoyed the reactions of friends and other family members who have read the books. For me, that's what it's really about: Having the people closest to me read the books and enjoy them.

The process of writing the books has been interesting. I've discovered a way of avoiding the common problem of the dreaded writer's block. The writing then feels like I am watching a movie, only better in some ways. There's no depending on the whims of a movie producer or script writer -- for better or for worse. It's like watching a dream unfold on the screen of my word processor. But, on the other hand, it's a lot of work on top of my usual job as a news publisher.

And, speaking of jobs, although I will promote the books, the books are not primarily meant to provide me with income. They're mostly meant to be an enjoyable hobby I can share with my friends and family when they read the stories.

If, however, there happens to be a book publisher or movie producer who would like to turn the Mason Dexter Adventure Series into a huge money-making franchise, then, by all means, that would be the icing on the cake!

The paperback versions are due out in December 2012. In the meantime, to download any of my books in Kindle format, visit Amazon.com and search for "Mason Dexter" or Click Here.

You can first preview the books for free and see if you enjoy them. I hope you will and reviews on Amazon are more than welcome!

Back To School

Wed, 22 Aug 2012 11:22:26 -0700

Three... Two... One... And we're back! Back to school, that is. The Sweet Sweetheart is now a fifth grader and the Good Boy has now started a new school, as he began middle school today.

Starting a new school is rarely easy for kids, and this is the second new school the Good Boy has attended in a year. Last year, we made the switch from private school to public school and it was an excellent move, and an extremely easy transition for both our children. In fact, just last night, out of the blue, the Good Boy thanked me for making the switch.

But the new school he attended only goes through fifth grade and now, a year later, he's starting middle school pretty much across the street from his grade school. This was all part of our plan, which was to move to a new school district with superior schools, and switch the children last year so that they could make friends in grade school who will continue with them into middle school, then high-school. New places are much easier to navigate with old, familiar faces all around.

Sure enough, the Good Boy came home from his first day in middle school in a great mood. The entire experience was orderly, the children well-behaved (so far), and happy to see each other (also, so far). The teachers seem to be a good bunch -- professional and friendly to the parents and students. So, it all seems very promising.

I know I've said this before, but I'm reminded of it today again: For the past 5 years, we agonized over whether to make the switch from a private Jewish day school to public school. A good part of our free time was spent considering the pros and cons. But now, seeing what public school is like in a good school district, in a good neighborhood, I only regret not switching the children sooner.

As an amusing perk of both Beautiful Eema and I both picking up the kids on their first day of school, we had a celebrity encounter on the way to school. Living near the heart of the entertainment industry, from time to time we bump into interesting people, even here in our sleepy little town.

Today, after lunch we were on our way to pick up the Good Boy, when we saw a convertible Ferrari up ahead. I was making a left turn and the Ferrari was making a right turn, so we were briefly facing each other. Since he had the right of way, I yielded, and he turned first, then I turned right after.

The man driving the convertible had long black hair, arms covered with tattoos and a thin line of black hair running up the middle of his chin.

I thought I recognized him as Tommy Lee from one of my favorite 80's heavy metal bands, Motley Crue and thought that time sure took a toll on him, but he must be doing well to be driving a brand new convertible Ferrari.

So we both continue in the same direction and he catches the tail end of a light and disappears, as I stop for the light. A little while later, we arrive at the Good Boy's school. As we pull into the school's driveway, I see the convertible Ferrari pulling out, facing us with a middle school girl in it.

Turns out, it was not Tommy Lee but Nikki Sixx. At least I got the band right. But, I can swear that Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx are one and same person...

Nice to see that even famous rock star fathers show up to pick up their children!

Anyway, for dinner on the first day of school, The Good Boy has requested a sandwich made of shredded barbecued chicken in a toasted ciabatta roll. So I'll soon fire up the grill and get some chicken marinated in barbecue sauce with a shot of hot sauce added. Then, when it's cooked, Beautiful Eema will chop it up and add another layer of Barbecue sauce while I toast up the Ciabatta. For good measure, I might oven-bake some French Fries. When served, the Good Boy will dip it in a puddle of hot sauce and enjoy it to the max.

On the other hand, The Sweet Sweetheart will thumb her nose at this meal, and ask to eat something different. She views anything barbecued as a total waste of otherwise good food. So Beautiful Eema will then most likely leave her dinner to get cold while making some other meal for the Sweet Sweetheart.

I'm a picky eater myself, so I can't really complain. Well, at least I can't legitimately complain...

And so ends the back-to-school day of 2012. Two good kids, two dinners, two tired parents. So what's new...

Summer 2012

Tue, 10 Jul 2012 19:31:13 -0700

Exotic birds make exotic sounds. Presumably, at least, the sounds must be coming from exotic birds. Otherwise, I need to call an exorcist to my back yard.

The thought occurred to me this evening, as the sound of the kids splashing in the pool mixed with various bird calls. Now that we live in an environmentally protected pocket of Southern Californian suburbia, nature really is all around us -- for better or for worse.

In the San Fernando Valley today, the temperature soared above 100 degrees for the first time this summer, but in our slightly cooler neck of the woods, toward evening-time it actually feels very pleasant, and I get to enjoy the sounds of the children playing together nicely.

"Five minute warning, it's almost time to come out and take showers" I call out to the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart.

"But Eema [mom] promised we could stay until 7:15!"

"Guess what? It's 7:10 now," I explain.

"Fine... We'll be out soon."

As an experienced dad, I know that in kid-speak "soon" means "sometime in the future, whenever we feel like."

But, by the same token, as experienced kids, they know the actual time is at least 5 minutes earlier than grown-ups claim, when their bedtime approaches.

So, I smile and leave the kids to their own devices for another 10 minutes.

The summer of 2012 is going very well, so far, and I enjoy the thought of how different it is turning out than last summer. Our house is peaceful, with no construction mania going on. The kids love their summer camps, and their new school turned out to be an incredible improvement over the last one they attended.

* * *

It's three weeks later, the first week of August -- a week like no other. For the past 11 years, Beautiful Eema and I have devoted the vast majority of our lives to raising our kids.

That means that it's been 11 years of making sure that our children have been fed, clothed, and washed. That they have snacks and lunches packed every day (most often with different meals for each child). That they are being driven to and from school and camp promptly, that they are being delivered to their orthodontist appointments regularly, that they're wearing a normal outfit each day and that their teeth are brushed. This in addition to making sure that their homework and class projects are being done and handed in on time, and filling out endless forms and applications for their school, camps, and extra-curricular activities.

And, of course, all this is in addition to about a million other kid-related chores that we do, and services that we provide every single day for the past 11 years, as we have never had even a single full day or night away from our kids, with the exception of 2 brief cross-country trips I've taken over the past several years, for various specific reasons.

In truth, I'm not complaining about the things we do for our kids. Every typical parent works harder than they ever thought possible for their children. That's just a given. It's true even for those of us who are not obsessed helicopter parents.

But... The point I was making is that this past week, both our children have been away from home at sleep-away camps, and for the first time in 11 years, Beautiful Eema and I stayed home alone.

How was it?

Well, let me first start by saying that we absolutely love and adore our children. We miss them dearly, and have been very relieved to follow pictures of them posted online by their camps each evening, so we know they're having fun. Once that's been established, we've been able to sit back and relax a bit.

Under normal circumstances, I'd say that "getting someone ready" early in the morning to start their day, every day, for more than a decade, is unthinkable. That's especially true for me, since I can barely drag myself out of bed and keep my eyes open in the 6am zone. Yet, that's been part of my daily routine, including most weekends, basically since the children were born. But, for the past week, we've been able to sleep much later. I haven't prepared or packed any snacks or lunches, I haven't told anyone to stop fighting, I haven't fought with anyone about brushing their teeth or going to bed on time. I haven't even driven anyone to an early morning drop-off at school or camp.

Wow, it's been so incredibly peaceful and relaxing.

Still, there are many things I miss about having the children around. Maybe this is taste of the "next phase" of parenthood, when the children go off to college? Time will tell...

For now, it's about one day away from the time Beautiful Eema and I will awake again at 6am, and quickly get ready to drive 130 miles to pick up the Sweet Sweetheart from camp. One more day... What to do, what to do?

The Magnificent Creature

Tue, 10 Apr 2012 11:43:10 -0700

It was eleven years ago, almost to the day, since we purchased our previous home. The Good Boy was just a few days old when I carried him into that house, all bundled up, in a car seat. It was one of the very first places that Beautiful Eema went to since giving birth, and she looked at the empty foyer trying to visualize what life would be like in that house. I remember seeing her walk through the house while I stayed with the Good Boy who was happily napping in his plaid-blue colored car seat on the shiny marble floor of the foyer.

Eleven years later, as we prepare to close on the sale of that house, we know that things turned out very well for our family there. The Good Boy already wears a size Men's Small shirt and he's nearly as tall as Beautiful Eema. His sister, who wasn't even born when we moved into that house, is now a young lady. But, at the time, we were standing at one of life's crossroads, full of uncertainty and doubt.

The first week in that house was very different from our former existence. We were still getting accustomed to having all of the additional space, while trying to figure out how best to set up our baby in his new room.

But there was a particular incident that happened that first week, which still comes to mind more than a decade later.

Enter: The Villain

Our block was a double cul-de-sac ringed by similar Mediterranean-style houses, each with its driveway and carefully manicured front lawn. It was really the epitome of an idyllic suburban block.

Then, one late afternoon, I set out for an evening walk with the Good Boy who was in a stroller, and Beautiful Eema by my side, when suddenly we came face to face with our pinched-faced nemesis and his partner in crime.

He, a small, brown Chihuahua of a dog, off-leash, weighing in at about 8 lbs. of hardened criminal, followed by a brown-eyed eleven year-old girl wearing a pink tank top. Upon sizing up the infernal duo, I could immediately discern their roles. He was the ring-leader and mastermind, while she was a hapless minion serving as the lookout.

Just as I suspected, the canine crime lord selected the scene of his next crime spree, and sprinted onto our property, hopping through the space in between the bars of our side gate and into our backyard where he carried out his dastardly deed. He was gone in 60 seconds, instantly back with the girl who quickly grabbed his leash and ran back to her house at the corner of the block at speeds approximating an Olympic runner on five cups of coffee.

As I approached the scene of the crime in our back yard, there was the irrefutable evidence -- a small pile of Chihuahua poop.

I stood there incredulously, first pondering the sheer nerve of the girl, and then the considerable awkwardness of my inevitable discussion with my brand-new neighbors. A fine introduction, indeed: Yep, here I am, your new neighbor, nice to meet you, sort of, now about the dog poop that's being deposited in my backyard by your hound-of-hell and guilty-beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt eleven-year-old daughter...

Well, the discussion was beyond awkward, just as I had expected. The parents basically refused to do a thing about it although, they "didn't condone it." I just shook my head trying to make sense of this much wackiness so soon after moving into our first big real-estate investment, and I left without further ado.

As the first week at our new home wore on, I learned that the canine arch-villain was named Harley, and that he was an equal opportunity pooper on all the neighbors' backyards. Lawn or concrete, Harley showed no mercy whatsoever.

Howard Knows Best

Just about that time, I had a discussion with my next door neighbor, an older gentleman named Howard, probably in his early 70s. He was a particularly sociable, good-natured fellow, and I thought of him and his wife as one of the ultimately successful retired couples living the good life. On that particular occasion, though, I expressed to him my great displeasure with the neighbor's dog, curious as to his perspective.

I guess I expected him to be just as appalled as I was with having our front lawns and back yards regularly raided by the Chihuahuan villain. But, instead, Howard's response took me by total surprise.

"Sure I know that dog," he said. "His name is Harley. A magnificent creature!"

"A magnificent creature???" I asked in total shock.

"Yeah. Isn't he magnificent?"

I just stood there and looked at Howard, silent for lack of words. In my book, any dog who poops on my lawn isn't exactly magnificent. As a matter of fact the only "magnificent" image that came to my mind at that particular moment was that of Harley flying somewhere over the rainbow as I punt him for a field goal.

But as the seconds of silence stretched on and on, it finally dawned on me: Howard and his wife were just as concerned about the appearance and cleanliness of their property as I was, and there is no way that he didn't mind finding daily dog piles on his lawn.

But instead of creating a confrontation with the neighbors, Howard simply rationalized it and took a positive view of the situation. The truth is that the dog was a sharp-looking purebred specimen and it wasn't his fault that his masters didn't control him properly.

But, better yet, Howard's point of view eliminated any resentment and maintained good relations between him and the offending neighbors.

"Yeah, Magnificent," I mumbled. "You're a good man, Howard."

I should really thank him all these years later for the magnificent lesson I learned from him that day. Maybe I will do so sometime in the future.

Epilogue

As for Harley, the magnificent creature met his sad demise one day as a Screeching Owl swooped down on him and carried him away from his own back yard. That's what a neighbor told me about a year after this incident. I personally think it must have been a Red Tailed Hawk, a species which is native to this part of Southern California and is known to carry away small pets that are left outdoors unattended. Sad and bizarre, but true. R.I.P Harley.

The Trojan Man

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 19:13:27 -0700

I'm standing at the beginning of an aisle at Gelson's supermaket in Calabasas. It's President's Day weekend and we're making a quick stop to pick up some dessert to bring over to a friend's barbecue that we'll attend later in the afternoon.

I'm casually leaning on my half-full shopping cart, patiently waiting for my wife, aka, Beautiful Eema, to pick up paper towels at the other end of the aisle. Across from me, my children, the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart are whispering in each other's ear, quite suspiciously.

I say 'suspiciously,' because any time the two of them are waiting around for more than five minutes without a specific designated activity and without doing something mischievous, I automatically start to suspect that foul play is at hand. Or, at the very least, that there is some serious scheming going on.

Just as the thought starts to cross my mind, they burst out laughing and they start pointing at me, or at least in the general direction of my shoulder.

I look down and to the side of my shoulder, dreading what I might find, but there's seemingly nothing out of the ordinary. My inquisitive look, however, only causes the kids to burst out laughing even louder.

"OK... OK... What's going on?" I ask, bewildered.

This innocent question only causes the volume of their laughter to rise several levels, and they continue to point in my direction.

But oddly, I see nothing at all by my shoulder.

"You're standing right in front of the tampons!" finally yells the Good Boy, holding his stomach and laughing out loud. His sister is almost hysterical with laughter, too.

I turn around and, sure enough, behind me is a grand display of hygiene products for ladies of all ages and stages, in a variety of sizes, shapes and colors, from white to neon -- in mass quantities.

And there I am, right in front of it all, with my kids wildly entertained.

I start to wonder just how and when my 9 year-old and my 10 year-old learned about intimate adult female facts. If it were up to me, I'd still insist that babies are brought by the stork. I still tell them to cover their eyes if we happen to see any romantic kissing on TV. 'It's inappropriate for children," I say.

But, as a master of choosing my battles, I decide not to start that particular conversation in middle of the tampon aisle at our local Gelson's supermarket.

Feeling like I need to say something wise as the adult of the bunch, I mutter, "Well, I'm sure no one will suspect me of using these things." I then casually take a few steps down the aisle, pushing the shopping cart just past the Maxi-pad shelf, as my kids are nearly doubling over with laughter. I stop and resume my leaning on the cart, glad that no other customers are present.

"Ah ha ha ha ha!" The Good Boy starts again, and points past my shoulder with even more delight and enthusiasm than before.

"Well, now they'll think you're the Trojan Man!" he loudly announces.

I turn my head, only to find that I've inadvertently stopped in front of the condom section. Oh, boy...

"I don't know what this is," I say in denial. " And who's the Trojan Man anyway?"

"Well, it's a good thing that you don't know," my son answers. "It's VERY inappropriate!" he says, shaking his finger at me, much to his sister's delight.

The Missing Summer of 2011

Fri, 26 Aug 2011 19:37:17 -0700

Oh, those summers of years past. They were golden hazy days of pure freedom and indulgence. Escapes, adventures, and fun of all sorts, mainly of the sort of fun I would deny in public, if you know what I mean. Wow, it was really great.

I wouldn't say I didn't have a care in the world those days, because I had various summer jobs since I turned 14, but still... Until I entered the full-time workforce, my summers were amazing. Later in life, my summers morphed into something different but, overall, summers still had a more laid back character than the rest of the year.

This past summer of 2011, though, was completely MIA. Missing in action. I have no clue what happened to it or how it could have zoomed by me without my noticing it was summer at all, or that it is about to end even before it began.

I'm sitting in a cavernous empty room, surrounded by other cavernous empty rooms. Actually, it's an empty house and there are echoes where there are sounds. Mostly, the sounds are of power tools and other construction-related noise. In one corner of the house there is a radio stuck between stations producing an equal mix of static and Spanish-language pop music at an incredibly loud, mind-numbing volume.

Elsewhere in the house, a jack-hammer is chomping mercilessly at the chipped travertine tiles it is fighting to extract. Outside, the pool deck lies in utter ruin with chunks of broken concrete visible, as we are in the midst of redoing it.

Somewhere, in a corner of the house, I've set up a small folding table with a few folding chairs, on which I have my laptop so I can get some work done. But more often than not, the noise catches up with me, even so.

The unbearable ruckus has been going on for the past six weeks since we purchased what will soon become our new home, and there are more than a dozen construction companies working on the house, mostly simultaneously. In reality, I'm not a general contractor and I don't even play one on TV, but I do have a couple of decades' experience managing various groups of people at the same time. Thank God, after six long weeks, I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. Based on the number of unfinished projects, it sure is hard to imagine that we will move into this house in about two weeks.

Meanwhile, the Good Boy and the Sweet Sweetheart have had their first day at their new school. It seems promising so far...

Having to relocate to a home in a better school district doesn't bother me so much as my concern for our children attending public school for the first time and the reasons for it. Since preschool, our children attended safe, familiar Jewish day schools, but for all intents and purposes, Jewish education is pretty much dead in this part of L.A. The classes have only a handful of students, partly due to the bad economy, and partly due to a lack of value parents place on Jewish education. So by the end of the 2010-2011 school year, we found ourselves forced to consider other academic alternatives. We chose to relocate to a better public school district within a few minutes from our current home.

I don't know what the future will hold for our children and their education. I'm not even sure that we're doing the right thing by going the public school route. Maybe we should have chosen a different private school option. One of the toughest aspects of being a parent is the fact that we sometimes need to make an educated guess and just move forward without certainty, without guarantees, yet with potentially bad results that could affect our children very negatively. I think we're choosing the best option. But thinking is not knowing for sure.

So for now, we're optimistic about the possibilities that lay ahead. Probably even more optimistic about our children's education than we've been in years. But where in the world did this summer go?

The Sweet Sweetheart Turns Nine

Mon, 30 May 2011 16:58:12 -0700

Meanwhile, time moves on and the Sweet Sweetheart is about to turn nine. She's extremely excited about her birthday and, actually, it's a little misleading to call it a birthDAY celebration. You see, in our family, the birthday process can span over a period of, literally, months. There are discussions, plans made, early gift acquisitions, online gift research, haggling over gifts, creating gift "wish-lists," ordering the gifts, waiting for the arrival of the gifts, wrapping the gifts, preparing the kitchen with posters, decorations and, of course, the presentation of the gifts.

Then, there's at least one more after-birthday celebration, for some unexpected reason, not to mention that we have birthday weekends or birthday weeks, not just birthday days like normal people have. Ah... These kids have no idea just how good they have it...

This year, we spent three action-packed days in Las Vegas in honor of the Sweet Sweetheart's birthday. Seems extravagant (and it actually was), but it beats planning and throwing a class party, which is still the norm for children her age. I don't know, but after ten years of throwing two class parties each year, I'll pay almost any price -- even escape to a different state -- just to avoid that scene.

So, we enjoyed the Venetian hotel, its gondolas, shops, great food, spectacle, and luxury. We saw the Blue Man Group show, and toured Madame Tussaud's wax museum. The kids absolutely loved it, and the Sweet Sweetheart was just bubbling over with joy that this was being done in her honor.

* * *

The Sweet Sweetheart is exceptionally intelligent, creative, and adorable. I'm her father, so I can say so!

She's also a very dedicated and loyal friend, as well as very generous and charitable. Nothing makes her happier than donating her toys, time, and even some of the money she saved up from holiday gifts she received. This year, for example, she donated the $20 she received for finding the Afikoman on Passover to a charity dedicated to helping children who were born with disabilities. She also worked at a lemonade stand set up by her classmates, for which she created colorful promotional posters, to raise even more money for that charity.

The Sweet Sweetheart's dream for her future involves having a romantic wedding and living a lifestyle similar to that of Beautiful Eema who is absolutely adored by the whole family. The Sweet Sweetheart has agreed, until recently, that Beautiful Eema and I will need to pre-approve all of her future suitors. Our plan is to require each suitor to write a comprehensive response to the question "Why do you think you're the one to marry the Sweet Sweetheart?"

But lately, the Sweet Sweetheart has notified us that she will be the one to decide whom she will marry and she will not ask her suitors to submit to the parental pre-approval process. When she mentioned this, I pretended to be shocked.

"What??? Of course we need to approve any boys you might marry!"

"No. I will know who's the best one," she says confidently.

"No way! We know our Sweet Sweetheart and we know all the fine qualities the lucky man needs to have."

"Abba (Dad)! That's embarrassing!" The Sweet Sweetherat rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Well, we need to do a complete financial analysis, career counseling, and to make sure he has a retirement plan and a good health insurance policy," I say flatly.

"Awkward!"

I laugh at the Sweet Sweetheart, who rolls her eyes again, then smiles back at me. In a way, I'm glad that there are many years ahead before the Sweet Sweetheart will be given away at her wedding. And, on the other hand, I'm glad that she has such a positive impression of marriage and family.

Yet, there she is, a formidable nine year-old. A force of nature since birth. Adorable and sweet, yet fiercely determined to succeed when she sets her mind to any task.

* * *

Normally, I'd end this post here. But, as this is a birthday post I'll say just a few more words:

Earlier this year, the Sweet Sweetheart insisted on being placed into the advanced Hebrew class, which is designed for Israeli-born children who speak Hebrew since birth as their first language. But the Sweet Sweetheart was willing to make the extra effort needed to keep up with the class and persevered for the rest of the year, earning top grades.

And, when she decided she wanted to dance, she was willing to take dance classes for about 5 hours a day last summer. Even though her legs ached at the end of the day, she went back and excelled.

In math and English classes, she and only one other student are separated from the rest of her class and given a special advanced curriculum. She then often comes home and solves even more advanced math problems, which I prepare for her.

She also writes her own songs, makes fancy, beautiful get-well and birthday cards for teachers, friends, and family.

I'm so proud that the Sweet Sweetheart is blossoming into an amazing young lady, which is obvious even at the age of nine.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Sweetheart! Just in case you read this one day when your ninth birthday is just a distant memory, remember: Beautiful Eema and I love you and your brother more than anything in the world.

Holy Cow! Bob Dylan Is Seventy

Tue, 24 May 2011 19:56:48 -0700

Well, I guess that I should start off by saying that I never personally met or spent time with Bob Dylan. But that didn't stop me from spending what seemed like a million hours wearing headphones listening intently to his words and songs as if they held all the secrets of the cosmos. All I needed to do to gain this miraculous knowledge was to decipher the deeper meaning of Bob Dylan's lyrics.

"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief.

"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.

Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth.

None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."

"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke.

"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.

But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate.

So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

Hmmm... The joker said to the thief that there's too much confusion, so he can't get any relief. Apparently, too much confusion is the reason for not being able to get relief. Relief from what? I'm not really sure, but still... At least you and I, we already have gained the wisdom that comes with experience, so we're spared that terrible fate -- just so long as we don't talk falsely when the hour's getting late.

Well, alrighty then. Late-night honesty must be the key. Now that I know that, I'll know just what to do when the opportunity presents itself late one night. Ah, yes...

And so it went. I spent hours as a teenager trying to reach all kinds of philosophical conclusions, because not only did Bob Dylan's words of wisdom seem to offer spiritual advice, they also presented me with an incredibly practical roadmap for happiness. I was absolutely convinced that if only I followed the roadmap, I would be making very wise moves all the time, no matter what challenging situation I would unexpectedly face.

It's amazing what teenagers will believe. Or maybe it was just my friends and me. But we did believe that Bob Dylan was the coolest and wisest philosopher/anti-establishment poet who really knew what we were thinking and feeling at the time. He had sage advice for us all. Every one of his songs was a treasure trove waiting to be unlocked by us. Every lyric a shot at wisdom and, most importantly, ultimate coolness -- the most sought-after prize every teenager craved.

Thirty years later, I'm sitting at home across the continent from the Bronx where I once was that teenager listening to Bob Dylan. My children will soon start their own teenage years. As incredible as that seems to me, it's equally amazing that today is Bob Dylan's seventieth birthday. Wow! Bob Dylan is 70!

I look at the album cover of him and his girlfriend from 1963, two years before I was born. They look like two kids, and the album is named The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan. They look exactly like the kids in my high school, and like the kids today. And the streets of Greenwich Village in New York City look exactly as I knew them when I walked down those mean streets very late at night as a teenager.

But Dylan is now 70 years old. It's difficult for me to imagine the pop culture icon I admired as a teenager being this age. Although he's probably a better musician and performer today than he was when he invented his lyrics under the influence of some massively potent substances, the teenagers of today would never relate to him as he is now. Because, as is often the case, the messenger is just as important as the message. True, the messenger, or the pop icon, need not be incredibly handsome or polished, or a fashion trend-setter. On the contrary, Dylan was a simple guy whose strength was that he elevated his lyrics into poetry (or so it seemed), while remaining genuine. Authentic. Real.

Yes, all of Dylan's simplicity was not only overlooked, but actually part of his greatness. Even the fact that, when sober, it was questionable whether his lyrics were mostly devoid of any meaning or logic could be easily forgiven. Because in the world of pop culture, everything an icon does can be forgiven. Except for one thing: Getting older.

Restaurant review: Ok food, terrible experience

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 17:48:43 -0700

We specifically went to the European Corner Cafe because we had a gift certificate for it. When we went to pay, the manager refused to honor the gift certificate and said it was expired because it was over a year old. When we pointed out to the manager that the gift certificate states right on it, "This gift certificate does not expire," he still refused to honor it. Seriously, is it worth losing customers and your reputation over $25? DO NOT EAT HERE! While the food was ok, I agree with the other reviewer that the manager's lack of judgment and, quite frankly his rudeness, make this restaurant unpalatable.

Restaurant review: Manhattan in Brooklyn

Mon, 11 Jan 2010 20:23:14 -0700

Superbly presented, delicious fare. Ample portions, friendly service, nice ambiance. Suitable for a family dinner as well as more intimate one on one dining.

Restaurant review: Business Lunch

Mon, 21 Dec 2009 21:11:52 -0700

Great pizzas, great salads, great soups, great sushi, great wraps. Prices are fair, portions are decent. Nice place for a hearty lunch in midtown Manhattan.

I must try it, sometime, for a fast dinner.

Restaurant review: Nice Atmosphere, Good Food

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 14:12:49 -0700

I arrived at The Cow on a Sunday night at dinner time. My friend Jonathan was in town, and we were in the general vicinity, so we decided to stop by.

The best aspect of The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is its location. There is no better location in Beverly Hills, and probably no better location in all of Los Angeles. Parking was very convenient, as there is public parking in the building. Very reasonably priced valet. The location is basically in the heart of Beverly Hills, right near One Rodeo Drive. This means that the restaurant is surrounded by a super select bunch of stores and good class people.

The atmosphere at The Cow is pleasant. It?s elegant without being too elegant, so you?d feel comfortable whether dressed for business or in jeans. There?s a setup for live music although none was playing while we were there. That?s OK -- the noise from a large family with young children provided enough audio stimulation?

The Cow Jumped Over the Moon is a dairy restaurant and its specialty is really kosher sushi. There is also a reasonable selection of Italian and American entrees, as well as a decent selection of appetizers. We ordered an eggplant pizza to split as an appetizer, and it was a good thing we split it, as it was basically a full-blown meal by itself. Although the service was good, it did take quite a while to get the appetizer. In the meantime, there was a bread basket.

Both Jonathan and I wound up ordering the Salmon Puttanesca. It was a good-size piece of salmon, grilled, on a bed of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes. The salmon was topped with a tomato-based puttanesca sauce with capers. We asked for the salmon to be well done (cooked through and through), and it arrived just as we ordered it. It was a nice dish with a good balance of flavors and it was satisfying, although not overly exciting. I would probably order it again, but I don?t crave it as is the case with exceptionally good dishes.

During the meal we were asked several times if everything was to our satisfaction and it was.

When I asked the waiter what the house specialty would be, he explained that the main attraction was the sushi, especially the Sunshine Roll.

Restaurant review: New York's Prime Kosher Steakhouse

Sun, 29 Nov 2009 08:51:23 -0700

Great food, great presentation, friendly service, pleasant looking. All the above sounds good, but does not even begin to do justice to this eatery.

Best steaks I've ever had, not cheap but worth it!

Restaurant review: Food Masterpieces

Wed, 18 Nov 2009 18:52:16 -0700

If any of the great 16th century painters were to come back as a chef, he would surely ply his trade at u cafe. They make make dairy and vegetarian sandwiches I ever tried. Their grilled tuna is incomparable, the fritatta's looks and taste is undescribable delicious. Their cakes are excellent

Restaurant review: Great food, great atmosphere

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:54:43 -0700

Intimate, romantic atmosphere, with live music on some evenings. The food is very good, the prices very fair. Located in the Upper West Side, it's an upscale establishment you'll want to return again and again.

Restaurant review: Good restaurant....rude customers

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 05:03:14 -0700

This was my first experience at a Kosher restaurant...I went with my husband and kids. Pizza was great, staff was funny and having a good time but they were all friendly and helpful and the dining room was pretty neat with the murial of Europe. There was a table of 4 sitting next to us and these customers couldn't be any more rude to the staff. From the minute they sat down they did nothing but complain...here are some of the comments that we overheard;

"The prices are high"

"This restaurant should give salads and soups for FREE to the guests"

"Our server is singing"

Here are my suggestions to anyone who is reading this....

#1 - If you can't afford to dine out or expect to only pay $10.00 than stay home and have a microwave dinner

#2 - Don't expect free soups or salads.....do you think the owner of the restaurant gets that stuff for free...It's a business people, they are there to make money

#3 - Since when is it a crime to have fun at work...if the staff is singing or dancing or even doing cartwheels in the dining room then good for them...having fun at your job is a great thing....

So if you are reading other reviews that state the owner or staff is rude than I would probably bet my life that the customer(s) were 3 times more rude to start with!!!!

Restaurant review: The Best Fro-Yo in SoCal. By Far.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 21:13:52 -0700

OK. Here it is: The best frozen yogurt in SoCal. These people really know how to make frozen yogurt that tastes like ice cream.

Yozen Frogurt is a chain of frozen yogurt stores started by a local husband and wife team. The atmosphere is really nothing to write home about. In fact, it would be good for the owners to consult a restaurant designer, as there are several amateur restaurant owner mistakes evident. So, this store's success is based on product, not style.

Their claim to fame is that their frozen yogurt has the consistency (creaminess and sweetness) of soft-serve Dairy Queen-style ice-cream, not sour, icy yogurt as is served at most other frozen yogurt joints.

Yozen Frogurt offers a large selection of flavors, although my favorite flavor is Country Vanilla. It doesn't sound as exciting as other flavors, but it is the most ice-cream like. In fact, I would never guess that it's anything but ice-cream. Except that is has less than half the calories and fat.

Living in the San Fernando Valley, one can't help but make a comparison between Yozen Frogurt and Menchie's, which is another popular fro-yo chain. I might write about this in detail later, but for now, suffice it to say that Menchie's wins hands down for decor and being a "destination" with superior atmosphere and concept. But as for the product itself, Yozen Frogurt blows Menchie's away.

Restaurant review: Don't waste your money on this place!!!

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 13:46:28 -0700

This was very disappointing. It looks like it would be a good place, but it is the exact opposite!

We started with no soap in the women's bathroom, not a good sign. Then some of the items we tried to order off the menu, we were told they don't have. Finally we settled on a large pizza for two people. We were told to take a seat and the server brought us water.

Twenty minutes later our pizza came in a togo box. Confused, we asked for plates. We were told we couldn't eat pizza in the restaurant. The server couldn't explain why. We asked to speak to the owner. The owner said it was his policy to save money. He didn't want 15 teenagers coming in, ordering one pizza and staying for hours.

We were two starving people and the restaurant was EMPTY! He insisted we leave and would not make an exception. Even though NO ONE informed of us this crazy rule when we ordered the pizza.

The owner made us leave and called us "crazy." The co-owner tried to smooth things over, you could tell she was embarrassed, but we didn't care.

The previous review also had an issue with the owner. We should not support rude restaurant owners like this one. Your experience will not be a pleasant one at this restaurant. Save your money for a place that deserves it!