Whoo-wee. Where to start. In the last couple of weeks I've been to Miami, where the weather was lovely and cool but the drivers are fast and mean and there are a lot of 'em, and Missoula. But first Miami. First of all, let me say that I do enjoy all the pink and orange houses in this city. These paint colors would probably look very weird anywhere else but how fun! The fam and I went on a tour of the bay and looked at all the homes of the rich and famous, including Rosie O' Donnell, Shaquille O'Neal (who had a foot-high figurine likeness of himself perched on his dock to greet the passing tour boats), and the homes formerly occupied by Vanilla Ice and Don Johnson. Rad. It's actually sickening that middle america pays to go see these unimaginably expensive homes of celebrities that THEY MADE RICH in the first place!! I was well aware of the absurdity and just tried to enjoy being out on the water. There's just something weird about the tourist activity of viewing things that you will never in a million years ever come close to having yourself. Is it marketing for the american dream? - or the capitalist's wet dream, more like.
We also visited Miami Beach, which is mainly known as the place where Versace was murdered, and I found the actual beach to be kind of gross with people in various stages of undress and a couple that I can verify was engaged in unabashed foreplay involving "private parts" in public. Tacky! Mom still wanted to take pictures and apparently hadn't noticed anything untoward so I tried my best to not look horrified as we snapped some family photos looking very out of place amidst the tan languid bodies laying about.
After the beach we wandered down the street to an open-air cafe (the third one we tried that my mom was convinced we'd all be satisfied with) where I proceeded to order a huge alcoholic drink (it was called a "Bahama Mama," ugh) served in a cheap plastic "hurricane"-style cup like you get in New Orleans. It tasted crappy but the four different kinds of alcohol gave me a nice buzz about halfway through, which played a key role in my ability to maintain a pleasant and blissfully oblivious demeanor around the folks.
My bro got all graduated and stuff (D.M.A., not a Ph.D., mind you) and we went to a swanky dinner at the swanky old Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. Super vintage-glam so I was right at home. It had a gargantuan pool, in fact the largest hotel pool in the continental united states, how 'bout that. The food was awesome, too - pan-seared and oven-roasted scallops, even the vegetable sides were incredibly perfect. You know, if you're ever in Miami. Good luck to Pete as he tries to find a college who wants to hire a trumpet professor.
Next up: the Montana report.
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