Thought for the Day

I'd like to see Dog the Bounty Hunter catch Osama Bin Laden, live.

Current Listening

I finally bought last year's new Los Amigos Invisibles album, Venezuelan Zinga Son, Vol. 1, which is a nice follow-up to one of my favourite albums of all times, Arepa 3000: A Venezuelan Journey Into Space. Los Amigos Invisibles continue to create more disco-tinged latin funk and according to their website will be performing at none other than the Sausalito Art Festival on September 4th, for those of you in the Bay Area. Wish I could be around to drag you all to go. I've also been listening to the new Quasimoto album, The Further Adventures of Lord Quas, which is more weird, eclectic dope hop, a nice evolution from the blunted sounds on their debut album a few years back. I've also had M.I.A.'s "Bucky Done Gun" on repeat on my iPod; I've heard much of her album and can't decide if I want to take the plunge and purchase the whole thing, but her artwork, from what I see on her website, is awesome.

Humour

I saw The Aristocrats last night and nearly died laughing. Apparently, me and my crew were some of the only ones who found it funny, because over half the theater up and walked out after the first ten minutes of the film. Yeah, it's crude and raunchy and over-the-top, but there's something really inspired about watching the world's finest comics attempt to one-up each other in their creative comic renderings of an awful yet kinda funny joke.

Since I can't seem to stop blogging today (I can't concentrate working here in the Lobby, but I need to use the internet for things for school and can't get it in my apartment anymore) I just need to write that one of the things distracting me is the high number of truly bizarre people that stroll through my lobby. A girl just walked in wearing a sheer tank top, sweatpants and no bra. For some girls, maybe those that haven't gone through puberty yet, this might not be so offensive. But her shirt is very see-through. I'm sure there are men out there who are saying, "Oh hot! A girl's boobs, free for all to see!" Not all of us want to see her boobs. She's with her boyfriend. Does he appreciate her showing off her boobs for the world to see? How trashy are you to go completely braless? How poor are you to not be able to afford a bra! Her shirt is literally so see-through that if she was on television right now, there would be a portion of the screen blurred out. Ugh! Ghetto!

I am so sick of being around such trashy, digusting, classless people. Get me out of Miami!!!

In Case You Were Wondering

If you're thinking of moving to Miami Beach, don't move into Southgate Towers, bug-ridden den of incompetence. Here are two examples of the dim-witted souls they have pretending to work at the front desk.

During a Storm
Me: Sir, there seems to be a problem with our windows! Water is leaking in and pouring down the bedroom walls. Can some please come fix them? I'm concerned that this may cause permanent damage and create mildew.
Front desk employee (not looking up): It's because your window is open.
Me: What?
Front desk employee: You left your window open. You need to shut your window.
Me (totally and completely stunned by this retort): What? My window isn't open, it's broken.
Front desk employee: No, it's because you left your window open.
Me: Why would I come to the front desk to tell you that I left my window open! My window is closed, but broken. Therefore, when wind blows rain against the window, it seeps it. Can you send someone to fix it?
Front desk employee (as if he's been asked to put his dominant hand into a pot of boiling oil): I'll make a note of it. What apartment are you in?

As this story proceeds, the front desk employee has to write down my number at least 5 times before getting the four numbers correct. No one has ever come to look at the windows or fix them since the request was made two months ago.

Flash forward to 10 minutes ago.

In the Lobby
Me: Do you know when the wireless internet connection will be fixed in the lobby?
Front desk employee: No.
Me: Well, it's been quite a few days that it hasn't been working. Does anyone know?
Front desk employee: Go sit at the desk in that corner. There is better reception over there.
Me: OK.

I move all my belongings and discover that rather than receiving a stronger signal, there's in fact no signal in this far corner.
I go back to the desk.

Me: Sir, it seems that there's in fact no reception in that corner.

Front desk employee nods.

Me: OK, you're nodding in agreement with me.

He continues nodding.

Me: OK, if you know that there's no reception in that corner, why would you tell me to move to that corner?

Front desk employee continues nodding.

Argh! Frustration! If I didn't see the light at the end of the tunnel (i.e., my lease ending in September), I would probably lose my mind dealing with this group of incompetent buffoons.

Welcome to My Jungle

Today as I was pulling a skirt from my closet to get dressed and commence my day, a gecko suddenly landed on my arm. Screaming and jumping ensued (from me), and the terrified gecko darted back into my closet, while a terrified me shivered and repeated "yuck" about 20 times before finally putting on my clothes.

I cannot wait to leave Miami. If I'm not battling a hurricane from flooding my tenth floor apartment, I'm fending off geckos, peeling millipedes off my bedroom walls and spraying silverfish with bug killer. I hate it here!

beginnend

I'm going to the Netherlands! Amsterdam, to be precise. I cannot even begin to articulate how excited I am to go back to Europe, namely to a city full of history, culture, great art museums, and cool bars. Considering that I am hardly a big "inhaler", I'm really excited to be visiting for three months, staying in school housing and not putting myself at the mercy of some godawful hostel filled with drugged-out backpackers. I'm returning to San Francisco in mid-September, then heading overseas around the first of October. So, so excited!

In other news, I've been enduring this little hurricane passing over Miami, and spent yesterday battling a flood in my apartment. Considering that I live on the 10th floor, it was an unexpected experience. A window also flew open during the storm and broke (maintenance came and bolted it shut) and a little later the door to our balcony flew open and shattered the panes of glass on my roommate's bedroom door (which hopefully will get fixed a little later today). Amazingly, the power stayed on through much of the evening, and in my protest against the dreadful broadcasts ("Bob, we've got a log in the middle of the street. Now no one has gotten hurt yet, but they are advising people to not walk near the log") I shut myself in my room for hours where I managed to complete the New York Times crossword and read the second half of Charles Dickens' "Hard Times." At least I accomplished something.

I'm also looking for suggestions for a good book on European History. From about 1000 AD onward.

I'll Take Mine Sunny Side Up

My darling Sarah points my attention to this article on an advertising campaign in Mexico using beautiful women to persuade men not to eat turtle eggs as an aphrodisiac.

Massive Photo Post, Part II: Isle of Coney

Avenue X.


View from subway, en route to Coney Island.




Catherine.






Viktorya arrives on the scene.


At this point, we reflected on the fact that the last time the three of us had all been together, it was in the horrific seaside resort of Benidorm, in the south of Spain. So we laughed and said that we only get together at rundown, touristy beach ghettoes.

Massive Photo Post, Part I: Iron Chef Party.

Roman's apron.


Roman, striking a pose.


Anne and Roman.


Anne's apron.


Beau's apron.


More of Beau's apron.






Jenn.


Jeff and Steph.


Dayna.






Lindsay.


Rich and Lindsay.


Steph and Stef.


Karl and Carlos.


Chili and Danny.


Leah.


Enrique and Renetta.


Josh and Jen.


Michaelynn.


Ian.


Blue Steel.


Carlos and Kristen.


Stefenie.


Shelley.


Stefenie.


Shelley, Stefenie, Roman.


Karl.


Most Creative Apron.


Enrique.




Jenn.




Apron winners.

It's Been A While

I haven't posted in a while. This is because a few weeks ago, I brought my trusty laptop to the living room and found that the reliable wireless connection I've been hijacking all year suddenly required a password. So I've been forced to check email in strange bursts of random signals, or to schlep all the way to school (OK, it's less than a block away) to use the world wide web. Here are the highlights of the past few weeks: I attended an Iron Chef party, hosted by Annie, where all the guests were asked to prepare a dish for the group using the same ingredient. In this case, honey. We then voted on the best meals and the winners were given aprons appropriate to the category in which they won. Did my curried honey chicken win? No, but that's beside the point. I'd post photos, but until I accept the bitter fate of paying for photobucket, this blog will remain photoless for the time being. A few days later, I attended the opening of Cuban photographer Leo Carbajal's exhibition at the Casa Bacardi at the University of Miami. Carbajal was sort of like the Avedon of his day in Cuba (the late '50s and early '60s), shooting glamourous pin-up girls in cheeky, provacative poses. One of the fashion photography teachers at my school worked with other local photographers to 'remaster' Carbajal's works -- he was jailed by Castro and much of his work destroyed by the Communist regime. Carbajal (and his relatives, I believe) managed to send negatives out of the country, but they had remained unprinted until recently. After the show I ate amazing oysters in downtown Miami and then ventured to Calle Ocho to hear a semi-famous Latin band play, which was a refreshing change of pace considering that the majority of my life here is spent sulking around South Beach. The next night, a group of us went to Opium Garden for a short film festival. Opium Garden is now going down in my book as my second least favourite place in Miami Beach, just beneath Crobar which still holds the distinct honour of being the worst place to waste your money as far as nightlife's concerned. As usual, we were treated to the wretched service typical of South Beach -- surly, ignorant bouncers guarded the door, forcing the film festival goers to wait outside the door for an hour after the festival was slated to begin. Since the crowd gathering for the film festival was a median 20 years older than the usual Opium Garden patron, little old ladies and men kvetched about their scheduled dinner plans now ruined and needing to go to the bathroom. Leave it to a South Beach venue to completely miss the point on what a film festival is and run it as a VIP club, not a cultural event aimed at a crowd who has no need for pretentious status. Once we managed to get behind the velvet rope (this after being asked by the bouncers to congregate around it rather than stay in the neatly formed line), I had to ask the man running the event to let in two of our friends remaining on the other side of the velvet rope so that they could enter with us. He kindly obliged and we finally managed to enter Opium Garden. It honestly never ceases to amaze me how clubs and venues here in South Beach treat their guests with the most obscene behaviour, assuming we are all hicks who've never ventured to "the big city" and think being treated with gruff arrogance is appropriate. Once we entered, we found a small table with a spread of hors d'oeurves. Hors d'oeurves, actually, may not be the right word for some slices of Kraft singles and Wheat Thin crumbs. No matter. We got our free drink (served in a plastic cup, naturally, as glass might be too aristocratic for the average Opium Garden guest) and settled in to watch the four films. After an hour, they finally started, and we craned our necks to watch the projection. The first three were OK, but the last and final film, The Tao of Pong, was indeed worth the price of admission.

This past weekend I went to New York to visit friends, and took in the current exhibitions at the recently remodeled MOMA, including a retrospective of Lee Frielander and the friendship between Cezanne and Pissaro. In addition to several extremely good meals out (and one very nice meal in, at my aunt's apartment on Sunday night, during a loud thunderstorm and subsequent torrential downpour), I had the opportunity to venture all the way down to Coney Island. I rode the Cyclone twice (both times in the front seat), the Tilt-a-Whirl once, got heckled by various carnies, ate a slice of authentic Brooklyn pizza, and while sitting on the boardwalk, who should walk by by Curtis, an old buddy from the Daily Nexus, who just moved into New York to start journalism school at Columbia! Small world. The day finished with a hot dog from the original Nathan's before I headed back to Manhattan and eventually the airport to fly back to Miami. It's dawned on me that I have less than a month here in south Florida. Honestly, I'm ready to move on. Until then, I'll be enjoying the blue skies and heat.

Blogland

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