Day 8 - North Beach/South Beach

I saw this disembodied human foot - look to your left - lying on the beach today. It looked like a tourist's foot. As you can see there wasn't much else on the beach. The turban ladies on the upper right were camped out a few feet in front of me. The turban ladies shocked me when the one in the ugly blue flower print thing and the youngest one, on the left, went into the surf in their long dresses and stocking feet. The younger woman screamed with delight. I'd swear she had never been in the ocean before and she apparently lives here in Miami Beach. When those women were not dominating my interest, I longed for Inga (from yesterday) to walk by again. I know I would have at least said "Hello, Inga." Girl watching - of the bikini variety - was limited to a single Girl from Ipanema. She wore a wide brimmed black straw hat, had a stony look on her face and had a bottom that brought tears of deep appreciation to my eyes. It was at least an hour between her coming and going past me so I can't imagine how far she walked but she was unimaginably exotic. Sigh.

It was several degrees colder than yesterday which made it all the more perfect for me. I feel extraordinary. I love it here. Perfect weather, nonthreatening environment filled with exotic people you do not see in Michigan. English is less spoken here and Spanish or Hebrew (or Russian). I feel better physically than any time since last summer when I was totally in love with the Lovely M. I walked for an hour and a half without resting in South Beach today! I haven't done that since Jimmy Carter was president. It's obvious to me that I need to live down south in the winter and in lovely Canton, Michigan in the summer. It will improve my health and totally solves the problem of being unable to sell my condo. There's just one tiny hiccup. I can't afford it. Obviously I need to marry a woman over 50 who is attractive, smart and financially independent. Where have I heard that one before?

As promised, I did South Beach today. Today begins their Wine and Food Tasting event with Emeril and Martha Stewart, etc., but I didn't get invited or stumble into it. As I said above, I did walk the whole of it (Sort of). I walked from Lincoln Park Mall near 16th Street to Flamingo Park (didn't see a damn flamingo anywhere) several blocks all the way down to 7th Street in the Art Deco District. I walked several blocks east to the ocean as well. Hmm. Not what I had hoped for. The art Deco District did not look like the opening sequence to Miami Vice; but then it didn't look like Woodward Ave. (in and near Detroit) either. The stunning colors and shapes I was expecting were not seen. I might research it a bit and go back tomorrow. I'm missing something. The Lincoln Street Mall was awash in outdoor cafes. I was there way to early for the beautiful people to emerge although I did see a man with no arms painting with his toes! But that wasn't my primary goal. I needed swimming trunks and I wanted those New Balances I saw yesterday. Seemed easy enough but I forgot I was in South Florida where they have shops that no Midwesterner would ever buy such gaudy shit. I finally found a Quicksilver store. I am not exactly their demographic, having started as a surfer shop, but a wonderful young woman helped me buy some trunks (shorts? what are they called?) that were perfect. Just a little too tight so I can be motivated to keep up my good eating habits. I have eaten so well since I left home! I'm proud of myself -- although I was so thrilled that I could buckle my belt in the third notch easily which was impossible two weeks ago. Unfortunately I looked closely and I was using the second notch. No wonder it was so smooth. Fashion fact: A man's belt it threaded through the loops from left to right so that the loose end is pointing in the same direction as the material over the zipper. And man's belt fits correctly when it buckles easily in the third notch.

Tonight's story: I said earlier that I could have spoken to Inga if I had seen her today. But really it's all about eye contact isn't it? If you can't get eye contact, you've got nothing. Here's a lesson I had in eye contact. I was in Stockholm, probably in the early nineties, with a French colleague named Dominique. He was a drunk and a bullshit artist. He was fun but he was an asshole. So we were at our hotel's very crowded bar and Dominique starts to explain to me how picking up women is all in the eyes. (His are so fucking bloodshot he looks like Lerch.) He is making eyes at this really good looking young woman who is looking back. She and her friend come over to us. My alarm immediately goes off wondering what these two stunning women are doing with a drunk and a dipshit (that's me, of course). Dominique's date invites us to a private club were we can relax more. Uh, oh. By the way, my alarm was going off all right but I still had no fucking clue what the story was. I'm so stupidly trusting. We pile into a cab with Dominique's "date" in the front and the three of us in the back. I ask my "date" what she does for a living? (How fucking juvenile can I get?) She says she's a travel agent and a dancer. "But you have the night off tonight?" I say. "So far" she says. (I'm beginning to come out of my stupor and realize we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.) We arrive at an unmarked door and Dominique's date pays the cabbie. We walk down these dark stairs to an entrance to the club where the girls work. The hostess is topless. Dominque asked the cashier how much. "1500 krona" -- about $600-$700 at the time. Dominque goes red and say "No!" We rush up the stairs with his date imploring us to stay. The cab is still sitting there. He cabbie says he wanted to warn us but she was sitting right next to him. He said he saw a guy the previous week come out of there wihtout his wallet and his clothes torn. I said "Nice eye contact, Dominique. You dickhead."

Thanks for reading.