Beach, Beach, Beach. This is what I’m supposed to do in Miami right?
Note to 30-year-old future self: the skin cancer is all your fault.
Beach, Beach, Beach. This is what I’m supposed to do in Miami right?
Note to 30-year-old future self: the skin cancer is all your fault.
Adventures with Pablo & JHR.
Please & Thank you.
Last night JHR, Pablo, and I took a midnight walk among the docks and talked about the usual people.
Dave and I watched most of The Fall last night in South Beach. We couldn’t finish because the theater’s fire alarm went off about 20 minutes before the end of the movie.
After a collective “what the fuck?” moment, we all evacuated with the rest of the theaters. The fire exits lead to the parking garage, and a claustrophobic urine-scented stairwell.
The nice manager let us back into the theater because it was (of course) a false alarm.
Go back to the theater, he said, the nice firemen are going to silence the alarm and your nice movies will resume shortly.
And we apologize, he said.
Such a nice man.
After about ten minutes Dave and I were back in our nice theater. The other six people in the theater had returned too:
Hipster Badu also talked to herself.
The problem was that the nice manager and the nice firemen were unable to silence the fire alarm.
Actually that’s not true – they were able to silence it, but they were unable to keep it silenced.
So we sat there staring at the blank screen lit occasionally by obnoxious blinking lights to the soundtrack of “ATTENTION, ATTENTION, A FIRE HAS BEEN REPORTED, PLEASE PROCEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE THEATER.”
The blinking lights were like a big epilepsy test. Seriously, it was worse than a Pokemon game. And that’s not so nice.
After twenty minutes we decided that if we were going to be in a loud, dark room with strobe lights that we might as well go to a club.
The rest of the theater (besides Hipster Badu) decided to peace out at the same time.
The nice manager apologized and told us to come back with our ticket stubs for a free movie.
So David and I went to laundry bar.
Laundry bar was a hot mess. David made friends with this creepy woman named Sunflower from Costa Rica.
Sunflower from Costa Rica read palms and told us that she suspected she was an alien.
Yes.
She did.
Sunflower from Costa Rica’s proof of her otherworldliness was a weird dent on the top of her head. Which she made us feel.
Yeah. She did.
Her very intoxicated lady-friend kept coming over to dance with us and sketched Dave and I out with inappropriate dance movies approximately every 10 minutes.
Hilarity.
I got a box from my future law school today – they sent me a mug!
They also sent me a “moving to Minneapolis” magazine and printed copies of much of the stuff they’ve emailed me already.
Still no solid financial aid numbers though. The official letter for that is “sent out in late July and due back at the office August 1st.”
Hmmf.
I need to order a UMN Law shirt. DePaul sent me one in my acceptance packet and I keep wearing it because, well, it’s a free shirt.
But it’s completely awkward running into strangers at the UMiami law library and explaining that, 1) I’m not going to law school at UMiami, 2) I’m not going to DePaul, even though I’m wearing the shirt, and 3) I’m going to go to UMinnesota Law.
Yes. Random and awkward.
I’m reading “Getting to Maybe” right now, and twiddling my thumbs.
Went to see the Sex and the City Movie at Cinebistro with C. The tickets were $17 a pop but the seats were so incredibly comfortable. Like – amazing. Yes. The waiters (yes there are waiters) were nice, but the service sucked.
The people next to us didn’t get silverware before their food went cold. My waiter never actually brought my Red Stripe. After fifteen minutes, I ended up going to the concession stand and picking it up myself. Hmmf. At least the movie was great.
Coolest thing about the place was that the waiter had a portable credit card machine that printed out receipts by his hip. That was hilarious… having to walk out and get my own beer was not. (And I never told them who I was so the waiter REALLY never brought the $6+tip beer.)
Life is great. Here are sparknotes:
And I got a buzzcut because balding is not a good look.
One thing I will not miss about the University of Miami:
Impromptu visits by a guy in a duck costume who claims to be a Ibis. At least he can’t talk.
Here are some pictures of the old dorm room…
This last one is my desk. I did a wallpaper collage and then sealed it with clear-packing tape…so it’s actually water proof.
The irony of this is that when I move to Minneapolis I don’t plan on decorating my room at all. Like nothing. Spartan.
And I’m a Miami driver: I moved to Miami when I was sixteen, had a few fender benders, a run-in with a drunk driver, and more than a several (traffic related) run-ins with the police.
So very few things surprise me.
Well, that’s what I thought until tonight’s Taco Bell run.
Traffic around campus was a disaster. A graduation had just finished at the Bank United Center, which is right in front of my dorm. Cops directed traffic and traffic moved smoothly until the Suburban in front of me stopped to pick up a graduate.
The bald cop directing traffic screamed, “CMON! You must be kidding me! MOVE IT!”
The Suburban took its sweet time and then rolled up to the cop. The driver then proceeded to throw a mini bitchfit at the cop before speeding off.
I was shocked.
I decided in the gym this morning that I had to get new workout shoes. My cheap track shoes were already falling apart and a good two seconds from embarrassing.
I went to DSW and snagged some Adidas running shoes for around $40.
And while I was in my savings bliss, I decided to go to Payless. Payless has recently stepped its game up. I bought a pair of plaid slips for $15. Vöt.
The shoe deals put me in a good mood, so I decided to take the trek to The Falls to get my phone fixed. The Sprint store was as awkward as I expected to be. The sales reps (rather rudely) ignored the bloated and flushed man from the Redlands who roamed about looking mighty confused.
Bored customers milled about everywhere waiting for their phone repairs. Everyone looked at me like I was the new guy walking in the bar on a slow night.
Redlands roamed the store for about fifteen minutes before he was told “to get service you need to be on the wait list.” He left a few minutes later, cursing.
The Sprint repairman saw my phone and said, “Yeah …uh, no.” After he finished laughing, he asked how I managed to do so much damage.
I told him about my skateboarding mishap. He laughed some more and told me to come back in 40 minutes but made no promises.
I went to The Falls mall across the street, and, to my horror, realized that there was no book store in the mall, or the entire area. How does this happen? Something is horribly wrong down there.
So I ended up at the mall’s Starbucks, which may be the worst designed Starbuck ever.
Seriously. In all of history.
Design Fail: The store is long and narrow. There is less than three feet space between the store window and the counter. The door, of course, is in the middle of this awkward space and opens immediately to the cash register.
If there are multiple customers, the line veers off to the side so you have to squeeze past people to get in the end of the line. The beverage area is equally claustrophobic and people picking up beverages end up trapped in the corner by the people waiting for their drinks.
You have to work your way back through the line (like the a moviegoer with a bladder problem) to get out of the store.
The point is, it’s an awkward, crowded space.
So of course the loud, dopey lady in front of me causes scene. She’s accompanied by an overlarge bearded guy in with ratty tennis shoes who looks like he likes anime and vintage Pacman.
Dopey lady’s Starbucks employee card doesn’t work. She tells the cashier that she “HASN’T BEEN ON THE SCHEDULE FOR A FEW WEEKS!”
She’s loud and has the lispy tone of someone with a learning disorder. Everyone in the line exchanges the glance that acknowledges someone is violating crowded space etiquette.
If you’re in a small, crowded shop – you do not 1) hold up the line, and 2) fail to regulate the level of your voice.
We all know this.
This exchange goes on for a while. The manager finally comes and tells dopey lady that her employee ID isn’t valid and that she should check with her Starbucks to see if she’s still employed.
The drink maker, who hasn’t been paying attention calls her drink, and then screams, “DOES ANYONE HAVE A CINNAMON DOLCE LATTE?” as if the store is more than 20 feet long.
The manager at the register shouts back (even though they are about 3 feet apart) “Yes, she’s still at the register!”
The man behind me laughs.
Dopey lady doesn’t get it, but she eventually pays.
So dopey lady and overly large guy are completely in the way when I get my drink. They are both hunched over the sugars and napkins and so consumed with fixing their drinks that they don’t care about the rest of us waiting.
I was mesmerized how fervently the were stirring their drinks. They were working their drinks as if they were beating eggs.
Like, they looked intent and excited to be stirring their drinks. They kept adding a little milk, tasting, adding sugar, tasting, and so forth… it was intense and painful to watch.
So I exchange smirks with a blond middle-aged woman (who was with laughing man) when SMACK-SPLASH, dopey lady spills her latte. She screams out, “OH NO!” and shuffles to the finished-drink-stand while flailing her arms,“Excuse me! EXCUUUSE ME! I SPILLED A DRINK! Can I have another?”
The sixteen year old behind the counter rolls her eyes and fixes another latte. I reach over the foamy latte muddle, get my two packets of Splenda (that I had been waiting five minutes for now), and left the starbucks.
As I was squeezing out of the door I heard laughing man go at it again.
Hmmf.
I eventually got my phone back. They fixed it. No charge. Holler at warranties.
The thought hadn’t occurred to me.
It seemed like a silly question and I still don’t understand it. I couldn’t be successful at a career if I didn’t have the nerve to go through the training.
Am I going to walk into law school and find the casebooks quick and thrilling as a James Patterson novel? Am I going to draft amazing essays with ease, know the answer every time the professor calls on me, and be in bed by 10pm every night that I’m not at the clubhouse?
Well, there was a bowling alley. Last week (or the week before?) Matt and I dropped about $70 at a boutique bowling alley – which, for college students, is unacceptable.
$42 for one hour. $5 (x2) for cover (yes, the bowling alley charged a cover), $10 for soda. $4.50 (x2) for shoes.
Memorial Day Weekend in Miami: Rain. And not that nice London rain either, but that explosive “the world is pouring down” Brazilian-rainforest type of rain.
If Miami had mountains there’d be mudslides. Für sure.
Went to Little Havana and got some food from Mom’s.
“When you need a refill just call me a day in advance.” – Mom’s the business. I love going back to the neighborhood. People’s cars chink and clank just like mine. There are fruit carts, Botanicas, grandpas drinking on stoops, and chickens in the road. It’s a nice break from the sterile streets that surround school.
Visited a few old haunts in South Beach and South Dade…There’s a definitely a few Edie Sedgwick complexes going around. (And by-the-bye Community College does not mean you’re Indie.)
South Beach and Downtown are beginning to resemble something from lastnightsparty.com. I’m going to leave it alone for a while and stay in the Gables.
I’m finally in the new dorm!
Quick outline of things (to be fleshed-out later)
Tomorrow
And then, more work.
Looks like a duck…
…but Quacks like UMiami.
I graduated today. Well, sort of.
My last final-exam was today. I’m not going to commencement, so, for undergrad. That’s it.
I’m sure Angela Lansbury will forgive me for skipping out on her speech.
I’m facing some hardcore resistance writing my last history paper. It needs to be all of three pages. I’ve done all the research. I’ve read over 300 pages for this thing. I’m so just so incredibly bored with the subject that I can’t stop whining about not writing and just write it because I don’t want to write it.
And well, I need to. The FTS (F-this-S) hormones have arrived. They need to go away for the 45-or-so-minutes this thing will take to write.
I even entertained the idea of not writing the paper for a while, but when I mentioned this to Miss Pao she threw a fit. Seriously. Stomping and all.
She might stab me if I don’t turn it in.
Today Matt and I went to the mangrove swamp.
The swamp. I ran face-first into a web with a huge-huge spider up in there yonder.
We were stalked by the pelican with the greedy eyes.
I don’t trap hermit crabs in random Heineken bottles…but someone does.
I swam in a mangrove swamp today. There are a lot of glass shards and budlight cans, but it’s still a beautiful place to read and swim.
When I sat still long enough in the water puffer fish would swim around me.
Weekend boaters kept docking on the little sand bank I was on. One boater even offered a joint. I politely told him to get off my island.
Miami Friday: Class, work, then the water.
I interrupted the pelican convention at the beach today. There were about six of them fishing off the peer.
I kept stepping on sea urchins too.
The beach is a wildlife reservation. “Wildlife” is an over-statement. The possums are so domesticated on the island that people are hand-feeding them.
This week eletronics failed me: I lost my phone, broke my mp3 player, ran into a card-eating ATM, and sent my laptop to Gatewayland for repair.
I also lived in the library for the better part of the week: 6 papers and one group project. Yes. Indeed.
The website, and twitter have new designs. I kept it simple since the the last design was a bit gaudy.