Now that the fog has lifted and I’ve restored my mind with much needed rest, I can now reflect upon the 9th wonder of the world* that is South Beach, Miami. My first trip down to the Winter Music Conference was quite memorable, but I don’t need to run down my daily itinerary, most of us have taken a beach vacation at some point in our lives. We know just how glorious 80-degree weather and cloudless skies are, so there’s no need to repaint that technicolor picture.
However, I will highlight the rooftop penthouse I stayed in with a simple link:
Due to the Jacuzzi, retractable remote-controlled sun-blocking awning and wicker terrycloth lounging bed, I was able to enjoy a beach atmosphere in elevated seclusion. Enough said.
WMC was a blast and experiencing my first time with seasoned professionals made it that much better. There were no lines to wait in or inflated entry fees to pay and I was able to bypass the $20 club cocktails. Venues were in walking distance of my hotel, so taxis were not needed. It’s never a bad thing rolling VIP.
*The 8th Wonder-of-the-World Award goes to Steve Porter for his unhinged displays of festivity and arrogance, March 27th – 28th. Well done, sir.
Shameless plugging in 3, 2, 1:
- Repeat Offenders: http://www.myspace.com/repeatoffenders
- Hot Pink Delorean: http://myspace.com/thehotpinkdelorean
- Steve Porter: http://www.myspace.com/steveporter1
- Eli Wilkie: http://www.myspace.com/eliwilkie
- Team Jaguar: http://www.myspace.com/djmannes
Learn ‘em and love ‘em.
South Beach, Miami. If I could be hired as a full-time PPW (Professional People Watcher), home base for 2010 would certainly be South Beach. I speak of South Beach with a gentle, loving mockery and know I can’t base my judgments of SB from my abbreviated visit, but c’mon. In some instances we were a few fried dough’s and goldfish-in-a-sac’s away from a State Fair in New Jersey. My eyes couldn’t keep up with the visual flesh-feasts strolling down the asphalt. I’ve never been more in awe of the human form than I was in South Beach. There were men so jacked and top-heavy, and might I add incredibly tanned, it was amazing that they weren’t crashing over themselves and onto the outdoor tables speckled about the sidewalks. And they usually traveled in boisterous bands, barking and inflating their chests whenever a female were to walk by. A mating ritual if I ever did see one. Speaking of females, I never understood the practicality of drag queen-level makeup, heavy jewelry and stilettos while sporting swimwear. Call me simple, but I don’t need to be closer to the sun or have glittery objects dangling around my overheating body while leaving a slimy trail of foundation wherever I teeter to.
Gotta love South Beach.