Wednesdays are The New Fridays

Weekends are overrated.
So, when I decided to throw a Dinner Party at my Wynwood apt. on Wednesday night, although at the beginning people were a little confused and nervous: "what's the occasion?, is it somebody's birthday? I need to get at least some sleep tonight," most of the very specially selected invites came through.
And, those who did not make it, trust me, now regret it.
Specially if you were looking to meet some gorgeous overly intelligent gals. They were all over the house, with their cute outfits and big words.
I was glad my recently-turned gay friend and neighbor Joan, dropped by so that I had someone to discuss how hot all this gurls were. There was Sophie and Alex, and Greta and Gretel, Vane and Dara and Zlati and Pati and Matilda and more.

Hotness
The guys were not staying totally behind.
Artist Greg Rivero, mentioned plenty of times before, brought me three crazy prints of Nietzsche, which are going right on my wall. And, he also baked a chocolate chip cake for the party.

Too much.
Pat Walsh, from The Black Mangrove came as well, to my surprise. I told my friend Pati Laylle, photographer and Gregg' gf, that he had been our waiter at News Cafe, the night that we went to the MAM party and had millions of whiskies. Pat.

Late, late at night, we had baked three delicious pizzas, only with the best: hearts of palm, artichoke hearts, black olives, roasted red peppers and pineapple. A French guy, named, funny enough, Benoit, came with a friend in a suit who brought shiitake mushrooms, a really good brie and a delicious Italian sausage.

He fell asleep at some point in my couch and wouldn't wake up, even after everyone was gone. I grabbed the popular French guy and made him listen to my French, he was pleased.
At some point we sang Happy Birthday to Joan, probably because it had been her birthday, and continued drinking only the best wine, the best beer, the best pizzas.
Not bad for being in the downfall of the economy.
But, we didn't want to talk much about that or the war or even about the elections, not anymore, not for tonight. We wanted to dance and smoke and drink and eat.
"Good party," Pat said to me.
I know.

French Brickell and Hard Core at Home

but you got to do what you got to do. And so Friday night when my BF Vane called me and said she was coming to my house to go out or do something, I took a shower to wake up.

We had been invited to this crazy custome, karaoke party on Collins and 18th, I was down to go, so I dressed up too.

We drove down to Brickell, around Mary Brickell Village, which was packed. The whole street was full of cute young Brickell people. The kind that is very clean and goegeous in theit beautiful cars. Dolores Lolita and Blue Martini were specially hot.

Vane and I like to party, but most importantly, we love to eat delicious food. So, we stopped at the cozy French restaurant, Provence Grill. We sat on the balcony and still didn't miss any of the actions. Our gorgeous French waiter, who we suspected was the owner, gave us the whole French treatment and we felt like queens. We had scargots and pate with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and then seafood and salad with fromage de chevre and nuts.

Our buddies called that we should meet in my apt. He would get beers he said, is too expensive to go out.

Damn economy. So much for my French, glamorous night.

I guess the depression, promotes the dialogue. We spent the whole night discussing about human rights and the East and the West. After Vane called me a Western Capitalist and I called her a Fascist Communist, we decide to move on to the games.


We had a six pack of Sierra Neveda and one of Peroni and at some point I took out the last bit of Agua Ardiente for a shot. Finally that evil bottle is over.

I won at poker and we played Jenga and the game that everyone gets the name of someone famous sticked in their forehead and they have to guess what character they are. I was fucking Elvis Crespo and obviously never got it.

Then we played the very interesting game of Killing and Fucking. If you have never heard of it, it is pretty hard core. You ask a person who would they rather kill, this person or this other and the options can only be people everyone in the room knows. Or, you can also ask, who would you rather fuck. It gets interesting.

JAM at MAM

Well, Friday I was a bit destroyed from the fabulous party at the Jam at MAM the third Thurs of every month. It was awesome, a hilarious dj played just the right amount of good salsa for people to loose it, delicious appetizers and a full bar that accepted only donations.
The third Thrurs of the month party at the MAM, was way too much fun: the loud music in the large museum plaza, in the middle of downtown and in the antique library building made us all forget about the rain.
Actually the rain made it all more slippery and fun.
I saw the whole Miami Today reporters crew and they were so excellent.
Specially seeing beautiful Risa Polansky, who has been writing for Miami Today for more than two years and she is so gorgeous, you can't stop looking at her.
I also asked El Tigre for a cigarette. I didn't know he was El Tigre then. He gave it to me and tried to ignore me but I started asking him questions. He said he went to New World. "High school or college," I asked. He laughed, pretty hard. "Hey you know one has to ask, just in case."
"I have hair on my face," he said.
Then I tried to guess his major. Music, I said, you are musician. And I was right, of course.
El Tigre, plays in Jose El Rey and The Miami Bass Warriors, which are both fucking awesome bands and they give out pastelitos in their gigs. The whole guava, cheese and meat deal. Real Miamians.
We kissed each other bye.
I hadn't been to that MAM thing in forever and I didn't really know what to expect. But I was going to go by myself and decided to wear my scandalous original cowboy boots, with shorts shorts, of course. I really thought it was going to be too much, but the people were so scandalous themselves that I fitted just right. The MAM still had the Illusions Shadows and Disappearance exhibit up, but the party was so much fun that most people stayed out in the stormy night, specially because you could only go into the exhibit without a drink in your hand, which never actually happened.
After the MAM I went with my Pati and Gregg to Andiamo and then across to News Cafe and had some whiskies. Our lovely waiter was Patrick Walsh, a cute red head activist who has actually done a lot of shit for this city. He founded and directs The Black Magrove, where he throws these great fundraising parties and useful events. I have seen some pretty excellent spoken word there, went to a Palestinian Festival and have hit at a piñata.

Wynwood Gallery Walk September 13

So, who was not there that night?

Nobody, everyone walked the walk, talked the talk, and drank the free warm beers.

The streets of Wynwood, beginning on 36, where there was a huge OBAMA party going on, were filled with all the cool kids wandering in and out the galleries, seating on the floor, taking pictures of each other's fabulous attires.


I decided to go straight to my favorites around 22, where the party is always good. We found friend Sander, who walked us into The Locust Project Gallery where they had the Dream-Cum-Tru exhibit. It was a lot of fun because you got to go inside the art installations and it all felt very surreal. Until the performance part of the exhibit started by artist Clifton Chidree, who performed with the film and the film and him interacted. It was fun and pretty until everything became him sticking out his dick again and again and again and then taking a shit here and there. Quite disturbing.



Every single soul in Miami went to The White Room after, where they had a WHY? concert. The White Room is bringing some amazing people lately.

Wednesdays are for Dinner and Music

Afraid of trying the Churchill's curry, last Wednesday, I had friends over the apt. and we made some delicious vegetarian dishes, which we passed down with two bottles of Malbec.

The meal consisted of yellow squash, zucchini and green peppers bathed in pesto sauce and baked in the oven. This one made by my eternally vegetarian sister Vannesa Diaz. Although she is usually the cook, it is at her house where the Traditional Friday Intellectual Dinners take place, I had to show some of my skills as well, being the dinner in my apt.

I put in the oven large pieces of breads smeared with butter and garlic and while they baked I cut tomato, cucumber, onion, all-colors-peppers and avocado in small pieces. All of these veggies I proudly bought for $5 in my newly discovered secret Nicaraguan/Haitian vegetable and fruit street market. It is located on 35 street and NW 2nd avenue. I not only bought the above mentioned vegetables, but for those same 5 bucks I also got a few bananas and oranges. I don't think it opens everyday, but I will continue to visit it and keep you updated. Although you have to pick your own vegetables and fight among the loud crowd getting their own vegetables and herbs, it is all worth it with those prices. Even cheaper than in Homestead, I never seen anything like that.

After eating the successful mega-bruschetas and baked pesto vegetables, les invites et moi left to listen to some live music in the Can you Rock a Little Softer? Churchill's Curry Night . I was full so I wasn't going to have to try the fearful curry, but I still wanted to go see my friend Jeremy Mason, he told me he was there every Wednesday.

Kisses and hugs with the bartenders, Dani and Christ, they loved my dress, I hadn't seen them in so long, when are they gonna call me, etc.
I had a Gin and Tonic and proceeded to introduce Jeremy to my sis, say hello to some of the performers and listen.

First came the guy who is always, always dressed in gray-camouflaged pants and shirt, has long gray hair and beard and wears a gray-camouflaged bandanna in his head. I would say he has been wearing the same thing since 1973. He carries a little system in a cart in which he plays his cassettes, sings and plays an electric guitar. He is pretty bad, but sings his own stuff and, like Jeremy, is at Churchill's religiously every Wednesday.

Then we saw Nacho, who gets better everyday and who I have known for so many years since Miami Beach Senior High. We were there with artists Pati Laylle and Gregg Rivero who made a short called Psychonaut with all Nacho songs as the soundtrack, but from when he was in Rabbit in The Hat band. We talked and laughed and heard him play.

After Nacho played, came Raffa & Rainer, of course one of the highlights of the night, even though I have seen them so many times in so many different bars from Dade to Broward, I still don't get tired of them. Plus this is seeing them play in their night: Wednesdays at Churchill's, from where they were born, grew and became famous.

One too many Guinness pitchers, were enough to send us home before Raffa & Rainer were done. We gave cigarettes instead of singles to the official Churchill's parking security, because the hot goth girl was giving them out for free, well in exchange for your information. They liked the cigarettes.

Sabor Intelectual

And what else do you live in Miami for but to dance salsa and reggaeton from time to time (no exaggerations pliz). On Friday after work the party is at La Covacha.

The incredibly cheap Happy Hour of $1 beers and two for one drinks from 5-8 p.m. makes it worth the drive to Doral. We got to mingle with la creme de la societe Colombo-Venezuelan, older men with whisky bottles and hot Hispanic gals with perfectly straighten hair who did not get the memo that Brazilian jeans and belly-bottom t-shirts have been out--for a while.

But, I think about it as a cultural encounter, experiencing my fellow Miamians, $1 beers, friends and reggaeton made it all worth it. Of course after 8 p.m. there is no much reason for being there. Which is why we jumped on my convertible, picked up a 12 of Presidente, (to continue in the Hispanic spirit) and drove over to our intellectual friends' house in Fointain Bleu Blvd, who were having one of their traditional Friday Intellectual Dinner Party.

Even The Reggaeton Dancing Queen needs a physical break!

There were mostly FIU students, FIU allumni and FIU professors (IR, philosophy, psychology, sociology, journalism: the whole humanities package). The whole thing started very well. Marxism, philosophy, Sarah Palin, the role of women, Judaism, In The Name of The Rose, conspiracy theories, activism, journalism and all of the ism, when all of the sudden a bottle fo a delicious Chilean Pisco appeared. It came flying it seemed to me and someone had the great idea of having the whole party take shots and shots.

And there went the conversations because there went coherence too, and came again the reggaeton, rancheras, merengue, salsa...and more, but I can't remember. Damn Delicious Chilean Pisco.

Well, this weekened comes The Gallery Night again, the first weekend after the summer break that many galleries took, so it should be a good one. See y'all there.

GableStage and Mojitos

Couple of weeks back I went Thursday after work to see the Gablestage play "Betrayed" by George Packer. Some of my actor friends were in it: Todd Durkin and Scott Genn and I got to meet there Antonio Amadeo, very nice and the beard he wears to act as an Iraqi suits him very well.

The play was exciting and got the message through: Iraqis who help Americans in Iraq, are considered traitors in their own land and have to exile to other countries because the Americans will not help them at all.

Props to the actors.

Before Gables Stage I went with my car pool/job/cool friend Brooke Whitley, g.f of actor Scott to have delicious $6-Happy-Hours-Mojitos at the Coral Gables' Novecento. It is surprising what $40 of those can do to one.

We also ate a Traditional Picada, delicious enough to make you feel very guilty: it has steak, sausages, an beef empanadas!

The Reporter's Party and The Vagabond

While I was gone from blogging, I also attended a few parties.

One of the highlights of the month was a couple of weeks ago on a Friday "The Reporters' Party" at Robert Samuels' and J.D's home at The Roads. But, this time it was more than only Herald reporters talking about reporter stuff: beautiful people, delicious food, their whole delicately illuminated ample garden filled with conversations and even a little bit of freestyling went on! Thank you guys, keep it up, you just need a better sound system.

After the party I departed with the freestyling crowd to The Vagabond, it was five bucks and we danced like maniacs and encounter many Important Members of The Miami Night. On Fridays I recommend The Vagabond more than The White Room because there is less under aged, overdressed creatures. (Circa you are so out of the picture).

I took my gorgeous pink flask filled with Agua Ardiente and was giving shots around to cool people. And the rest is history, forgotten history, like any time agua ardiente is in the picture. Lots of dancing, the dj was actually coming through with some MIA and old school Outkast.

Long Time

Yes, I haven't been writing lately, not because Miami hasn't kept me busy, because it has, oh it has, but because I refuse to write uninspired. and, for a while, I must confess, I was going through a period of depression, which just led to Gin and tonics and beer. I need to stop the beer though too many calories.

Of course I was kept entertained during my bloggin absence by faithfully going to Churchill's, where I ended up meeting most fabulous people. Jeremy Mason, for one, of a confusing sexual orientation, in whose Facebook the interested in part is blank, and almost too interesting and fabulous to be straight. At the end of the night we had spoken French, Korean and talked about every possible literary movement that ever existed in the West. Those are the delightful surprises that Churchill's can still bring. He was friends with my favorite bartenders Daniela and Christ Funk, who I have mentioned before, and also with Daniela's girlfriend: Yes--a cute-looking young girl with a tough attitude: Kudos Daniela for your hot girlfriend. We had such a great time that after a few delicious shots we even had our own gang sign. Fabulous!

DANI AND HER GF YES

We agree to meet again next Wednesday at 7:30 p.m. to have the Churchill's curry buffet they have on that night. "7:30 hon, is whEn it comes out of the kitchen fresh," said Jeremy. I had never felt prepared to eat the Churchill's curry, but at that time everything seemed logical. The next week, being too afraid of getting intoxicated and also with the summer Miami flu, almost impossible to escape, I stayed doing my other favorite past time: watching Hulu.