I spent a weekend in Miami last weekend. I know, I know. I'm not a Miami person. But I sure enjoyed snoozing on the beach after working 16 hour days for weeks, so maybe I am a Miami person. Just not a "hot, fist-pumping" miami person. Snookie, I ain't.
We went out clubbing, and I realized the allure that people could fall for. These were amazingly designed spaces, with more DJs per square inch than anywhere else in America. Move everything in slow-mo, and even I could pretend I was cool.
One of the women I was with - we're all 39 and above, mind you - said, "I can't believe that group of guys didn't even look over here. Not even a glance!" So many things wrong with that statement:
A) we're all over 39. That's like 211 in Miami-years.
B) we have husbands and children and no big bazoombas.
C) those type of guys wouldn't have looked at us in our 20's either.
Wierdest part. We went to a club, in the W hotel, called "Living Room". They had an amazing art collection hanging with works from Scharf, Basquiat, Sachs and more from Aby Rosen's personal collection, I believe. I would have happily stayed there all night. They even had amazing art books sitting out at a long table,...that no one was sitting at. But not a single person was even looking at the art. I was so close to beauty that I could literally lick it, and people weren't noticing....or more concerned with licking beauty of a different kind, I guess. eeesh.
