How To Do A Quirky Wedding Right

Mmm. Take a look at that wedding cake. Pretty, huh? Clever and unusual? Absolutely. What is it? We'll get back to that.

My cousin, Matt, got married in Old Lyme, Conn., over the weekend to this fantastic woman, Madora. They're real down-to-earth, smart kids with a terrific sense of themselves and everybody in attendance knew these two were perfect for one another. I've only got three first cousins and Matt and I, as the only grandsons on our common side of the family, grew up very close thanks in large part to our wonderful grandmother, who died in 2003.


Miles and I were curious how Matt and Madora would execute their wedding since neither seemed like people given to elaborate ceremony or even for being the centers of attention. They're just not fussy and indulgent like, I dunno, a certain gay couple whose wedding you might have read about on this blog. And yet, Madora's family owns this amazing spread on the Connecticut shore of the Long Island Sound, so the setting was going to be stunning any which way. See?


We probably should've known this was going to be a different -- and only in a good way, I swear -- sort of thing when the invitation came ... without the date on it. An e-mail followed apologizing with a very self-amused and amusing, "Oops, who does that? Heh Heh."

So, how else was this event unusual? Well, the officiant was not a minister or rabbi or even a justice of the peace. It was Matt's childhood friend who works at San Francisco City Hall. And while the bride wore a becoming simple, white, almost traditional sleeveless gown, the groom wore seersucker. Also, the bridesmaids wore...


...whatever they wanted.

They set up a tent next to this real old house with all sorts of secret passageways and such that my nephews and nieces had a grand old time exploring. The servers were all young girls from a local charity whose name I don't recall; Madora decided rather than hiring a professional waitstaff, she'd enlist some teenagers and give the money to their group. Smart. Oh, and dancing took place under a tent on a concrete patio with tunes pumped in from someone's Mac.

Dinner was pizza. But not just any ol' pizza, no. Great pizza. Cooked and served on...


...this firetruck! The Pizzetta Mystic Company's Mobile Pizza Unit. The guy on top made the pizza, that video to the right showed him doing so and the pizza was served on a buffet on that ladder.


It was really amazing pizza -- and a lot of fun. There was also this photo booth on the other side where you can don fire helmuts. Here's me with my 10-year-old niece, Allyson:


Drinks were largely served in bottles out of large buckets filled with ice. And after pizza, there was Haagen Dazs pops. Here's me with my 15-year-old niece, Tziona, having one:


But the kicker was, in fact, the cake. Take another look at it:


Miles and I looked it over and thought maybe it was a big thing of fudge or a massive brownie or ganache, maybe. And then we learned what it actually was. It was, in fact, the strategic arrangement of 16 of these:

Ta-da! Miles and I spent $300 on this thing...


...and it was totally gross. Matt and Madora spent about $50 and it was an (under)statement that fit the entire event. Bravo!!!

Mostly, though, I am so happy for the couple and my aunt and uncle. See how delighted my aunt is?


I've seen that smile before. On my grandmother at another family wedding that took place, eerily, a decade ago this weekend. See?


Congrats to all. We were honored to be there.

Off to Philly...

...to contend with a family emergency. Can't really say more than that except that nobody's health is at stake but my sister is having a bit of a crisis and asked me to come and I had a free Southwest ticket so I hopped the last flight out on Monday. Miles and guest host Amy will do "The Strip" on Tuesday night and more info on later. Gotta get some rest now.

The Nicest Thing To Happen In A While

On my flight to Florida last week, I was seated on the aisle across from a mom and her young son and daughter. The boy was about 2, the girl was maybe 6. He sat on the aisle, the little girl was on the window and the mom was in the middle. As I made a return to my seat from the toilet, the little boy dropped his little toy, a miniature of Sully from Monsters Inc. I picked it up and gave it back to him.

About five minutes later, the little boy tapped me on the shoulder and handed me a folded piece of notebook paper. I opened it and found this:


I was confused, so I looked over at the mother.

"This morning, my daughter was drawing pictures at the kitchen table and she took this one and folded it up and gave it to me," the mother explained. "I asked her what she wanted me to do with it, and she said, 'Put it in your purse and we'll give it to someone when they do something nice for us.' "

All together now: Awwwww! I now carry this picture in my bag. Whenever I look at it, I smile.

Why Same-Sex Marriage Matters

I suspect most who read this blog support marriage equality or at least some form of civil unions. But if you don't or if you know lots of people who don't, I'm reposting with permission here a lovely essay written by my friend Jack LeVine. Jack lost his husband, J.J., on Tuesday afternoon after more than 30 years together. J.J. had emphysema.

J.J. died within hours of the Nevada Senate voting to pass a domestic partner law by a 12-9 vote, two short of enough to override a threatened veto by Gov. Jim Gibbons. It's on to the Assembly now, where State Sen. David Parks believes he has a veto-proof majority. Whether he can persuade Gibbons not to veto or pull two more votes over in the Senate to override remains unclear, but this debate so often takes place in the sanitized environs of media debate.

This, then, is the practical reality. This is a real couple. And, as a side note, I'll be on Nevada Week in Review tonight on VegasPBS discussing this issue as well.

Here's Jack's blog post after J.J. died. Jack blogs at VeryVintageVegas.Com. Grab a hankie.

A Memorial: James J. Pechacek 1954-2009

April 22nd, 2009

My husband passed away on Tuesday. Actually, he was my Fiance. We’d been engaged for 33 years. He tried to hang on long enough for us to get married. That goal helped keep him alive for the last several years. He’d have been perfectly content with “domestic partnership”.

JJ was a very private person. Few of you ever met him, nor even knew of his existence. Those who did were indeed, very privileged.

JJ was the counter balance force in my life. We were polar opposites in so many ways. He was a meticulous stickler for details, a deep thinker, a slow responder. He prided himself on his rationality, and his memory. JJ was the best “phone a friend” walking encyclopedia that anyone could have ever hoped to have known. And though he didn’t think so, he was the cutest little puppy in the world.

JJ was the first fan of Vintage Vegas. He’s the one who made me believe 20 years ago that we could create a vibrant, energetic, fun urban core. When we first moved to Las Vegas 1985, he’s the one who only wanted to live downtown. He’s the one who pointed out the first “mid mod” homes that I soon fell in love with. We didn’t know the words for mid mod, but JJ’s the one who showed me why they were important. JJ was my biggest supporter, my most ardent fan. And he was my most vocal critic. I’m so going to miss him.

JJ liked his privacy and his anonymity. I was most shocked on Sunday when he told me that I could tell some of our story in public….as long as it was to make a point.

We met in 1975. We were both 21 year olds. He was hitchhiking to Florida. I was driving the semi-truck. I stopped to pick him up in Louisville, and was in love before we got to Nashville. He wanted to be a Gypsy. I wanted to be rich. He wanted to see the great cities and buildings and mountains and rivers and I wanted to meet a couple of million interesting people. We both got what we wanted.

It’s been a long, exciting, and fun journey since then. We’ve been rich and poor and rich and poor again. We’ve been healthy and sick. We’ve been fun loving and furious. We were a couple thru lots of thick and thin. We were PARTNERS. That’s the word we used to describe ourselves. And in our minds and in the reality of space and time we were married. We were married because we said we were. We could have cared less what any church might have thought. That our government considered us second class citizens… mattered a lot.

It was crushing to me yesterday when the coroner’s office didn’t have a category that described us for the death certificate. They wrote that he was SINGLE. They said I WASN’T THE NEXT OF KIN!

Back in January, the hospital recognized the legal power of attorney and other forms that had cost us thousands of dollars in legal fees. Most “not married” couples don’t have those papers ready when they need them. Many couldn’t afford them in the first place. We were fortunate in that regard. Without them, they would wouldn’t have even had to let me into the room.

There’s a thousand things, both big and small that require “the stamp of recognition” from our various governments. Social Security Survivor benefits, taxes, inheritance rules, property rights, parental rights, and on and on and on. This is no small matter to the lives of many millions of Americans.

And that brings us to the irony of the timing of JJ’s passing. Within a few minutes one way or the other of JJ’s death….The Nevada Senate passed “Domestic Partnership” legislation. JJ would be very proud of them. Many of our best friends are in Carson City this week to tell our stories, and to lobby for passage of the bill. JJ wanted me to go, but I couldn’t leave him alone for 3 days. I’ve asked them to deliver a copy of this obituary for me.

Our governor has said that he’ll veto it if it passes. Why? Because “he doesn’t believe in it” is the only answer he has. JJ believed in it and so do I. I hope you do, as well.

One of JJ’s final requests was that I tell you our story and that I ask all of you, in his memory, to PLEASE call or write the Nevada Legislature, AND THE GOVERNOR and tell them that you support domestic partnership legislation. For that matter, tell the Congress and the President as well.

All JJ wanted was that I be recognized, at the barest of minimums, as his LEGAL “next of kin.”

Vegas Snow Day!!!

Lookit!!! That's Black and Jack sitting under our snow-covered courtyard canopy! OK, I put them there. And they wouldn't stay for long. But I gave them a treat for their troubles, so don't call the ASCPA, please.

Here's the snow view from our front, complete with the blown-up chubby Santa...


...but it's kind of hard to see, so look at this street view...



As I mentioned, the dogs weren't impressed. They went back to doing what they do...


OK. Back to work. You, too.

[UPDATE: Readers want to share, too. Here's Troy's snow pix. Send me links to yours or put the link in a comment!]

My Uncle's Situation

Many readers and listeners have inquired about how my uncle, Richard Goldman, is after my lengthy vigil with him and my aunt, Susan, at the hospital in New York earlier this month. Richard has struggled with pancreatic cancer since summer of 2006, a rather long survival period. Anyhow, I figured I'd post this email from my Aunt Robin, Susan's sister and Richard's sister-in-law, informing the family of the situation. My parents are Neil and Joan, my uncle's brother and nephew are Larry and Morgan, my uncle's daughter (my cousin) is Heather.

It was sent today and starts from the beginning:

On Dec. 6, Richard was rushed to New York Presbyterian Hospital because the biliary stents were not working and his body was purging bile. Over the previous few days, he had been experiencing increasingly tremendous pain that wasn't really being addressed adequately at home. He was also having difficulty tolerating the hyperalimentation. When admitted, it was found that Richard had an infection, probably related to the hyperalimentation and, initially, his vitals were all over the chart. We did not anticipate that he would last more than a few hours, perhaps days.

I had been in Albany but came down and met them at the Emergency Room (with a short stop for a speeding ticket...) Since it was the weekend that Susan and Richard traditionally host a Hanukkah party, Neil and Joan were in New York and Steven decided to surprise everyone with a wonderful Hanukkah gift of being with us for the party; what was anticipated as being an overnight day visit, resulted quite a bit longer visit. Richard's brother, Larry, flew back from Costa Rica on Friday evening, and both he and Morgan camped out with us at the hospital. As seems to be the Friess family way, we all gathered to support Susan and Richard during those very difficult first days.

The room was large enough to accommodate a cot so Susan was able to stay over at night, and we made sure that she had someone with her from morning to bedtime. Neil and Joan extended their visit for a few days but, with a new business to run, had to return to Florida. Richard's condition deteriorated day by day, with his morphine level being adjusted higher and higher to combat the excruciating pain. Both Shoshana, Susan and Richard's rabbi, and Rabbi Shem-Tov, Heather's rabbi, visited and provided him and Susan with much needed succor. When articulate, Richard very clearly declared his wish that there not be any extraordinary care, no tests, no machines, no nutrition. He was very calm and determined, and wanted everyone around him to understand that he was at peace.

After 10 days of decline, suddenly, late on Monday, December 17, Richard became very much awake and aware. He asked for some apple pie. Over the next week, his condition seemed improved. His blood pressure, pulse and oxygen level was strong and his pain was being contained. He developed a great appreciation for the smell and taste of Pepsi, enjoying mouthfuls of it as if it were the finest wine. He would have a teaspoon of Jell-O occasionally. He was very conversational and very upbeat. However, he did not change his wish regarding extending his life. Susan engaged the services of a night nurse and was able to go home to sleep. This phase lasted for about a week.

Over the past week, he has become weaker. An MRI on Thursday showed lesions on Richard's liver. The oncologist, Dr. Sherman, suggested that Susan and Richard speak with a surgeon about the possibility of having a feeding tube inserted directly into his intestines (since his stomach was not processing food) and even hinted that if that were possible, Richard might be able to go home. Initially, Richard seemed interested in hearing more about this but unfortunately, the surgeon did not feel that inserting the tube would be a good idea. He said that given Richard's condition an hour long procedure would be very trying to his system, that this method of providing nutrition has a very high incidence for infection and that given the liver lesions, it was not advised.

He reiterated what the palliative nurse had said a week earlier that when 'shutting down,' the human body naturally compensates by producing endorphins so that people in Richard's condition do not feel hungry. We were assured that by not providing nutrition, we were not causing any suffering. In fact, he said, if the tube was inserted, it would be more for those around Richard than for Richard's sake. It would not improve his comfort level.

On the same day, Susan was notified that a bed had become available at a hospice that is just a few blocks from their home in Riverdale and we are hopeful that Richard will be moving there later today. Richard remains emphatic about his wishes for his care and the hospice would seem to be the best way to respect those wishes.

And we're back...almost

So very sorry for being so derelict in blogging these past weeks. I'll be back on track as soon as we're back in Vegas. To update everyone, my uncle has taken a surprising turn for the better, becoming more talkative and using less morphine than before. He may want to die, but his body's not ready. He remains in the fancy area of the NY hospital, but I left the vigil on Wednesday after 10 days of sitting with my aunt for several hours a day. Last I heard yesterday, she was trying to convince my uncle to allow the reintroduction of nourishment. It's unlikely he has a long time left, but it's also not as clear when he might go.

Anyhow, I joined Miles in Atlanta on Wednesday for a few days of visiting with his mother and stepdad here. And that's almost over, so we'll be home in a day or so and I'll be able to take stock on what's going on in Vegas when I'm back.

Going Out In Style at Fancypants Hospital

To some, this may seem a strange and possibly completely inappropriate post, but I write what moves me and I find the setting I've been in for the past week to be somewhat surreal. As most know, my 65-year-old uncle, Richard Goldman, is in the final stages of pancreatic cancer. It is heartbreaking especially because he is a lot of pain and still his heart seems far from quitting and also because he will leave behind my aunt, one of the neatest women I know who just lost her father six months ago, and my 18-year-old cousin. Rough stuff.

That said, this section of this hospital is NUTS. This half of the 9th floor of New York Presbyterian Hospital is known as the McKeen Pavilion, a relatively elegant section where, according to the rate card at the concierge desk, patients may enjoy the corner suite with a river view (that's the HUDSON River) for $1,150 a day. I shit you not. That comes, of course, with "daily New York Times delivery; complimentary spa robe and slippers, complimentary telephone and television, upgraded menu and afternoon tea service (room service style.)" Here below is the tea cart comin' round.


Here is what the view looks of the George Washington Bridge to the north and lower Manhattan and New Jersey to the south. (The NYC skyline is often much clearer, but weather has been overcast and gloomy all week.)


If the corner suites are a little steep, the same amenities apply to the junior suite ($990/day), delux river view room ($717/day) and private riverview room ($650/day). Each room allows one cot for visiting guests, but if you've got more fans in need of lodging, there are eight hotel rooms, each with two twin beds, private bath, TV, phone, fridge and coffee pot for $225/night. Frankly, THAT'S such a good deal in New York that I wonder if you can rent them even if you don't know anybody who's sick.

This is one of those hospitals that has a sense of fame surrounding it. While it's unclear what parts of the hospital or whether the McKeen Pavilion is involved, Richard Nixon, Joey Ramone and Malcolm X all died here or were pronounced dead here. Sunny Von Bulow, the wife of Klaus Von Bulow (a role that won an Oscar for Jeremy Irons in "Reversal of Fortune") has lain in a persistent vegitative state here since 1981. And most recently, Bill Clinton recovered from his heart surgery on this floor. There's a large atrium where a live pianist plays a few hours a day on weekends. The entire area is carpeted, which is one way you know you've left the ordinary, more hospital-like section of this floor and wandered into the Wynn of health care.

My uncle is neither rich or powerful and is not paying these rates. (For that reason, we actually don't get the tea, the robe or the daily newspaper. Fair's fair.) He ended up here because when he was brought into the ER, he needed a certain type of morphine drip that required him to be admitted immediately to a room, but there were no normal rooms available for another several hours. So the admitting ER doctor forced him into the posh section, and here we are.

One of the most intriguing parts of all this is the Windows on the Hudson restaurant, a white-cloth eatery with views of the river, a gourmet chef, a waitstaff in formal attire and calla lillies on each table. (The name is a little eerie as the World Trade Center had a famous top-floor restaurant called Windows on the World.) The menu changes regularly; tonight's offerings included tequila grilled shrimp ($7.50), kobe beef burgers ($14), grilled halibut ($18) and patti pan squash and baby carrots ($3.50). Below is an empty table with a view of the bridge that is unseen because of my flash and a group enjoying a night on the town.

We were going to eat in the restaurant tonight but when my aunt told my uncle she was leaving the room for a little while he surprised her by responding (he's been largely unresponsive) by grabbing her hand and rasping, "No." So we had the food delivered, and here's a shot of that.

We were having the grilled strip steak (with mushroom ragout and mashed potato), gemelli al pomodore and the orange tarragon chicken (with rice pilaf and haricot vert). Oh, and all the entrees come with popovers and strawberry butter.

Quite a place, huh? Oh, and I almost forgot...free wi-fi, too. Like I said, NUTS. But in a good way.

Update from New York

Thanks to all who have been in touch regarding my uncle and his pancreatic cancer. I flew into New York and prebooked on the Super Shuttle from LGA to the hospital in New York, figuring that was the fastest and least expensive option. Please, y'all, never, never, never do that. It took nearly three hours for me to get from LGA to North Harlem, a crime and outrage.

My uncle, who is 65, was quite frail and a little deluded from the morphine. He was able to chat although he got irritable and tired after a short bit. But he was surprisingly gleeful to see me. I say "surprisingly" because he's always been a bit distant. This is my aunt's husband, and while I've known him most of my whole life, I've always had the sense he looked down on my part of the family. My aunt and uncle are the interesting ones, the DEMOCRATS who lived in THE CITY, exercised with a RACEWALKING group in Central Park and went to the OPERA, the BALLET and other such cultured activities. We were the unwashed but moneyed suburbanites.

In recent years, Uncle Richard has seemed to warm to me, largely because I followed such a
different path than my family and I turned out to be gay and a writer. But still, I didn't expect the gratitude I experienced when I entered the hospital room, un-self-consciously
embraced him despite his frightful appearance and asked him very bluntly if quietly about why he had chosen to pass on further care and what he was thinking about.

I stayed for a while, then went to Brooklyn to stay with my friend Adam. Now I'm heading back to the hospital. Still not sure how long I'm staying.

Here we go again...

For the second time this year, I'm on my way out of town in anticipation of a family death. My uncle, Richard Goldman, who has suffered from pancreatic cancer for about 18 months now, is now in the hospital and has declined all treatments outside of pain relief. Eighteen months means he already beat the odds on this savage disease; only 20 percent survive the first year. But the inevitable seems to be quite near.

As it happened, I was en route to New York on Saturday to surprise the family at our Hannukah party, which annually takes place at Uncle Richard and Aunt Susan's home in the Bronx. I was to return Monday, a very quick jaunt. Instead, it seems I'll be sticking around for longer than planned. The situation seems murky, but it doesn't make much sense to come home until it's over.

Right now, Miles and I still plan on a live show on Tuesday night, even if I have to phone it in and he has to handle the interview in the studio with "...A New Day" and "Le Reve" director Brian Burke. Not sure, however, how I'll get the unedited file to edit and post for the podcast. Keep watch on this space for updates.

What is a Jewish Atheist, You Ask...

Strange the little things I jot that prompt emails and questions.

Tom wrote:

"OK is it just me or is "jewish atheist" an oxymoron. Just a thought."

Not really. I have come to a place where I don't believe in God, but I still have a great deal of affection for my Jewish heritage, culture, history and traditions. One does not need to believe in God to understand the righteousness of moderation, frugality, philanthropy, intellectual curiosity and love that Judaism teaches. And I find my own meaning in many of the rituals.

The Passover story of the Exodus from Egypt, for instance, is a real historical event even if I'm dubious of the notion that Moses turned a staff into a snake or parted a sea with his underarm odor. (Tidal shifts seem far more likely.) But the notion of an oppressed people being forced to save themselves is universal, and one of the most beautiful moments of the whole story is the one that is routinely overlooked, that "God" scolds the Israelites for rejoicing when the Egyptian army drowns in the Red Sea. The idea of having compassion for your enemies and even your former oppressors is a lovely sentiment, one that would improve the world tremendously if taken seriously.

The Jewish New Year, too, is full of serious sentiment in which I find great meaning. For one thing, it makes a lot more sense to me to celebrate a new beginning at the start of autumn than in the arbitrary dead of winter. New school years, relationships and jobs have always marked this part of the year to me for some reason. And the idea of spending a week contemplating how to be a better person is laudable and spending a full day not eating to immerse in a more intense consideration of personal mistakes and flaws has always been worthwhile and replenishing.

Mostly, though, I adore the traditions of my youth, the family gatherings, the ceremonial trappings and even the special foods, with the exception of gefilte fish and chopped liver but my grandmother learned to accept that so who are you to judge? My family was not an overtly religious one, there wasn't a lot of talk about sin and piety. My dad was the one who taught me the Bible stories are allegorical at best by pointing out to me that it doesn't make sense for Cain to walk the Earth showing his mark to the "other people" when we've just been told that his parents were the first two humans. "Where did all these people come from?" my father would say. I think that was the same killer argument that slayed fundamentalism in "Inherit the Wind."

But these cultural and spiritual -- yes, you can be spiritual without believing in God -- events nonetheless tie us together and tie us to the historical Jews whose survival ensured our existence.

Can someone explain this to me?

Before Miles, I had one other significant relationship. My first partner and I met when we were 20, had a big fancy wedding at 26 and split up in a very bitter divorce at 30. That was 2002.

Since then, I have lived at three different addresses. My ex and I are no longer as bitter but we have very little contact and mainly know of one another's doings from another couple. I have Miles and my ex, who is a third-year medical resident in the Chicago area, has some guy who likes piercings and kilts. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

But, oddly, this week something weird started happening: I'm getting mail at this house for my ex-partner. It's not forwarded. It doesn't have my name anywhere near it. And, again, this is my third address since we broke up. My ex, in fact, has never had any reason to send me anything here, so I doubt he even knows my address.

Both pieces of mail so far were junk. One was some debt-consolidation service that referenced his medical-school loan debt (whew - dodged that bullet). The other offered him a low-interest credit card. I suspect, given this, that more is to come.

Could it really be that some junk-mail firm figured out that we were once involved -- although that's been over for nearly five years and was never legal in any way that would show up in the sorts of documents and services that such firms use to harvest information? It is true that if you Google his whole name, the fourth entry is a notice that appeared in 1999 in my university's alumni magazine announcing our wedding. But the first three entries aren't even him, they're other people -- other doctors, in fact -- with his whole name. And anyway, isn't that a lot of steps for them to take to put his name to my address?

Baffling, no? Anyone have any vague explanation? Or any way to stop it now that it's started?

Believe it or not...

...Miles and I are doing a live show on Tuesday night. He asked if I was up for it; I am SO ready to get back in the swing. I'll fly back to Vegas early Tuesday; the funeral was today.

So join us if you can from 7-8 pm PT on Tuesday at LVRocks.Com for the live chat and our long-awaited Donny Osmond show. We will, I'm sure, discuss my grandfather but then get back to the Vegas news and all the rest of the stuff that you all crave.

Thanks for being so supportive through all of this. I'm too exhausted right now to write about the funeral and where I'm at emotionally. But I did want to let our weekly chatters know we'll be on tomorrow night. It'll be nice to be with you all at the conclusion of this dramatic time.

R.I.P. Morris Friess, March 27, 1914-July 8, 2007

My grandfather died this morning.

Miles and I often debate euphemisms for that verb, since I'm a stickler for word economy and accuracy, and the term "passed away" always sticks in my craw. Yes, even in mourning I am a bit of a language curmudgeon.

That's him back in around 1991 with my grandmother and grandpa's sister, Aunt Sadie, browsing one of my earliest clip books. Other than me, they're all gone. And each of them died past 87 years of age.

We got the call from hospice at about 7:30 am today; it happened overnight and now my aunt is kicking herself over not staying last night. But, as I told her last night, when you're trying to go to sleep, it's easier when people aren't talking to you and the TV's not on. Grandpa wanted that peace to be on his way.

Or whatever. It's all in what you believe, what you need to believe, what makes these things seem better, more noble, more meaningful.

But now, this being a blog, I turn to a rant: AIRLINES SUCK. Bereavement fares are fictitious or, at the very least, anti-Semitic. That is, Jewish funerals are very quick affairs, no open casket and little pre-burial to-do. He died this morning, he'll be buried tomorrow at 2 pm in New York, then the weeklong period of mourning known as shiva occurs, largely a period of sitting around visiting with thoughtful relatives and friends and eating many bagels and whitefish. So, with just a few hours to arrange for Miles' crosscountry journey from Vegas to New York we discover the rates are obnoxiously high -- nothing short of $360 each way. Just too much. With the "bereavement fare" charade. I actually hung up on the reservationist for Delta, the airline of my salvation just a day earlier, when she started citing a fare of "One thousand two..." Click!

So I'll go it alone, although I'll be with my entire family. And I'll hightail it back to Vegas early Tuesday morning and Miles, who was going to visit his family in Atlanta the same day, will leave one day later so we can be together for a day. Thank goodness for Southwest Rapid Rewards tickets and the affordability and flexibility they provide.

And so it goes. I'll be giving a eulogy tomorrow for my grandfather, whom I adored and admired, on behalf of my sisters, their kids and my cousins. I'll post that later tomorrow since everyone's been so kind and since I really will want the world to know what a marvelous man Morris Friess was.

Or not

I woke up at 6:30 a.m. today at my parents' home in West Palm Beach to go see my resurgent grandfather (my dad's dad) before I had to drive to Broward County (70 miles south) to see my surviving grandmother (my mom's mom) before an afternoon flight I booked out of Fort Lauderdale back to Vegas.

At 7 a.m., my grandfather was sleeping soundly. I couldn't wake him. I didn't want to try too hard, even when the nurse at the hospice said, "Toss some water on his face and wake him up!" So I sat with him for an hour, then drove to see my grandmother. She turns 90 this month, by the way. These are some sturdy genes, I tell ya.

Around noon, my father called. Grandpa was still not awake and the doctor could not rouse him. His kidneys had quit entirely, his midsection was filling up, his breath was again belabored.

I called Delta to ask what I could do with the one-way ticket to Vegas I had bought the night before. Shockingly, the guy I got on the phone was terrific, expressed his condolences and offered to put a note in the system to allow me to reuse my full fare without those change fees. Then, seeing the ticket had been booked within the past 24 hours, he said he could just refund the whole thing to my credit card. Amazing, huh? I have name so I can write Delta and laud him.

So I drove back to the hospice and stayed for another seven hours. I don't know how all the time passes. We talk, we eat this and that from the vending machine, we read and watch a little TV, we take note of every little tic and motion and then call those relatives not present to report them.

It's unlikely he'll ever wake up again, but he did seem to be showing small signs of awareness. My aunt and I are certain we saw him nod slightly when he was asked if he was comfortable and his breathing becomes faster when we speak to him. I put a stick with a tiny pink soaked sponge on it in his mouth and, while most of the time there was no response, twice he did clamp down on it and suck in some water.

As before, this all is an emotional minefield. Yesterday we were encouraged by his progress, so obviously we don't WANT him to die. But now he's uncommunicative, breathing with great difficulty and bloating, so maybe dying would be a good thing since he's said his wishes were no respirator, no dialysis, no medication? By now I would've been home in Vegas with Miles, who I miss terribly, because this looked like it could take quite a while and my grandfather's funeral will be in New York, not here, anyway. So we will now be apart as long as this takes -- and how long is that, exactly? Is it wrong to feel anxious, to wish it were over?

Again, thanks to everyone's kind, encouraging and thoughtful emails. It's nice to know sharing this is of some value.

The Weirdest Thing

The man to your right was supposed to be dead by now.

Instead, my grandfather today was eating, talking, laughing, singing and announcing to no one in particular, "I'm happy!" He wanted his false teeth, his glasses and his watch. My father and aunts are now weighing their options in terms of nursing homes for a man whose blood pressure was plummeting three days ago and whose kidneys recently changed their mind and decided to be useful for a while longer. I can't imagine it happens much, but he's likely to check OUT of hospice alive in a couple days as if he was there for a weekend getaway. Meanwhile, my father today received a condolence card from one of his neighbors.

So...I'm flying home to get back to my real life Saturday evening. My grandfather may not last much longer even with all this good news, but I've visited and gotten so much more out of it than I expected. I'm contented with these important memories.

While I've been here, I missed out on covering a Chinese acrobat slave saga, a shooting at the New York-New York and the start of the World Series of Poker.

Oh well. It's Vegas. Something off-the-wall will happen next week, too.

The Amazing Moish

First off, thanks to so many, many of you for your kind emails of concern and sympathy.

My grandfather, Morris Friess, is a remarkable creature. He rebounded from a broken hip at 88 to be able to walk a mile to the pizza parlor in NY six months later. And now at 93, although clearly on his way out, he's making some unusual strides.

When I flew down here, his kidneys were failing and his blood pressure was being artificially inflated by medication that was being administered solely so that he didn't expire while I was in transit. Per his wishes, we've removed all the medication save morphine and we refused dialysis. Yesterday, he was moved to a beautiful hospice center.

And then his kidneys started working again and his blood pressure -- without assistance -- was improving. He's been awake for moments on and off, and while he sleeps he starts bellowing odd phrases like, "Get your foot off my foot!" So it's really unclear what's what, but he does seen more contented in hospice without so many tubes and such.

This has, obviously, been a strange and confusing time for my family. One of my father's two sisters is here with me and we've had a really nice visit, and all this idle time in the hospital/hospice has been strangely eventful in its own Seinfeldian way. And balancing my grandfather's end-of-life decisions with the evidence that his spirit may be broken but his body has the durability of an Energizer bunny has given rise to fear, uncertainty, guilt and, since we're a loud Jewish family from New York, even some humor.

I'll be going over shortly to see how he is and then decide how much longer I ought to remain here. He would be buried in New York besides my grandmother, so I probably would not come back here unless somehow he miraculously lasts many months.

Again, thanks to all of you for the really nice emails. Stay tuned and, if you really, really have some interest, I posted some photos and a message to my relatives who aren't here on a very, very back-dated blog post here.

No "Strip" This Week

I'm very sorry to say I had to rush out of Vegas today to the East Coast because my 93-year-old grandfather, Morris Friess, is gravely ill and likely to die in the next couple of days. I received conflicting reports of his condition during my arduous travels today, but I saw for myself at 4 am when I got to the hospital that his breathing is belabored and he won't be returning to form ever again. His kidneys are failing and my father, per my grandfather's wishes, has refused a respirator or dialysis, so it can't be long.

Grandpa Moish is a wonderful, gentle soul who has enjoyed a productive, happy and almost flawlessly healthy life. I'm as sad as someone should be, I suppose, when someone who has lived a long, well-lived life is almost done, if that makes any sense. Very numb, but I can't possibly feel cheated. Heck, I made it in time. I doubt any of my sisters will be as fortunate.

More to come in coming days, but keep the Friesses in your thoughts. That photo is me on my graduation day from Northwestern on June 14, 1994 with my grandfather and grandmother, who died on Dec. 9, 2003 at the age of 87.

Yes, we have great genes. My living grandmother is turning 90 this month. And my great-grandfather was 104 when he died.

A Real and Fake Liza Sunday

Hope you're all having a nice holiday weekend!

Miles and I were out yesterday spending money like drunken gay sailors, refurnishing our bedroom, kitchen and living room, plus replacing my dying iPod and picking up a fancy camcorder so we can start doing more video editions of "The Strip."

Meanwhile, after all the hullabaloo surrounding the Mel Brooks stuff, I've been busy finishing a few uninspiring but well-paying assignments to pay for all that loot.

More interestingly, though, I'm off tonight to the Imperial Hellhole, err, Palace to cover the 16th annual "Reel Awards," an awards show for the celebrity impersonators industry, for The New York Times. Should be a trip. And as of now I'm still debating whether to attend Liza Minnelli's "gypsy" show at 1 am at the Luxor, a free show for her fellow Strip performers, which she calls "my kids." I hate being out that late, but it's Liza and it's a raw retro Vegas throwback to the Rat Pack era when such shows were common. Also, it'll be fun to see if I can tell the difference between the real Liza and all the fakes I'm bound to encounter!

It'll also be interesting since Liza herself got surprisingly rankled last summer when I interviewed her for "The Strip" and asked her about all the impersonators who make a living doing her. You can hear that off-the-wall chat here or right-click to download it and hear it whenever you wish.

My Awesome Little Bro

I'd been meaning to post these and this holiday-weekend lull seems just the time.

As many of you know, I have a Little Brother (from Big Brothers Big Sisters), Jamie. I "got" him when he was just 6 and this August he turns 17. He's graduating from high school next month (a year early) and he's always been really into dance in addition to the more typical teen-boy pursuits of skateboarding, video games, odd hairstyles and girls.

This is a unique, amazingly self-possessed and easy-going kid and I'm incredibly proud to have been a part of his upbringing. He has also, over the years, been a fixture in my writing, whether it's when we snuck into 21 pools on the Strip and graded them for the L.A. Times or when we went backstage at the Boom Boom Huck Jam for the Boston Globe so he could meet his motocross and skateboarding idols. He and his family were also incredibly supportive of my need to speak out when some religious right nutjobs attacked Big Brothers Big Sisters for allowing gay adults to be mentors, which I did in an op-ed piece that ran in several papers around the nation and led to a CNN appearance.

Last weekend, I joined his family at the historic Boulder Theatre (owned by Desi Arnaz Jr.!) in quaint Boulder City for his recital. Here are a few pictures of him doing his moves. I wish I had a program so I could tell you what's what in here: