Books & Books

Even if you can’t judge a book by looking at the cover, how about a bookstore?

Quiet as it is not kept, the book, long revered and worshipped by intellects of all shapes and sizes, is said to be on its last legs. Our old, beloved US1 Borders has been demolished, to be replaced any day now by Trader Joe’s. As excited as I am to soon be reading the labels on the bottles of Three Buck Chuck, Borders had more educational potential (though I hope the former manager of that Borders will work at Trader Joe’s because he was so outstanding.) However, when it comes to the death of the bookstore, try telling this to Books & Books.

Cavernous Barnes & Noble still commands the corner of Red and SW 72nd St, along with the AMC 24, propping up a Sunset Place that often seems forlorn. They also have West Kendall locked up, along with a Miracle Mile location which hangs tough despite staggering to stay afloat. As Michael Jackson sang, “Do You Remember the Time” when we loved hanging out at these places? Bookstores with coffee shops seemed as ubiquitous then as coffee shops without bookstores are now. Other pummeled sad sacks, daily newspapers, ironically wrote epitaphs for the book alongside their own obituaries. Amazon, with nearly a quarter of all book sales, seemed to be like Mike Tyson, with referees performing a 10 count on Borders, Waldenbooks, B. Dalton, and Crown Books, all long gone since being knocked flat. It would seem that the book business is just down for the count -- finished -- defeated -- vanquished -- conquered -- kaput

However, like a sleeping giant, a lion hiding in the bushes, Casey at the Bat, or David going up against Goliath, the treasured independent bookstore in Miami is a monster called Books & Books, and we are supremely blessed to have it in our midst.

Aside from the business itself, all of Mitchell Kaplan’s locations ooze class, percolate with vitality, and provide everyone with an atmosphere that is hard to top by any definition. Books & Books have local stores in Coral Gables, Lincoln Road, and Bal Harbour, a kiosk at refurbished MIA, at the Fort Lauderdale Museum of Art on Las Olas, one in Grand Cayman, and one in Westhampton Beach. Things are always throbbing there -- events, parties, reading groups, signings, etc. Local favorites like Edwidge Danticat hang out there. I heard Jamaica Kincaid say, “I loathe the Queen,” there. Cee Lo Green is coming to Coral Gables. Salman Rushdie is coming to Miami Dade College; Mitch also hosts the Miami International Book Fair which he co-founded. Basically, If one can write, Books & Books will present them.

If it were only the long lists of splendid authors, Books & Books would command respect. Most locations sport fashion-forward cafes, and the flagship Gables spot a Mediterranean style courtyard where a bar is centered, bands play, and good vibes reign. It is said that the book is in trouble; maybe, but the bookstore is in fine shape.

O, Miami

O -- What’s in a name?  A poetry festival by any other name would recite just as lovingly, rhythmically, thoughtfully, profoundly, funkily, or-- well I think you get the message. O’Miami’s been sweet.

Whether you realize it or not, poetry is simmering on a front burner these days. Poem in Your Pocket Day is a national event which takes place on April 18th, smack dab in the middle of National Poetry Month. PIYP began in New York City in 2003 and embraced by the Academy of American Poets, went national in 2008, permitting people throughout the country to get their bard on. With support from groups like the National Writing Project, Figment, The Office of Letters and Light, myriad events have sprung forth everywhere. The result? The United States has resuscitated what may have seen as a patient on life support. Coffee houses, bakeries, libraries and schools from sea to shining sea are in on the act. And we here in Miami? We are buried in couplets, verses, sestinas, limericks, haiku, sonnets, odes, paeans, and idylls as O’Miami makes another biennial appearance. Its basic goal? For each Miami citizen to find a poem. 

Produced by the University of Wynwood and founded by Peter Borrebach and P. Scott Cunningham, he who still produces it, O’Miami, in partnership and sponsorship with John S. and James L. Knight Foundation, Miami-Dade County, The City of Miami Beach, and The Betsy Hotel, aims to weave poetry into the fabric of the region for the month of April. It’s all massively ambitious, and if you are tuned in to Miami’s artistic activities in even the most remote way, you might encounter a reading, an open mic, a fused ballet performance, or a trilingual spoken word onslaught somewhere through the end of the month. To borrow the words of one of my own personal favorite poets: We got poets in the livin’room gettin’ it on, and they ain’t leavin’ till six in the mornin’.

On April 24th, there will be pop-up poetry at 800 Lincoln Road and rocking poetry at Churchill’s in Little Haiti. On the 25th, there is a performance/conversation at FIU’s Wolfsonian. On the 26th at the Freehand, you can get a tattoo along with a poem and a cocktail. 2012 Kingsley Tufts Award-winner Chase Twichell and deeply cool Miami-Dade professor Dr. Michael Hettich read "for the dogs" on the 27th at The Betsy in a benefit to convert all Miami-Dade animal shelters to "no-kill" facilities, this event one of several at the Betsy that evening. The festivities conclude on April 28th with an event at the New World Symphony Hall, where 2013 Presidential Inaugural poet Richard Blanco, Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore, and NBC's Megan Amram read aloud in the New World Symphony Hall. Given we live in Miami, there is also an after party, make that O,fter Party, on the beach.

Like Macbeth, you might consider that life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more, or that it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. If so, you really might want to make your way to some of these activities in order to be inspired to put your anguish to everyday use. Details can be found here: http://www.omiami.org.

Sense and Sensibility

ULTRA has come and gone, and though the tinnitus may still be keeping you company, it may be time to sit down and have a long talk with yourself. If I were you, I would light the fire, pull up a chair, don the slippers, brew the chamomile tea, and spin the record on the turntable with something a bit more soothing. Get safe. Get warm. Get soulful. 

First a question: what’s with the American fixation with grades, rankings, listage, etc.? Even though I myself succumbed as well at the end of last year, such trivial measuring is far beneath me. (though evidently, hypocrisy isn’t) Why can’t both McCartney and Lennon be the best Beatle? I have room in my head for Nancy Reagan, Laura Bush, and Hillary Clinton. Why imagine Magic, Bird, Jordan, and LeBron as competing? Van Gogh isn’t better than Picasso? 

With this in mind, the clip of Esperanza Spalding playing the electric bass after a cackling Jools Holland salivates upon introducing her, transports one back to the 70’s of Minnie Riperton, Billy Cobham, and Stanley Clarke despite his calling hers a sensational, new sound.  Shrimp colored kaftan flowing, old school Angela Davis afro blowing, Ms. Spalding may sound sensational, but reborn seems more accurate than new. This is fusion and fashion redux. Ms. Spalding: Shall I compare you to number 1? Thou art more lovely and more temperate, but who’s counting? 

Ms. Spalding’s videos and photos reveal a fine kind of shapeshifting. The video for Endangered Species has her funking in a sweet, black minidress, scarf and jewels bobbing along with the Weather Report groove. Tuniced and mini-skirted in a live clip from San Sebastian, Ms. Spalding kills I Know You Know, singing breezily and happily, as cool and free as the other side of a Brooklyn, boutique hotel pillow. She emotes; I nod my head and approve. Plus -- I love the natural do for the Levi-clad, European crowd. Legit, unpretentious cool. Later she caresses the upright bass, closes her eyes, and destroys Smile Like That. In still another incarnation, Ms. Spalding covers Stevie Wonder’s Overjoyed -- face made up, lipstick on, shiny designer dress fitted to the nines, necklace sparkling, and heels rising -- a glamorous rock star playing jazz at a formal, White House, East Room gathering. Little Fly, the moody, melodic piece I played while covering for Mark Hayes on WDNA last year adds a string trio to lyrical verses by William Blake. Had it not been for the damn Tire Kingdom ads and insufferable anti-Obamacare propaganda poisoning my YouTube experience, I could have listened and watched all morning.  

I will get my live chance on April 19th at the Arsht Center when Ms. Spalding brings it to Miami at 8:30. This is Live at the Knight breaking serious, soulful ground. The jazz cognoscenti, perhaps having nothing better to do than quibble about Ms. Spalding’s style and intentions, complain about how she will have to sell out to sell more, if she wants to become number 1. Call me wishy-washy, but I don’t want to get into the middle of this mess. That said, I hope she brings the European look to Miami so I don’t feel underdressed.

Art Basel/Scope/Context

Everybody Painting for Basel

Lots of activity today in the MIA.

Critical Mass Miami

The intersection of many of my favorite things occurs during the last Friday of the month’s Critical Mass. There may be no raindrops on roses or whiskers on kittens, but there are a few thousand people, a couple of hours of exercise, fleeting neighborhood visitations, and a number of baddass bikes to accompany the newly restored clunker some may have taken to Andres at the Miami Recycle Bicycle Shop or the good folks at the Magic City Bicycle Collective. 

photo from Jordan Melnick/beachedmiami.com

Every month. the word filters out to more folks looking to get in touch with their inner -- I don’t know -- hipster? The assembly begins shortly after 6:30 at the Metrorail’s Government Center. By the time the ride begins at 7:15, the entire block is festively thronged by colorful participants -- as Q-Tip might say, a vivrant thing. 

To channel another musical theme, in Miami, the Creator has a master plan and it includes bikes. While Miami isn’t Amsterdam, it’s safe to say that there are a fair number of aspiring originators, devisers, inventors, and masterminds adorning wheels with aplomb. Some of these skills extend to rolling sound systems; lots of people like to ride near one of the folks blasting reggae. Another rocks the 80’s. There is a Chinese Jamaican guy with his toddler on the bike seat pumping out straight, parental sticker hip-hop. As I said, it’s a colorful crowd.

The routes change monthly, but there are recurring motifs. From Government Center, everyone goes west, under 95, then over the Miami River. For those of you who like amusement parks and NASCAR crashes, this is the most thrilling part of the route. If you survive this, chances are, the only impending worry newcomers may have is some diaper rash. 

Then, one just pedals through the neighborhoods most have only encountered on the exploitative local newscasts at 11 -- East Little Havana, Overtown, Allapattah, Model City, Little Haiti, and Beverly Terrace. There, the masses outside the public housing, hair salons and fritangas come out to greet you. “Welcome to the hood,” one grandmother shouted last month. Of course, Calle Ocho, Miracle Mile, Brickell, and Biscayne also appear. Here, everyone in high heels seems to be using the iphone to record a video. Corkers politely block the intersections and make apologetic conversation. They are firm and respectful. Occasionally, a driver gets bold -- for a loud, angry moment at least. After a swarm of outraged bicyclists surround him, there is usually peace in numbers. 

From beginning to end, month after month, what one experiences on the ride is the art of the street. Critical Mass gauges the pulse of a city through a mass determined to enjoy the street, to share the street, to breathe the street, and to feel the neighborhoods that explain the streets. For thousands of people who dream of an urban-connected Miami, this is their favorite two hours of the month.

Coral Gables Art Cinema

When it's hot, the Arts take a back seat to things like those one can do inside a nice cozy air-conditioned space. With this in mind, I thought I'd skip the August art walks and in order to fill my need for something creative, gave a shout out to the Coral Gables Art Cinema where the good people there hooked me up with tickets to see Woody Allen's To Rome With Love. To make a long story short -- good move.

I love this theater from top to bottom; considering that it is connected to a several story high parking garage, it is big from top to bottom. Most of what they screen is profoundly well-received by its devotees; this Woody Allen film was on its 6th week. In the art house world, this is an eternity. Big respect to the theater for extending it and extending it, because it was hilarious. I don't think I'm exaggerating; the audience madly loved this film. Furthermore, I would love to write about Woody Allen's latest venture; however, this is about the Coral Gables Art Cinema.

About two years ago, this theater opened, screening year-round, daily films unlike those found at the mall. The website says programs will be "vibrant, diverse, multicultural and multilingual." So far, so good. I've seen a handful of films there; it's a great place. Moreover, there are events held often -- lectures, discussions, wine tastings, etc. The Cinema is a non-profit, so you can contribute and become a member, and I suppose help raise funds like for WDNA and WLRN. Film, Jazz, NPR -- all good things to me.

Cinema Director Robert Rosenberg has good taste, and though I realize that this is both debatable and pithy, there are such things as quality and expertise. Chefs know more than kids about food. Eric Spoelsta knows more about basketball than fans. Democrats know more about birth certificates than Donald Trump. Robert Rosenberg knows more about good film than my son. 

Summer in Miami can be unforgiving. We all know this. Shallow as it sounds, as one whose "favorite" all-time film is Cinema Paradiso, I have had a long long love affair with film, art house in particular. Going to the movies is particularly enjoyable here in the rainy season. When it's hot, the Coral Gables Art Cinema always has something cool to offer.

If you don't agree and you would like this column to be yours, try a hostile takeover. 

Riding High

From here in Berlin, yesterday I joined the Magic City Bicycle Collective  after having read the Miami Herald and beachedmiami.com articles. Of course, I had to chuckle a bit over the headline in which the beloved Herald pointed out how the group intends to "demystify" the bicycle. I don't know exactly what the mystery is -- two wheels and a bit of terror at age 6 seems to tell it all -- but if my city says it must be demystified, I'm all in. Plus, big respect to blogging Jordan Melnick who has been on his bike along with a hardcore number of us since the beginnings of Critical Mass well over a year ago now. He knows, as I know, that the real mystery in Miami is how messed up it got before the alarms went off. And we have to undignify ourselves by arguing with people who sit in daily traffic on the Palmetto; they tell us what's up. My only beef with bikers is the use of the word sharrows -- wtf?

I've talked often with Andres Barreda from Miami Recycle Bicycle Shop, another founding father (lest we forget to credit Rydel, Dario, EMERGE and the Miami Bike Scene among others please don't be offended if we left you out) moving the Miami movement and caring about it enough to do something more than I am. He returned from Spain, where riding needs not be demystified, and we admiringly talk about the culture in Amsterdam, in Paris, in Copenhagen, and in Berlin, where I road into a mammoth park last Sunday on a path by the autobahn and disappeared into woods with rope courses, lakes, swimming holes, farming plots, and hundreds of people using all of it. In Berlin, everybody seems to be riding, if not walking, and everybody everywhere is using public transportation -- DEEPLY SUPPORTED AND FUNDED BY REASONABLY GOOD GOVERNMENT. Please -- don't get me started.

It's going to take a lot more than the MCBC to change Miami's bicycle scene, but praise the chain and pass the tool kit: thanks for entering the fight. I am among the Critical Mass devoted to continuing to work for a better quality of life.

Summertime

It’s summertime, and the livin’ is easy. Mosquitoes are bitin’, and the grasses are high. Your daddy’s rich (in some cases), and your kids are good looking (or so we like to tell our friends). So hush little suburban baby. Don’t you cry.  One of these mornings, you’re going to wake up on holiday, then you’ll spread your wings, pump up your tires, and take to the streets. Until that morning, you can prepare for the sultry weather by dreaming of another ride through the green thicket that wraps its vines around us every summer, as you drip happily with sweat and pleasure.

Years ago when I first moved here, I complained to new friend and current Ransom Everglades Athletic Director Claude Grubair about summer’s oppressive humidity as he picked me up on a warm June evening with his windows rolled down. “Summer’s the best time of the year,” said Claude simply. After thinking about it – no kidding – I had been transformed and converted. Last week, I bumped into Claude while I was on my bike and he was running, and I reminded him of the story. I have loved the summers here ever since.

The earlier the better, but as long as one avoids the lightning, riding in summer is all good. You don’t need a plan, for residential streets in Pinecrest, Palmetto Bay, South Miami, Cutler Bay, and Coral Gables overflow with things to look at. Yes some of it may not be what you might choose to see in front of homes if indeed you had the power of choice – a big pair of badly carved lions, gilded gates, stars and stripes on poles – but there is a feast for the vigilant eye. 

You can make a little checklist if you like. Pink flamingos in the flower beds – check. Ceramic dolphin above the garage door – check. Lighthouse mailbox – tick it off. Shells embedded on a wall – got ‘em. There is no end to the kitsch. For all who recoil at this, shall I call it art, just look at the giant, graceful Poinciana trees.

Architectural quirks lie just around every bend, decades of design shaped by the times and the shapes of our lives. We all know that homes keep getting bigger and bigger, c’est la construction. These days, you can still see the 50’s bungalow which George Jetson may have loved next to the new McMansion which the 1% love. This love of course, trickles down to contractors, real estate agents, tax collectors, and gardeners – I’ll leave it at that. If you are on a bike, the former is cool like Americana and the latter grand like Downton Abbey.

Depending on your route, a brain freezing smoothie is just a few revolutions away. Aside from all the knowledge dropped by the big guy at Smoothie King, the faded, grandfathered-in glory provided by the chatty staff at the Wayside Market, and the proximity to Whole Foods and Fresh Markets along the way, South Miami’s Sun Juice has been my favorite for years, keeping my hypochondria at bay with the Cold Curer.

More and more of us in South Florida have taken to the streets on our bikes, riding with friends and family, rolling back the years. It’s summertime, and the livin’ – as long as the hurricanes mind their manners – is easy.

Thing Fall Apart-Volume 1

Ever since Rick Scott became governor, things have begun to fall apart. Although he made enormous promises, and has an illustrious history with finances, it has been nearly 2 months, and things have not gotten better in any way. Despite the glory of Scott’s coronation inauguration, which only cost $3 million, nothing compared to the $73 million he spent to get elected, and even less compared to the $219 million he is worth, things have begun to crumble in Miami, and I have the photos to prove it. 

Certainly, with a tiny bit of cutting, like closing schools where freeloading children and teachers waste hard earned private sector cash, or raiding wasteful public pension funds like great governors like the one in Wisconsin, Scott could begin to repair things like that pictured above. (I have a handyman who could do it in two hours for about $79, but I hesitate to share his digits.)  

In any case, Rick Scott's star has obviously faded, and it is increasingly clear that he is just another plastic, phony politician making promises he cannot keep.