Homestead: Magic, History and Wine.

Like I said in last Saturday’s entry, why do we live in Miami if not to enjoy the weather? Especially during the fall: when the sun starts hitting from the side and changes the color of everything and the breeze reminds you that there is a life under 80 degrees and that it is also beautiful.
I have said before that we Miamians don't like to drive North.
Which is why I headed South on Saturday.

I went out with family and friends, abuelita and everything included, to Homestead and beyond. We couldn’t do everything there is to do even if we wanted to, but we tried hard.

To start the trip with a full belly we went to the famous Tea Room. Located inside the beautiful gardens of Cauley Square,

a 1902 pioneers village that will take you to the place you dreamed of when you were 6. Little wooden houses, giant sculptures made of grass, blue jays and cardinals make the song of the paths that get you lost in a world of gnomes and fairies.

We went into a few of the antique stores before having a delicious lunch in the overly-decorated, also dream-like Tea Room. This Tea Room is the only one left in Florida of what used to be a tradition for the snow bird old ladies or the wives of those who came to work for the railroad. It is still a tradition among old ladies, but it really is a delight to have a cup of spice tea in the butterfly room or the dining room, while eating a quiche or one of its famous cakes and overhearing the conversations of the Miamah ladies with their big sunglasses and funny hats.

We headed roof-down to Schnebly Redland’s Winery.

You can pay for tours of the winery or for tasting. You won’t find wines made out of grapes here but you will find some made out of: avocado, one of the top choices, passion fruit, guava, mango and more. Sparkling wines and everything. After we did the tasting and bought a bottle of the winner avocado wine, we sat outside in the pleasant gardens, by the waterfalls and shared the wine in the glasses, which you get for free after the tasting.

It was time to go to the real Homestead. Always taking the back streets, never the highway or US 1, to appreciate the nurseries, the farms, the horses and the No Hay Trabajo signs, we drove South in hopes of finding Robert is Here open, but it was closed.

We got to the Historic District of Downtown Homestead and found a Music in the Park event. As we walked down the old streets that take you back to a time of simpler things, of Saturday night movies, strolling up and down the street with a milk shake we noticed we were hungry.

And, although Mexican restaurants did not exist in Homestead in those times, they do now and they are a Must.
Where else would we go but to El Toro Taco?
If you have never been to the Mexican restaurants in Downtown Homestead then you probably don’t know that you have to bring your own alcohol, yes you have to.
That’s the tradition, since they are too cheap to pay for an alcohol license, customers take coolers filled with beers and wines and even a bottle of tequila to settle the food. And, that is what makes the trip fun as well as cheap The food is great even though the owner is a jerk and if you are lucky a group of lady mariachis will go in and play for tips.

If we would’ve had more time, and la abuelita weren’t so tired, we could’ve gone to the go-carts, also on Krome Ave., which I have done before and although I was the last one in the race it was fun; horseback riding, is also great, it is just hard to find the right place, the Coral Castle or a redneck bar.

Glamorous Songs

Why is it than whenever a night starts very glamorously it ends up in the other extreme of the spectrum?
There I was, bored at home, playing tetris when I heard about this party at the offices of Red Car post-production and media company on Biscayne and 47th St.
Modernage singer Mario Giancarlos, who by the way just got out a new awesome cd, with their same sound we all love and cannot get out of our heads and some pretty good fresh songs, he picked me up at around 7:30 p.m. good timing for a Thurs nite and we headed to the party without knowing what to expect.
Modernage
In the elevator we wondered if we were under dressed on our skinny jeans, although you can barely go wrong with those, but a guy also going to the party on a cowboy hat and shorts, who talked a lot, made us feel much better about our attire.
If there is people on shorts, anything goes. In the end this is Miami, and this is a party of media savvies, production-geeks, which are usually pretty casual and tend to try to be comfortable.
Wow! Free food, free whisky, there were other drinks, but when there is free Black Label, why would you order anything else.
The Outside of The Red Car Party
The office itself was also quite breathtaking, which is probably the word they want their clients to use when they visit. Flat screens everywhere, a small recording studio for over voices and music, nice floors, nice furniture and 360° view of Miami's lights.
Lots of freelancers, copywriters, musicians and former Telemundo employees, lots of those since the channel just swept heads following the steps of just about any other media company in Miami. But, the conversations were not about the future of the media and where are we all going to go?
The cowboy-hat boy who Mario baptized Owen Wilson because of their similar looks, kept on repeating that it was not allowed to talk about work. But, when I met an Argentinean Porn Director, we had to put that rule aside.
It was all very good, cute girls, good food, good drinks, good party.

But, it was time to go.
Got a text message from beautiful Dara about a Karaoke at Out of The Blue, around 24th and second.
After my last whisky for which I had to convince the good-looking bartender that I wasn't driving, we transported ourselves to what was about to become one of the funnest things a Thursday night could offer.

Eduardo Ortiz, the fat-gay Venezuelan host, sang Alejandra Guzman and made us all even more enthusiastic than what we already were.
I went up to sing El Cantante, and Mario faithful to his rock roots gave a great performance of The Smiths' Bigmouth, which we all sang along.

Alex and Rudo made a strong Duo.
Pat Walsh sang Billy Idol's Rebel Yell and we all cried more, more, more. Eduardo Ortiz gave Pat the second place of the night for his performance with air guitar and jumps, we were all very proud of him.
After going from Paquita la Del Barrio to Mecano and Mana, these are the kind of things you regret about alcohol, the night was over for some of us.
Pat, who had danced salsa, ballenato and merengue and had performed so graciuosly hadn't had enough and was heading to ps 14; the bastard didn't have to wake up early.

Damn you work from keeping the young night from continuing and killing our spirits. We will get back at you someday!

Natural Paradise and City Paradise

If there is a reason to live in Miami is because one day of fall you can tan at paradisiac beaches and observe wild life and the next day you go see a wonderful ballet performance and have a fun dinner at a delicious restaurant.

Which is exactly what my Saturday and Sunday consisted of.

Mon beaux et moi woke up early with the sun and started driving south with the roof down.

For the way we drank what the Spaniards call "Calimocho" red wine and coke to get in the mood for our fun trip.

We first stopped at Curry Hammock State Park. "The Real Florida," which is how the Florida State Parks called themselves not only is the real Florida, it is also Heaven.

A small beach few people and many birds as quiet as a cemetery and as peaceful as only the sound of the sea can be.

There was the Raptors Count going on. Volunteers, passionate birdwatchers, birders and naturalists unite in various parts of Florida every year to count the fliers that pass over us, sometimes only for a day, in their way to other destinies.

A record of 638 Peregrine Falcons was counted the other day, one of the counters commented.

They really were all over the place the raptors and the Ospreys flying miles and miles with their fish held tightly in their feet.

Next was Bahia Honda.

Although it had way to many Eastern European tourists, who spoke a weird language and we couldn't figure out where they came from, we found a space only ours in the white sand and swam in the turquoise waters.

The $3 per person to get into each of the parks are definetely worth it to avoid drunk SoBe dirty tourist with loud music.

On the way back we stopped to eat at The Wreck a bit before Key Largo and had Mahi Mahi, steamed clams and fried calamari with Coronas.

You don't have to drive the four hours to Key West to get to paradise, "The Real Florida" awaits you.

By Sunday it was time to go back to the jungle of cement, the desert of the surreal.

My friend Brooke Whitley, friends with every actor, symphony player and stage manager of this town, manged to get us free tickets for the Miami City Ballet performance, which was at the Arsht Center only for the weekend. Next weekend they will be at Ft. Lauderdale and after that at L.A.

It started with the second part of The Swan's Lake, then came The Four Temperaments and the Grand Finale was one called In The Upper Room, with music by God-Sent and my favorite composer Philip Glass. It was too much, a very exciting performance that almost gets you off your seat. Although not everyone can take 3 hours of ballet, we could and it was amazing! Thanks Nicole Mitchell, stage Manager and the voice that asks you to turn off your cellphone at the beginning of the show, for allowing us this experience that I otherwise I could have never afforded.

I needed to finish this spectacular weekend with a special touch.

Texted my new awesome neighbor Jeremy Mason to see what he was up to. He was reading Capote and we should grab a bite and a drink, he texted back.

I went to visit Jeremy's and Christ Funk's new cool apt. on Biscayne and 63rd. Already decorated and with a delightful balcony in which you can hear the blue jays sing on top of those tall old trees.

We went to dine at Andiamo's and passed by Publix on the way back to the apt to get some mixers.

At the register, ready to pay for the cranberry juice, tonic water and limes one of those very few GORGEOUS man says: "So, you are having a party and you didn't invite me."

I turn around and say you can come if you want.

He looks annoyed and keeps on talking to Jeremy. Obviously the GORGEOUS man wasn't interested in partying with me.

Outside bringing the things to the car, he stopped again and talks a bit more to Jeremy.

GORGEOUS.

"What is supposed to be etiquette in the grocery store?" Jeremy asked. "He was so gorgeous he caught me off guard."

Pink Party Kills Great Expectations

Whoever said that just because you are doing a networking/cause/fundraising event it needs to be a boring party?
I actually had high expectations for this event: "Free food and Drinks," said the invitation that Miami.com sent me on Facebook. Yeah, if you call three guava pastelitos and a huge line for three drops of wine free.

I convinced my reporter friend Maria Chercoles, who after graduating with me from the School of Journalism at FIU has interned in every paper from Ft. Lauderdale to California, and now spends most of her time freelancing.
We were there at 6 p.m. expecting cool people, reporters, hors d'oeuvres and drinks. We found way too many old ladies, little girls--the only ones actually dancing-- and a tent selling wigs for dogs...I cannot even express what I feel for the wigs for dogs idea. The poor well-behaved animals, had the grace of not understanding how ridiculous they looked on their pink wigs. There was even a rasta wig for those unfortunate mammals. I guess that is what I call a once in a lifetime idea who changes the world.

After stealing a few pastelitos and wines, spinning the wheel of Pollo Tropical to win coupons for a family meal, which was about the best part of the party and talking to Herald-crime-reporter- good-looking David Ovalle, we decided it was time for newer and better things.
I watched La Strada that night and loved it and went to sleep early because there was still so much to do for this young weekend.

JAM at MAM II

I arrived early with Vane, both dressed in cute vintage outfits. We discovered the Bavarian band and were glad to have made it once again to the infamous Jam at Mam. The Bavarian band had nothing to envy the dj of the last time, except that it rained, as it usually does in this party, and they had to stop playing for a while. But, as to repertoire is concerned they went all over the world from New York New York, to Que Viva España to the infallible Chicken Dance, which the guy performed with a most curious hen hat.

Scandalous Nicolas Johnson and friend Jose.

I saw my fabulous friend Jeremy, and his even more scandalous and famous friend Nicolas Johnson, local fashion designer from G.O.A.T. Reconstructed, who was dressed head to toes as a sado-masochist, with whip and everything. We talked about the old days in Lincoln Road when "the circle" existed. It was the place where headbangers and goth kids would hang out, skate and smoke cigarettes after school, but it died down at some point. I guess it was by the time Nexxt Cafe and Pizza Rustica opened where the circle is located. He told me the story about a girlfriend he had in high school, "when he still dug girls," who bullied a police officer because he tossed her cigarettes and told her to get ready because the "scene was changing" on Lincoln Road. "That's why I loved her," he said.

Then the band played a waltz and Jeremy asked me for a dance. I had been looking for a while for a girlfriend who lived close to me and who could accompany me to so many of these social events. Someone to look pretty with and call for attention. In the end, they always ended up getting a boyfriend, moving far or getting lazy. Jeremy moved close to my house now, to Biscayne and 63rd, and really having a gayfriend instead of a girlfriend is better. Even thoygh they both know how to dress and they both complement you on your shoes and earrings, only the gayfriend can dance the waltz with you.

Under the full moon, and over the wet plaza, we turned and turned to the rhythm of the waltz, as we spoke French and finished with a classic bow to each other.

What else can a girl ask for?

It turns out Jeremy's new roommate is no other than Christ Funk. Churchill's bartender, former college friend and famous in I Know Miami.
Could Life be any Better?
I found out because after we left the Jam at MAM, when there was nothing else left than a girl yelling and crying to her boyfriend:: "Give me back my f*cking car keys, it is my Goddamn car, you have no right." They were slapping each other and after the guy told her he wasn't going to give her shit until she calmed the f*ck down, He approached me and Vane who were amused at the performance and said: "This is what happens when is $10 all you can drink." I agreed.
Vane and I passed by...guess where? Yes, you got it Churchill's.
It was basically Vane and I and four other guys watching the Charity event in which the presidential candidates in white bow ties, tried uselessly to be funny.
Finally Christ Funk appeared, it was his day off, but he was passing by in his bike to get a Sierra Nevada. He told me, to my happiness, that he was Jeremy's new roommate and also talked about the awful new haircut a Cuban guy had done to him. And went on to performed his favorite impersonation of Cuban guy who you cannot understand a word he says.

We said bye to Mr. C and went home. There was still Friday to go and we needed energies for the busy weekend. And, what a weekend...

A Walk down Wynwood's Colorful 36 St.

Whenever I get tired of watching Hulu, and don't have the heart to cook for my lonely self, I take a walk down my colorful 36 Street. Where indie kids share the streets with homeless, crackheads, Nicaraguans, mechanics and prostitutes.
One of my favorite discoveries since I moved to 36 St. a couple of years ago, right across the street from my home, is the Fritanga HonduNica. Open until late, La Fritanga HonduNica will offer you charming Honduran or Nicaraguan muchachas servers, "Como quieres el cafe, mamol?" and they will always serve it good: warm, foamy and sweet. They also have beer and some delicious tamales that hit the right spot when you you need solids to balance the liquids of the night. They also have batidos and food ready to take for one of the most decent prices of the street. Their soup is internationally known for magically curing hangover, based on the only ancient recipe that has the ability of curing a drunk Catracho.

Enter Hell Bound City Tattoo and enter a new comfortable world of cold a.c. and walls filled of art. I am buddies with Yamel, the G.F. of one of the owners, she is also one of the Shameless Burlesque show girls, which happened to have had a show last Tuesday at Churchill's. Although I missed it I heard it was great as always. I like to pass by and say hi to them whenever I take my nocturnal walks.

If you are a girl and go to the Beer Depot, you will get the utmost customer service. I don't know what happens if you are a guy. But, as a girl you'll get your 12-packs taken to the car as well as complements on your figure. 100% Latin American Hospitality. Their beer variety has been surprisingly increasing and if you don't mind that the 6-packs are cut out from 12-packs with tape holding the bottles, then the prices are not bad at all, especially for that kind of service.

I don't know about their "Karaoke Nights Weekends" but the food at Delicias del Mar Peruano has always done a great service to my demanding appetite. I dont know if they are related to the former Delicias del Mar Peruano, which is now a huge Starbucks but, they have the whole Peruvian deal: ceviches, jalea, lomo saltado and papas a la huancaina. I always order to go, because I don't like the smell of the place and sometimes the air dosen't work. I drink an Inca Kola at the counter while I wait for my order and listen to interesting conversations or talk to the cute Peruvian girl that takes the orders.

The mysterious place of the statues next door, which is always closed, has always incited in me great curiosity. Apparently they make statues, for whom, I don't know, for Cubans I guess since there is a cock and a Jose Marti.

Left overs of when AntiKulture existed, before it became a place where they sell floors. Apparently people do not have enough money to buy art, but they do to buy floors? On top a poster about the Canada vs. Honduras soccer game! I wonder who cares about that?

At Bajareque restaurant they do accept credit cards, unlike at the Fritanga HonduNica, but neither of them sell empanadas, croquetas or pastelitos, which kind of bothers me, what else am I supposed to have for breakfast. The Cubans have not yet arrived to 36 St.

The Corner Night Club has unfortunately closed its doors. The only time i went inside was with my sister Yolanda who was visiting from Caracas and was the only one who had the balls to go have a beer with me on a Tuesday night. Inside is almost as scary as you would think, a pool table, a pregnant tattooed bartender and some kids. Maybe that is why they got closed or they just did not bring the crowds they expected.

If you are not married or not working, you cannot rent this house.

I finally arrived to my destiny Lost and Found where I sipped on Stellas and ate a delicious Club Burrito, while watching Charles Chaplin movies, which are usually on and reading a book. It had been a great walk. The people next to me talked about how much they hated Miami, how they were ready to leave it for Texas and about Real Estate. The kind of conversations my ears block.

36 St. continues all the way to Biscayne, but I usually stop here or next door at Back Yard one of my favorite stores, where everything I buy gets noticed and complemented. Check it out, so it doesn't run the same luck as The Corner Night Club.

The Schedule

Tonite Wednesday: The Debate will be shown at The Arsht Center for Free. There will be booze and the right crowd.

Tomorrow Thursday: JAM at MAM and after documentary Soy Andina at L'Alliance Francais at 7:30 p.m. Drinks, food and the director of the film.

Always Friday: Pink Party outside The Miami Herald building from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. and then Jacobs Ladder gig at Noobie Games on Collins and 41st. Although the show starts at 6:30 p.m. and is all ages, it is definetely worth seeing these talented guys.

During Tough Times: Offer Food.

Why have a party when you can have a dinner party?

That is the new trend, with the economy as it is, dividing the night between going out to dinner and then going out to party is out of the questions. Lately, I cannot remember when was the last time I went to a party that didn’t have food. People are hungry these days.
And, even though dinner parties lack the sweat and rubbing of the club and the surprises of the street it beats finding the next day in the bottom of your pocket the crumpled $80 receipt to your debit card, when you got inspired and wanted to get everyone Tequila shots.

So, if you haven’t been getting at leas two invitations to dinner parties per week in your facebook, then you don’t know what’s happening in Miami.
So, to start off on Friday, I drove all the way around The Falls, I know The Falls!, to attend a diner party offered by my gorgeously-looking friend Alex.
The Italian-themed evening started off very calmly. Bruschetas and a choice of pesto or red meat sauce to accompany the bow-tie pasta as well as a delicious tuna salad.
The variety of ethnicities presented at the soiree could be very well represented with the assortment of drinks. At some point I saw a filled bottle of Silver Patron and thank to those powers who for mysterious reasons protect us, when I finally decided to take a shot of it, it was absolutely empty.
A Peruvian dude, brought a Pisco, and was making some exquisite Pisco Sours, with egg and everything, while an angry mob awaited inside the kitchen with plastic cups in hand.
“I assume this is Chilean Pisco,” I said. “Otherwise I won’t have it.”
The angry mob laughed and I was proud of my joke until he said that for that I was getting nothing. He did give me some at the end, but that was close.

The Angry Mob
A cute, evil ginger girl named Samantha and I opened a bottle of Champagne that we found too lonely in the freezer. We pour the Champagne in our gigantic red plastic cups, which have the right measure for how much of that precious liquid we deserved.
Evil Ginger Gurl.
There were two Russians, with whom we were definitely having a hard time communicating. I thought they were gay and told them and although they denied it, it didn’t seem to bother them too much.
They invited me to their car to get something “good.” Hell yeah, I said, I am always interested in something good, whatever it is.
But, we were lost in translation again.


One of the Russians.
After walking for about 10 minutes to their car, they got out of it a warm Russian beer, and by the time I was back to the party the champagne was gone. Never trust those crazy Russians. We learn something new everyday.
At some point we danced and then started playing “Maricon” at the end of the night, when the levels of attention span had been proportionally diminish by the variety of alcohol going around.
I made futile attempts at yelling the instructions of the game: “YOU HAVE TO GET 4 OF A KIND,” but amongst laughs and distractions we only got passed one round. It is hard to organize people at these parties.


Then came Sunday.
If there is something that is great about staying in Miami, is that you never need to go to your high school reunion.
My preppy high school friends who went with me to the expensive Haunted House and moved to a hot apartment on Biscayne and 24th, were cooking barbecue in the balcony: choripan and chicken as well as serving some exquisite pizzas brought from Carpaccio Restaurant: salmon and cream cheese pizza, shrimp and onions and other delicacies of the sort.
Everybody, everybody absolutely everybody who was there was from Beach High. They all remembered the crazy Argentineans, the shaving cream at the end of the year and of course there were mentions of Papi’s chicken when our chicken was coming out of the grill.
There was Andy, brothers Alfredo and Maurico Montaldo, Adam, the birthday boy, Vincent, Carlos Patino, basically the whole soccer team, and ever so popular and beautiful Lea, as well as others.
We played Cheers Governor and made a great deal of noise, taking shots of Bacardi every time someone messed up, which was quite often.
It is good to chill with the boys. Once I get the pictures I took with Mauricio’s camera I’ll post them.

So, What Did We Miss and What Won't We Miss?

Gallery Walk, which although I did not hear anything of the walk itself, I know the Bakehouse had a cool exhibit which included some informal performances by our buddies from The Mad Cat Theatre Company, who will presenting Mixtape in the Biscayne and 30th theatre from October 24th through November 22. Including, a Halloween party after the show on the 31st, where actors wear crazy costumes and there’s a lot of free booze. I’ll be there for sure in my surprise costume.

Yelle at the Polish American Club on Friday: This must have been really hot, I was dying to hear A Cause de Garcon live, but sometimes things just don’t happen.

Also the piñata Party do-over at The Black Mangrove, I hate to miss their parties because they are always so good and because it is great to support the cause of someone who is taking some responsibility and making me feel less guilty. I heard that went well too.

This coming Friday I won’t miss: The Pink Party outside of The Miami Herald building. It will be from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. and here will be all sorts of interesting people and friends with whom to share the free drinks and food. There will also be art and music and it seems like the perfect way to kick off the weekend, with a good cause.



On Saturday, Poplife is throwing the Spin The Vote Party, mostly a way to promote Obama it seems, but i'll keep you posted on what else comes up, cuz I know we all get tired of the Poplife, even though we have to be thankful that it is always there for us.
Credits: Some of the pictures were stolen with love from Alex McAnarney and Greta Martinez facebooks and edited by me.

Es Wednesday Bro!

So, I begged Pati and Gregg not to take me to Churchill's again. There are advantages to having Churchill's as your corner bar, but the biggest disadvantage is that you end up finding yourself in those same bar stools, peeing in that same nasty bathroom, too many times in life. And, they still charge ME entrance, they should hang my picture in there instead. I told that to Mr. C the last time I went, but he insists on charging me the 5 or 3 bucks except for the times that I have answered some of his trivia questions.

We drove to Transit Lounge instead. Hadn't been there in a while, but the place still looks as open and relaxed as always. We were at the bar and Pati and I shared vodka cranberries with two limes and talked about all sorts of interesting stories artists talk about.

There was The Chemical Artist, a guy who creates with chemicals all kinds of psychotropic drugs. "He has already created 12 new ones that have not been yet commercialized!" said Pati with excitement about her hero. He tries them and has his wife, another famous plastic artist, try them as well, and then he calls his "focus group" to try them in his ranch in the outskirts of San Francisco and after the trip he surveys each of their experiences. Apparently the celebrated Chemical Artist will be soon coming to Miami.

There was also the transparent artist, Alex Grey, who had to be tripping when he made those fabulous works.

And the other artists whose piece of art was a gigantic glass bubble in the middle of a gallery and them two having sex live inside of the glass bubble. It was called Love.

Then there was the kid who went crazy after eating too many mushrooms and the kid who turned gay the last time he took acid, that one was particularly funny.

While going over the exciting stories I found out it was actually Karaoke Wednesdays at Transit Lounge.

Yupii!! If there is something I love is to put up a show.
I was the first one to climb up stage and sang Pedro Navaja totally out of tune, even my most faithful fans, who cheered and danced to my theatrical performance of the New York Gangster, told me that I sang really bad. But, I did get a big ovation at the end.

I had given enough of myself to that Lounge, so we walked over to Tobacco Road, where an excellent jazz band played downstairs and we met a Catalan painter and a Puerto Rican musician who talked to us about women and the best cities to live in. We also talked about "La Gente Linda" of Miami.

Us bohemians need to feed on this conversations of the night over cigarettes no matter what day of the week it is.

Locos Por Juana and Expensive Scare

So, this is what happened Friday.
I made a call on Facebook to all of those who wanted to join me in the scary adventure of going to the new haunted house in Wynwood. It is $20, I said. And this is when you notice how bad the economy really is.
Alex McAnarney wrote: “$20 bucks for cheap thrills when I can get them at the Krome mental ward for free? Yeah, much rather bust out the Ouija board and my hiking boots than dish out $20 clams.”
Ok, we can’t count on students anymore to do anything else than buy beers at a gas station. But, then came J.D: “Haha, I wrote an article about that house :)http://www.miamiherald.com/living/top-stories/story/698791.html I say it's too expensive!”
Ok, we can’t count on journalists either to do anything but buy cheap beer in the gas station.
And, don’t get me wrong I don’t mind stopping by the Beer Depot from time to time, but don’t we always complaint that there is a lack of different activities in Miami, shouldn’t we take advantage of this one.
Thanks to the preppy friends from my childhood, who finally left Collins and moved to my side of the bridge on 24th and Biscayne, to a really nice apartment “so fresh and so clean, clean,” I told them, I was able to skip the cheap beer for one night.
So, we set out to the scary adventure. The warehouse is next to the Miami Rescue Mission, where those homeless who did not get in the rooms, spend the night outside, waiting for it to reopen in the morning, to get breakfast.
My preppy friends, unused to the life in Wynwood, thought the bodies lying around in the streets were part of the ride and were getting really scared.
When I told them they weren’t there was a hesitation to leaving the Audi parked in front of the homeless’ beds.
In the box office we realized the price was actually $30!!! F*ck! Even for my preppy friends this was way too much. Well, I only had $20 so they had to spot on this one. Apparently it was $25 if you bought it online, whatever, who does that?
Outside you can have drinks while monsters eat your brains out.
It was scary, yes, but for 30 bucks we were hoping to get tortured to say the least.
What do we do now? Well my preppy friends, of course, wanted to go to Grass, but we drove by there and it looked dead. Enough zombies for the night.
We went to Circa, where Locos Por Juana was going to be playing. It said in Miami.com that it was free before midnight. Liars! It was 5 more bucks. Hmmm, maybe beers from the gas station wasn’t such a bad idea.
Among vodka tonics we danced in a circle like some Indian tribe, I was having so much fun, when all of the sudden my preppy friends say they are leaving. What? I am so not leaving, the band hadn’t even started playing.
If there is one thing you can count on in Circa is to find someone you know, I was sure it would happen, so I said aurevoir and went to hear the concert. Robert Samuels wrote me a text asking how was Circa and I told him to come over, I had hope.

It was excellent! While I was jumping around to the rhythm of cumbia, I saw next to me reporter Jose Pagliery filming the gig for Miami.com.
Oh! That is the only way you get reporters out, when the Herald pays for their ticket.
After the concert, all sweaty from so much dancing, I tried to tell him to come have a cig with me outside, but he was way too busy with all the girls, who think a man with a camera is sexy.
Well, it was pouring, walking home was not an option anymore. Samuels didn’t answer my calls, why would he raise my hopes and then leave me :( I wanted to dance with him.
Then came Shariff, my Brittish savior. He bought me a drink and drove me to the door of my building,

like the princess I am.