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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