Saturday, February 9, 2013

Walking among Models

South Beach is a cacophony of noise made up of electro, techno drum beats smashed together with pulse pounding Latin jazz with overtures of Cuban based ballads. A visual stimulus made up of Latin infused art Deco, exposed flesh and neon colors of every stripe.

A reality producers wet dream of suntanned and stripped to the waist alpha males with over developed pectoral muscles, ABS of steel and in your face personality's that would drive ratings into the stratosphere. Of women dressed in thronged backed bikinis with strutting exposed breasts. They exude sexuality and seduction with attitude to spare.

A mythical cornucopia seen only in the fairy tales that are produced by Hollywood.

During the day the streets are lined with gleaming exotic cars from Italy with names like Ferrari, Lamborghini,  Maserati and Bentley. Corvettes, Beamers and Lexus look like using Honda's.

Hotels with rooftop bars overlooking the street, Tattoo parlors and shirt shops smashed next to and even on top of bars. The beaches filled with hard bodies who are there to worship at the feet of blue skies and sunshine. The Atlantic waves kissing the sand gently and with warmth. The air not as salty as you would think. The beaches, white the sand soft and silky against your feet. 

And when you take it all in you realize there is a reason why South Beach is the home the rich and overindulged. You no longer wonder why it's referred as the home of beautiful people. Every inch of South Beach designed for the extravagant. All of it is over the top.

It's a place where booze flows as easily as the Mississippi. 32oz mojitos and margarita's with 2 Corona bottles overturned and sticking out of the glass. Beer is served by the bucket and 2 for 1 drink specials are the first thing the hostess talks about. The menu almost an afterthought.  

Sunglasses and clothing combined with haircuts right out of Vogue or GQ. Latin playboys put together like movie Lotharios. Or cocaine cowboys. A cacophony of chest hair and bling to spare.

Soccer moms out for a run with jogging strollers. Their legs encased in spandex and yoga pants, they’re blouses tied in a knot just below their breasts. 

Tattoos and piercings are more common and frequent than a biker rally.

Your senses are overloaded your in a place that's been in the news and in the movies and it's exactly as you've seen it on TV.  It's the music, the sights and smells. To anyone whose sees it for the first time it's hard to process and you truly feel like you don't belong.

Every site more exotic than the last. Every smell more magnificent than the last. And you realize that this is exactly what the other side of the tracks is like.

And this is just during the afternoon!

Around 6pm there is a lull. The street side parking opens up. Movement on the street lets up just a bit and then like coming out of a fog bikini clad women sporting sarongs begin to appear in full force followed by hard bodied and bare chested men. The human beach traffic that just minutes ago were being bathed in sunshine are now looking for a meal and new conquests to pursue. There is an odd mix of beach bodies and smartly dressed upwardly mobile couples roaming the street elbow to elbow.

A new coalition of sites and sounds assault the senses. The music seems to have picked up an energy that wasn't there before. 

New languages appear that weren't there before. Happy hour is in full swing the booze is coming in greater quantity and is much more freely than before. The mob consuming it quickly before happy hour ends and the 2 for 1 specials closes out.

Neon Lights bouncing off of the art Deco buildings, breathing new life into South Beach as afternoon turn to evening and then melting into nightfall.

After spending 4 hours on South Beach it was time for me to go. The nightlife was one that I wanted to see, but just couldn't stay for.

The thing I didn't mention were the models. This weekend was the annual Model Beach Volleyball tournament. I watched a few rounds. Runway vs Print. I wasn't aware there was a thing between the two disciplines. But I guess there was. The thing is watching models play volleyball wasn't as fun as one might think. They had been out there for the better part of 8 hours and the bloom was off the rose for them. Their hearts weren't just into it.

And I couldn't shake the thought that I was really on a set of a rom-com movie titled Runway vs Print. The model version of Alien vs Predator.

And the other thing was. They just were no match for my wife in the looks or body department. So while i did take photos (more for everyone else than myself, I assure you) none of them could stand up against the woman I love and adore.My  modeltific wife just had them beat hands down. Her looks and figure so far above them that nary once did my loins quiver with lust in foreign or domestic.

This was supposed to be a weekend getaway for the anniversary of 10 years and the honeymoon we never had. Disappointed and saddened I was that I would not be able to share this experience with her.

For 4 hours I was in the land of model OZ. I was rudely shaken from my dream when I decided it was time to eat. There is an Irish pub called Finnegan's on South Beach and I had a hankering for some corned beef.

How was I rudely awakened you ask?? Simple When I asked the waitress how was the corned beef?

I got this for a response. "Corned Beef"? "I have no idea". "Let me ask".

And there it was I was back.

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