MIA: You Look Marvelous Part 1

In the old Saturday Night Live routine, Billy Crystal would say, “It’s not how you feel; it’s how you look.” Somehow this popped into my unbalanced mind as I wandered to, about, and through Miami International Airport earlier this summer on my way to a variety of clandestine destinations I would rather not disclose unless you are a Facebook friend of mine or intend to read this article till the end. In any case, I bring good news today, and it concerns the reformation of what was once the frighteningly ugly eyesore located smack dab in the middle of Dade County which once upon a time was the first introduction to our city and some massive terror involved with renting a car for tourists.

As the Dalai Lama says, “ Things change,” and some proof can be found these days at the airport. There is ongoing evidence of this as one sees construction by 826 and 836, but none as profound as the brilliantly named -- this is sarcasm lest we forget -- Miami Intermodal Center, the 2 billion dollar ground transportation hub with the 10 cent name. Come on man! Where is a solid Jorge M. Perez naming controversy when you need it? How about the Ozzie Guillen Center, he a managerial symbol of quickly coming then going?

I rode the Metrorail to the Intermodal Center(MIC) in the Miami Central Station (MCS) which houses the Rental Car Center (RCC). While the naming might be amateurish; the buildings are not. The Metrorail itself  was as shoddy as ever, but mostly clean, and mostly on time. These days there are intervals of 15 minutes at most even on the weekends, and the ride to the airport on the Orange Line from Dadeland South is as quick as a car -- in rush hour quicker. At around $2, it is a bargain if you don’t need a cab to take you to the stations. As we are unfortunately accustomed to, a few stations had broken escalators and others broken elevators, but at Dadeland, we were lucky. The airport station is another story, the crown jewel so to speak,a veritable love story.

I read some history at Critical Miami, followed the politics at TransitMiami, and flashed my EasyCard for the ride. Despite the colorful announcements -- “This train are going to the airport,” -- obviously language lessons for those delivering information on public transportation is a casualty of the sequestration -- getting off the Metrorail at the airport was revelatory. Riders who begin on the busway might feel like they have encountered Dr. Brown’s flux capacitor in Back to the Future as they enter a 1970’s bus, transfer to a 1990’s train, and disembark in 2020 glory. It’s that good -- and that beautiful.

A short ride later, one is in the airport taking off shoes and throwing away water bottles before entering similarly modernized terminals with clean lines, cool design, and abundant places to sit and relax in a number of the terminals. Contrast this with the airport experience in 1995. for those who still prefer Ft. Lauderdale, I say, “Have you lost your mind?”

Some of my mirth was mitigated by subsequently  visiting Changi Airport in Singapore with its sleeping lounges, sliding boards, butterfly garden, shopping mall, and free foot massage machines. Some was also mitigated by the magnificence of the structure and service in Incheon in Seoul and the food court/observation deck in Tokyo Narita. However, it is clear that those who now visit Miami are greeted by an experience we can be proud of and one that visitors will not cringe at, like they do at JFK, LaGuardia, or LAX. In fact, it is one we should be proud of.

Art in Miami has changed over the years, and nowhere more than at the airport. So today, it’s not how you feel; it’s how you look, and MIA -- you look marvelous.

Miami: Best and Worst in Sports: Let's Go Heat Report Card

Getting towards June, the slow season begins to reveal its soggy spectacle. The barometer swings like a pendulum, skies snap, crackle, and pop, and the mercury rises till it blasts out of thermometers. Dogs lie listlessly, lawnistas get that pep in their step, and the resplendent poinciana preside throught the zone 11 region. By the middle of May -- what’s left? Well, hopefully -- the Heat are nearing another crown, the Marlins have two or three seats filled, the Dolphins are getting ready to tantalize its fickle fan base, and the Canes are hoping that everything ends up golden.

The Heat are Miami’s best, classiest, and most fashionable. Aside from the gruesome linoleum rose, Versace thing somebody talked him into wearing after the Heat put a 37 point whupping on the Bulls and those skimpy Capris, Dwyane Wade continues to dazzle everyone with both Euro steps and ensembles. His brother LeBron brings the edgy eyewear and sartorial system to an All-Star altitude on par with his game -- strictly big, big time. Chris Bosh rocked a lavender Cardigan like an 8 foot rim, and Chris Andersen’s, mini-Birdman imitators inspire -- I don’t know what to call what parents are doing to kids dressed like him. Even Coach Erik Spoelstra in his basic blacks and grays does a service to our collective, South Florida self-image. If you consider all of this and then factor in those old Floridian throwback jerseys and Pat Riley’s haircut circa 1985, what you have here now is a perfect storm of tropical excellence. Grade: A++

The Marlins, unfortunately, continue to punish us with their futility on the field and in the white elephant to which we all foolishly contributed. Far be it for me to cast aspersions on the young men chewing tobacco and spitting on the grass in that gigantic Smurf-like coliseum which rose in the ashes of the Orange Bowl, but one can spare the stadium designers no such slack. Forget the cost, the aesthetic was simply the grandest swing and a miss of all time. Given the beauty of Oriole Park at Camden Yards, also known as the ballpark which forever changed the look of baseball, San Francisco’s waterfront AT&T Park, and all the other glorious, retro creations throughout the fruited plains, ours resembles some crass blue fruit cocktail imagined by a third-grader in love with Chuck E Cheese. It’s also the coldest place in Miami next to the beer aisle in Winn Dixie. Owner Jeffrey Loria miraculously managed to get everything wrong, and when he attends a game in person as he almost never does, the cavernous stadium is so empty that there is no one there to even boo him. Grade: F-

Before they get cooking in the official preseason, the Dolphins host what they call interactive football experiences for boys and cheer camps for girls in June with tasteful giveaways like Under Armour jerseys and pom poms both certain to find their way to thrift shops, yard sales, and landfills within a few short months. Here in South Dade, the good news is that the Dolphins are in North Dade. Grade: C

Last but not least, the University of Miami will offer young prospects the opportunity to get maximum exposure at the same venue as the Canes. As he enters his third season as the leader of the U’s football fortunes, Coach Al Golden spotless rep and striped rep ties will be the rudder for the formerly colorful but oft punished gridiron heroes at the Al Golden Football Camp. While all of us wish the Canes the best of luck, you can be sure that our fans, the worst in the ACC, will be two losses away from jettisoning Coach Al without a golden parachute. Grade: I

A Tale of Two Lincolns or Two Roads Diverged on Miami Beach

Far from the knockoff Downtown Abbeys located off the banks of Ludlum Road in our beloved Pinecrest lie the maddening crowds on Lincoln Road in Miami Beach. All of us, at one time or another feel compelled to make the journey to the beach, and especially if we have relatives in tow, inevitably, we exercise an obligation to pop in on the pedestrian mall between and parallel to 16th and 17th Streets. 

There was a time when Lincoln Road was in its heydey with Bonwit Teller, Saks Fifth Avenue, and Burdine’s. Then there was a time when Lincoln Road was in decline, a strip only Scarface could love. Then, it began to rebound in the late 90’s. Now ... it’s hard to tell what’s going on there. Dylan’s Candy Bar, H &M, and Taschen have outposts. So do GNC, Bikini Village, and Payless. Draw your own conclusions.

There is, I suppose, looking at the bright side, something for everyone there. Old timers still ride their cruisers with parrots or Speedos on. Locals roller skate by. Folks that resemble the cruise boat crowd that frequent Bayside are in evidence. You hear Spanish, Portuguese, French, Russian, Chinese, and Hebrew routinely. Tomato-faced English loiter on Lincoln, walking like Frankensteins to keep the sunburn from chafing too painfully. Shirts unbuttoned to the pupik broadcast hairy chests and gold rope chains as if Donna Summer and the Bee Gees are still in concert. The Rolex still lives on Lincoln Road. LAst but not least, every failed plastic surgery victim seems to teeter totter by sooner or later, everything stretched and protruding. Forgive me, but it is not as uplifting for us as it is for you. 

New World Symphony has relocated to new digs. Ghirardelli is gone. So is almost all the sophistication which Carl Fisher envisioned when he created Lincoln Road as Miami Beach’s version of Beverly Hils’ Rodeo Drive. In its place is a gallimaufry of people, places, and things. A hodgepodge. A confused mess. Don’t get me completely wrong. It’s still enjoyable at times, especially if you hail from Wilmington North Carolina, Huntsville Alabama, Youngstown Ohio, or Topeka Kansas. Around the perimeter of Lincoln Road, you see these folks in hundreds of red rented Mustang convertibles circling the area, radios blaring, teenagers occasionally standing and screaming. Forgive them -- they know not what they do. It’s worse when they are walking, but better when they sit in the bad restaurants seducing them nearer Washington Avenue. There is some quality remaining on the eastern reaches of Lincoln, but not much. Paul Bakery, straight out of Paris, still has a good product. Rosinella received praise, most ending a decade ago. Nearly all are despised by any local clientele.

On the western side of Lincoln Road, Alton Road side of Lincoln Road, there is hope. The designer parking garage is a marvel; Juvia drains only the best of credit cards from its gorgeous penthouse. (Check out its website, and I guarantee it will give Gone in 60 Seconds new meaning thanks to an insufferable soundtrack.) Alchemist on floor five in the garage will stop you in your tracks, but you will need the fattest stacks to buy anything there. Picasso prices! The Nespresso store below is like Crayola for adults. Nearby Banana Republic is housed in a gorgeous old bank.  Base USA succeeds. Books & Books always dignifies itself. The Frieze, a few steps off Lincoln on Michigan is sublime. Juicy Couture, Victoria’s Secret, Mac, and Kiehl’s trump the cosmetic appeal than those Perfumania and CVS, both closer to Washington and Collins. At its worst near Collins, Lincoln Road is the new Ocean Drive.

All said, the further west you go, Lincoln Road becomes the road less traveled, and if you stay at that end, it will make all the difference.

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.

The State of Film

And The Winner Is

As I write this, I await the beginning of the Academy Awards. I will forego the predictions but have read all the predictions. I have seen “The Life of Pi”, “Silver Linings Playbook”, and “Les Misérables” where UA, Regal, and AMC rule, and salty popcorn, bathtub-sized soft drinks, and GMO laden snacks command exorbitant prices. To tell the truth, these venues, with runaway 14 year-old wreaking havoc on all sense and sensibility are more punishment than sanctuary, so it is with great jouissance that I can celebrate the local film scene as never before. Never have the connoisseur, enthusiast, and junkie had so many opportunities to see foreign, independent, and documentary films.

Apart from Oscar, Miami has just completed its 30th version of the Miami International Film Festival, or XXX as MIFF blithely logoed it. Miami Dade College is behind this festival as it is behind the Book Fair and so many other great community affairs. No, none of the films were XXX nor screened at dodgy theathers, but many will also never make it to the corporate screens either. Instead, what MIFF does, and where it does it, gives the film maven plenty of places to pursue the big screen fantasies going on around the world. And we denizens of the bottom of the Sunshine State can now view great cinema every day of the week in a number of locales. 

I wrote about the Coral Gables Art Cinema last year, so this is a good time to give them and all the local art houses a big shout out again. This column will be devoid of any criticism or controversy. Not only do all the theaters curate great selections, as of course does the MIFF and other local film events, but the Coral Gables venue particularly can be accessed by googling Miami cinemateque, Coral Gables Cinema, and a few others. All roads lead to the CGAC, which also has a cool little cafe thing going as well.

MDC is also the driver behind Calle Ocho’s TowerTheater which routinely screens great films, many of which are in original Spanish language of course with English subtitles. This landmark, built and launched in 1926, is again a great gathering place and paragon of modest majesty for both new and the nostalgic film buffs, after having been restored and revived in the 2000’s. For those aesthetes with the special fondness for the bygone, the Tower is choice #1. Across the street is Azucar for ice cream.

Another long running venue for the movie devotee is the Bill Cosford Cinema on the campus of the University of Miami. I always liked the Cosford because it made me feel young. However, recent accomodations to what someone thought was a changing demographic -- young people -- have made mass market films on their later go-round a complement to the offbeat and international. Two vending machines are on the concourse.

When the Miami Beach Cinematheque, AKA MBC, is not participating in a local film festival it still offers a wide-ranging selection of films. As its website points out, Dana Keith is the founder, director, driving force, and film connoisseur behind it all. I don’t know if Dana is also popping the corn, but to find out, you must go to the 1927, historic Carl Fischer-designed City Hall on Washington Avenue near Espanola Way. Of course, MBC has a bookstore/gallery/cafe space.

Last are the two O Cinema spaces, the original edgier one in Wynwood, and the newer, more classic spot in Miami Shores, also known as MTC, Miami Theater Center where it shares space with what is now known as playground. MTC was founded as the Shores Theater in 1946. Both O’s are part of the non-profit which happened thanks to matching funds from the Knight Foundation. When they can, the O Wynwood screens films like those about Bob Marley, the Cream’s Ginger Baker, and controversial prison revolutionary Mumia Abu-Jamal. MTC prefers features about the geriatric, the royal, and the indigent European in search of salvation. Wynwood serves chocolate ganache treats and in Miami Shores, there’s a Starbucks down the street.

In Miami, these are good times for filmgoers -- every day of the week.

The Death of Wynwood

For a while now, I have been thinking that the end is near. Since there is no such profession as an actual “future of the neighborhood” fact checker, the question remains -- Is the end of Wynwood near? Let’s say a little perspective is in order.

First, it is entirely fair dinkum to assume that some of our reading population does not know what I’m talking about. If you have a decent relationship with your college aged children and they have tats, piercings, or an inclination to speak of craft beer, GMO’s, or baristas, you are aware of the district near Midtown where Art Basel spinoffs and graffiti artists began digging in about a dozen years ago thanks to a desire, a need, and a beloved pioneer named Tony Goldman. If you have never visited Wynwood, perhaps this analogy will do.

Remember the time before Ocean Drive was reborn. Art Deco structures populated a mostly decrepit, neglected stretch of what would become really valuable real estate between South 5th and South 15th on South Beach. Like a phoenix, it became grand in a short time after having fallen into Scarface disrepair. On the other hand, today, it is a desperate, immature, ugly 20 something visited by most of us only when our least sophisticated relatives make that once in a lifetime visit to South Florida and want to visit the Clevelander.

Illustration two is Lincoln Road, still pleasant though no one I know goes there very much any more because it’s too crowded. (Thank Groucho Marx for the joke) With the recent opening of European mass market God H&M, the transformation is virtually complete and fully corporatized. If you are a small business, I’ve got two words for you -- side streets -- because as former New York mayoral candidate Jimmy McMillan squealed, “The Rent is Too Damn High.”

So while I am certainly ahead of myself, simultaneously, I am not. Adjacent to Wynwood, the Design District has added Louis Vuitton, Cartier, Dior, and Prada. Hello Design District. Goodbye Bal Harbor. (and its claustrophobia) Target lives alongside Loehmann’s, Supercuts, Foot Locker, and Subway in midtown Miami, also next to Wynwood, so can you hear the clock ticking yet? Hipsters, artists, and franchises do not mix!

I am not complaining as it is inevitable for change to occur, but the folks who were first to the dance -- those with bikes and spray cans, will soon be stopped by the new bouncer they used to tag walls with. That said, Wynwood is entering its next transformation, and expect the avalanche to occur much more quickly than you think. Food trucks and their generators quickly wear out their welcome when NW 2nd Avenue is bumper to bumper and the masses prefer t-shirts to canvases.

When this occurs, some will be disappointed, but fret not; the transformation will continue elsewhere. Till then, though you might want to check out Model City or Little Haiti, my money is on whether anyone can spell Allapattah?