I went to Sweat Records on Saturday night to see Pure Imagination with Matt Gajewski, the guy from the UM radio that writes fiction and reads it on air. He was reading his David Sedaris/Realismo Magico/This American Life prose to a room packed of indie kids with live music in the background. I got a delicious espresso from the coffee bar at Sweat, it is not that easy to find good coladas or espressos these days in
Then, journalists, nerd, intellectuals and snubs we all went outside and talked bout the Dr. of Death, News and Notes closing down and the decease of Vagabond. Bout the kind of shit that people who go to this kind of shit talk bout, nerd shit.
Anyway, I was supposed to go to The Vagabond because there was a Miami.com open bar of vodka from 10 to 12, but instead I stayed home. Even though I was already all dolled up. It seems like now going to the Vagabond is like going to a glamorous photoshoot and let’s not even talk about the White Room, where if you are not topless, wearing a costume or kissing a girl you don’t make it in. Talking of which, Magic Baby girl, Clara Infante, who is usually topless, wearing a costume or kissing a girl announced she got a DUI on Sunday at 9:17 a.m and proudly published her own mug shot.
So I ended up not going to the Vagabond probably because of the whole gloomy talk at Sweat of: “remember when it was not embarrassing to go to the Vagabond.” “Let’s not even mention its name so much around this crowd.”
We were joking, of course, in a truthful kind of way.
So, on Sunday, I woke up before midday, for a change, and went out to promenade around Miami in what was a beautiful Sunday, those that make everyone repeat how much they love this city.
We drove towards the area where I grew up on Collins and 73.rd I showed Pati and Gregg how I used to come to Northshore to see my friends play soccer and how I used to volunteer at the Centro Comunitario Hispano de Miami Beach, while eating Venezuelan cachitos at Moises Bakery, which is still there.
But, we went to have lunch at Manolo’s. Yummy empanadas, pan de miga of ham and hearts of palm, prosciutto, café con leche and fresh orange juice. hmmmm...
The only thing that sucked was the colada that we ordered at the end. We didn’t understand if it was American coffee or they had just made it disgusting by mistake; it was all water and tasted like crab. You see you could actually encounter bad coladas even on 73rd st. We returned the colada and asked the Argentineans to politely change it because it sucked.
We got a second really bad colada, this one was also watery but it didn’t even had sugar. These Argentineans don’t know how to make the coladas. They should just stick to the emapanadas and churros please.
Not giving up our craving of a good colada, we went across the street to a Cuban place.
Outside there happened to be a quite lively street art fair and a concert in the amphitheater, part of the Cuban Music Fest that has been going one this past week.
So, we walked under the sun, amongst the dogs, kids with their faces painted, food, art, tourists, locals and the nice cool wind.
(Photos Pati Laylle)