Work brought me back to Miami recently.
The state and local tax group at my firm had its yearly retreat in South Beach (of all places!) It was a sweaty experience, but I made a weekend of it and visited a lot of my old college haunts.
The state and local tax group at my firm had its yearly retreat in South Beach (of all places!) It was a sweaty experience, but I made a weekend of it and visited a lot of my old college haunts.
We spent the weekend in Miami for my mother’s birthday and then immediately launched back into a packed workweek back in D.C. I wanted to jot a few notes about the weekend before I forget everything…
It was my first time back to Miami in almost five years, and a lot has changed. I’ll cover the Miami trip in greater detail in posts during the coming weeks, but here are some quick observations:
After making it Iowa City and Chicago Gay Pride, I decided to surprise my mother in Miami. I haven’t been back to Miami in two years and she was not expecting me to just arrive at her doorstep at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning.
Miami is as pretty and crazy as I remember it. Breast implants, crazy cars, body builders and drag queens…
And palms. Lots of palms.
Working from my South Beach hotel was amazing and I’ve determined that working vacations need to be a part of my life.
I was exhausted and my liver hurt, so I spent the rest of the summer enjoying Minneapolis. I made a point of going to the lakes and parks about three times a week and it was amazing. Minnesota isn’t half bad during the summer.
At the beginning of August I began the epic move to Lowertown St. Paul.
It reminded me of that line from White Noise – “The more things I threw away, the more I found.” – I was just horrified by how much crap I own and ended up throwing a ton of it out.
Oh and yes, Ikea furniture is still horrible to put together. I had to have two friends help me with that bar stool. These are my first world problems.
I am so happy that I made the move to downtown St. Paul. This city is cute, historic, and I’m having a lot of fun.
I made some hard choices to make it possible, but the incredible opportunities I had to travel and network make me sure that I made the right decision.
I’m excited for fall and my new adventures in St. Paul.
Oh, and sleeping. I miss that.
It’s back to Minneapolis and goodbye to the warmth, palm trees and breast implants. Not a bad way to spend a week in December.
The fact that there were 2-4-1 Whiskey-Diets on the plane made the return to winter easier to bear.
I didn’t appreciate it when I lived here, but this place is kinda pretty.
Tader and I decided to spend Christmas week in warmer climates.
Renting a car was a little difficult. After haggling at the downtown Miami Avis we found our rental car parked in.
We eventually excised our rental and gave Tader a quick tour of Brickell.
We then spent some time on South Beach and happened upon the cutest puppy mill.
They are adorable, but I think I like my dogs better. Plus the entire place stunk of puppy piss.
We returned to South Beach later that evening and went to Twist, which was epic as ever. Twist is the massive gay bar in Miami. Never a cover, always a groove.
The next day we went to a hipster club in Miami’s design district called the Electric Pickle. They played the kind of house music you never hear in Minneapolis. The music was great, but not really danceable. It turned into a weird Sims-like line dance.
Oh, and we may have stolen a sign from Walgreens…
The night ended at Twist again. It’s a bad habit, but so fun. They have a beer-serving Burger King next door that’s open 24 hours, which is super convenient when you’re skipping out of a club at 5 a.m.
This is going to be a hilarious, expensive vacation.
The pilot came on the intercom.
Pilot: “Do we have any MDs on board? If you are a MD please touch your flight attendant call button. A passenger is ill and we need your assistance.”
Everyone looked around. No doctors aboard. A flight attendant rushed by with an intense looking oxygen tank.
The pilot repeated his request, and then asked if any nurses or medical personnel were aboard. No takers. Vet techs? None.
I felt pretty useless – “I can offer qualified legal advice!”
We arrived in Minneapolis and waited for the paramedics to fetch the ill passenger. I then stormed to baggage claim and wandered the parking garage1 for my car.
I hadn’t slept in 24 hours and was in a vicious mood.
I went to the University of Miami the night before. Trisha and I visited our old dorm and caught up on the student-life drammy.
The RAs chirped about homecoming and were freaking out about decorating their floors. Trisha and I looked at each other and laughed. We are both in professional school now, but just two years ago we were fumbling with construction paper and rubber cement. How bizarre.
I think I horrified one of the RAs who is thinking about applying to law school. Gloomy tales of the legal job market – dum dum dum!
Ben and I were posted at the main bar again. Blaring house music, strobes, bodybuilders, and periodic visits by the club’s manager and owner. Ben and I insisted on having a 4-hour3 conversation over the music, so I’m croaking like a seasoned smoker today.
I left the club around 5 a.m. and had a terrifying ride with a cab driver who was more familiar with the gas pedal than the road markings. I then showered and packed for the airport.
The airport was a disaster. The Delta Airlines area was understaffed and chaotic.
The baggage drop line was 100-people deep and crisscrossed the self check-in line. The result was that no one knew what line they were in until waiting in the wrong line for a half hour.
The lines moved at a glacial pace and we slowly realized that there was no way we would make our flight.
So many of us were late that they held the plane for us, but they didn’t tell us that the plane was waiting, so a pack of us tore down the terminal like we were being chased by zombie TSA agents.
After the airport sprint in Miami, the medical dramatics on the plane, and the 30 minute car seeking expedition in the Minneapolis Airport’s parking garage, I was so relieved to pick up Harley from the pet hotel and crash.
I slept for 8 hours, did laundry and some minimal cleaning, and I am going back to sleep so I can make it to work early.
It was a fun, exhausting trip.
Viva Miami, but welcome Minneapolis.
1 Parking was close to $75…bejesus.
2 Unofficial Lady Gaga night… they played “Bad Romance” at least three times, “Telephone” twice, “Love Game” and “Poker face.”
3 As opposed to the stand, pose, and smile routine that Carlos and I have mastered.
These are pictures of the Biscayne Bay area of Miami. Some of the images are also from South Beach. Click on the images to see larger files.
A video of South Beach today…
I have no idea why the quality is so bad. Let’s blame youtube.
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.
We carried our shoes and had our pants rolled up to our thighs and slushed down Alton Road. We all exchanged stupid grins – yes, the water was knee high. The girls tried to walk along a wall, but that didn’t work – we were late to the movie.
– productivity (Somewhat)
– wal-mart at 4am
– Trollope, Rand, and Capote.
– Not a recluse anymore
Linda, JHR, and I left the club in silence and got into JHR’s car. He nervously turned on the radio but didn’t say anything. He sensed the tension. We all did. She sat in the front and I sat behind JHR in the back. No one talked. Ciara’s “Oh” was on the radio.
After about five songs she adjusted her top, tossed her pencil-straight brown hair out of her face and turned back to me. “I forgive you,” she said.
I hadn’t said anything and I didn’t now. I responded with a smile.
Ciara’s “Oh” came on again on another station. We all danced in the car and sang.
O– never makes sense when she’s drunk.
