Secrets, secrets are no fun

I've been keeping a secret from you. By tomorrow morning, I'll be ready to share it.

The past few weeks, I've donated my evenings to a little, big something that I hope will please you, so stay in touch!

Negligence, bro

Miami, bro is not ignoring you, but rather working on some future project that is certain to through and through please you in the future (unless you have a crush on blonde Erin from The City).

A few things I've been up to: I spent the work day in the Four Seasons residential tower. Nice looking pool! Wish I could have experienced it (insert sad, sobbing face here).

The Jacuzzi Boys show on Friday was outta hand. There were entirely too many people there, which is a good thing for them and for the bar. Although PS14 or Black Bar isn't as good a venue for mosh/dancing as Churchill's, it is still a pretty nice place to get all up near the stage and enjoy the show. They're going on tour to like every freaking city in the nation and if you're in those cities, check 'em out. Disregard the bloated belly and notice the adorable t-shirts. You need you one of them.

Conga Madness!

In a hyper-Miami move, last night 20 or so friends gathered at my house and we made our way from party to party, united as one, in the style of a conga line.

Tell me this isn't a brilliant performance, an expression of togetherness and delight, and I'll tell you you're wrong!

Happy birthday, Juan!

Happy Birthday, Kizzy!

by Farley Aguilar

PBS: oh happy day!

I am unnaturally obsessed with PBS. When I turn on the TV, I automatically put on one of the two public channels Comcast provides (used to be three; I cried when Create was taken off the air). What can I say, I wear glasses and I like to learn.

Most of the time, I feel pretty good about this predilection, like when I catch an episode of the Jeremy Brett version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, or when I hear the gruff, but alluring, voice of Burt Wolf blaring from the box.

There are other times though, when I'm not thrilled about what's on, but I'll watch anyway. Like when Tavis Smiley is on or Charlie Rose is talking to someone really boring.

But then there are the instances when I find myself watching a show that I'd rather not. Take tonight, for instance. I sat down to browse the channels and write on Twitter. Like a true addict (of PBS and now Twitter), I hit up channel 17 first (no idea what was on), and then moved on to channel 2. Frontline was on, so I stopped and watched.

I thought to myself, audiences are always offered an informative, interesting program with Frontline. I'm going to hear an in-depth story about a real-life issue. I'm going to learn!

I didn't bother to remember that every time it's on, they're featuring something miserable... and today was no different.

I watched The Dancing Boys of Afghanistan. I learned about bacha bazi, the practice of buying, selling, raping, trading Afghani boys, and really, much, much more. We're talking super happy stuff. I mean, could I have honestly asked PBS for a more thrilling topic to lull me into a nightmarish sleep? Maybe if you threw a few puppies and baby kitties in there and then stepped on them.

Now, Independent Lens is on and I'm feeling sad and shitty all over again. They're talking about soil, and how we just LOVE destroying the earth! Couldn't they have just thrown on a cartoon? I love you PBS, I feel like I learn from you, but you turn me into such a miserable sack of shit sometimes. I just wish there was a happy edifying show on somewhere, right now. I have to wait until this weekend where I can bask in the glow of my happy PBS crew of lispy Rick Steves and thin-haired Lydia. Those are the guys who really understand my needs.

Pride and Sweat

So, folks, I went to Pride day on South Beach this Saturday. Even though I had a mean hangover, I got on my bike and rode my achy ass out to support equality and a little bit of tackiness. Above, for instance, those are pillows, in case you were wondering. As ridiculous as they are, they, in part, made my trip well worth the discomfort. It's not like I want one, but if there were one in my house, I wouldn't be sad about it.

After the gayness, I travelled back across the bay and hit up Sweatstock. Sweat Records hosted a more than adequate showcase of local bands. I missed the earlier sets, which included Raffa, Jacuzzi Boys, Panic Bomber and Animal Tropical, but I caught Otto and the headliner, LA duo No Age. Overall, really great time. Everyone seemed relaxed and social. The usual pretension was not present, as far as I could tell. It was tops. Excited about next year's festivities!

Here the lovely Jessica and I entertain two drag queens.

There was, of course, the requisite Madonna impersonator. Couldn't decide if she was a she or a he. (S)he looked very convincing. The backup dancers are shes.

The nice sized crowd

As you might be able to tell (though up for grabs with some of these kids) this, below, is Sweatstock, which also boasted a really nice sized crowd.

The kids got rowdy for No Age, but my age and my inability to enjoy life over my headache kept me from jumping in. I'll be honest, I didn't jump in because I was too sober. There, I said it. The truth hurts.

Looks fun though, right?

I caved - Twitter, bro

I finally joined Twitter. I fear this will be the downfall of Miami, bro, but I move forward bravely into the unknown.

For way too long, my friend Alesh has been using mind control to get me to tweet, and I successfully resisted! But, on this terribly rainy day, with nothing else going on, I caved. Hopefully this will not make me irrelevant and foolish, although, I fear I am both of those things already. So, I guess I mean, I hope this will not make me more irrelevant and foolish.

Wish me well as I move into the dark unknown of this ridiculous phenomenon.

You can follow me here.

Things That Scare Me, bro

No, this was not just an excuse to post a Neko Case song. Right now, there are at least two seriously frightening things going on in this or a nearby galaxy.

British airspace has been shut down thanks to ash from an Icelandic volcano. Great, shifting tectonic plates, real nice! Always starting trouble. It's probably a good time to bring out those SARS masks again, because the smoke is heading eastward, all psyched and ready to blanket northern Europe. Luckily the Continent isn't used to a ton of sunlight, so things should be pretty normal around there. I hope this bad boy clears up before July, because I'm already hitting Orbitz hard for a flight to jolly old England.

Even more terrifying are the radiowaves that something huge and frightening out in the universe has been spitting at us for over a year now. Scientists don't know what this mass is, but they've waited this long to publicize it and are still clueless, so that can't be good. The waves are moving at us at four times the speed of light. I can't conceptualize this, but in my head I envision an indifferent but hungry, burning, amorphous mass speeding across galaxies to devour Mother Earth, probably arriving in a few hours.

I'm blaming this space beast for my nightmares, minimal productivity, lack of exercise and general malcontent. Thanks almost-black hole for ruining my already mediocre life.

Things That Scare Me - Neko Ca...

Jimbo, Still Old

As you can see, I went to Jimbo's birthday party this year and got yet another kiss from the man himself. If I remember correctly, 2009 was madness. I think that was the year I saw that old lady lift her shirt and two dudes run up and each grab a boob in their mouths. This year was MUCH tamer. There was only really one lady with her ass hanging out (see below). There was also a smaller crowd, probably because it was a crappy, overcast and then rainy day. Either way, I don't regret going and I'm keeping my fingers crossed they'll be another next year.

Happy birthday, Jimbo!

Deez Gritz or Some Bites are Better Than Others

On Saturday night, I was more interested in napping and watching a Joan Baez documentary than just about anything in the entire world. Even my growling stomach, which was becoming a huge issue, couldn't move me from my pillow. Eventually, after the pains became debilitating and the documentary neared the end, I motivated. I made it only as far as the Design District to try the Michael's Genuine Cuisine food cart.

First of all, good news, Brownes & Co. has an ATM inside (thanks, guys!), so I was able to pay the cash only. I ordered the main meal, described above, pork shoulder on grits. I was expecting too much, I admit, but as the title says, some bites were better than others. There'd be one that was really on target, full, balanced flavors and then the next would be like a confused mix of mismatched tastes. I wolfed it down in 20 seconds though and I obviously liked it enough to grab the dessert, a peanut butter smores. This I couldn't finish, because I'm not a peanut butter obsessive or anything and it was like eating a paste (a good paste).

I have to say, good attempt. I am excited at the prospect of food carts catching on in Miami. In LA and NY and many other cities, this is the way to eat when not at home or at a restaurant, and it serves well. I love street meat. That's right, I said it. It's damn good. It's fast food that's still greasy, but is actual food. Nothing like it. Anyway, I fear though that this food cart trend won't actually catch on and we'll only have this one fancy one hanging around for like a month or two and then back to the s.o.s. Let's keep it coming. I'm hungry.

Art, Palestinians and Street Meat

• This appears to be the site of a British photographer, Sam Seager. He's in Japan and some of his pictures are outta control. They make me want to go to this dreary Japan of my dreams. I'm usually completely disinterested in visiting. Besides the fact that the country is entirely too long a plane ride away, the pictures of Tokyo always seem so busy and bright. This miserable Japan with the scary laughing beer man makes my insides grumble with desire.

• I am very psyched about the Palestinian non-violence movement that's been gaining popularity. There's nothing more heartwarming to me than a people who have been oppressed and beaten down finding within them the strength to say no in a way that doesn't involve real violent destruction. You can't always win with boycotts and marches, but it makes you look a lot less like an asshole to the rest of the world. PR accounts for a lot in public policy and perception. No one's going to pay for your Molotov cocktail, but they might rally behind your peaceful protest.

• A friend of mine, Natasha Duwin, makes amazing art that'll make you think of vaginas. She weaves and embroiders and uses non-traditional materials like feathers and twigs to make beautiful and unique works of art. That's one of her mixed-media creations below. I am proud to have one of her woven, feathery vags on my wall at home. It reminds me of what I'm made of.

There will be an opening reception at Artformz (171 NW 23rd St.) from 7-10 this Saturday for Natasha and Henning Haupt.

• Also art walk related, I see that Michael's Genuine Cuisine has a food cart which will be making an appearance on Saturday in the Design District. How is it possible that I haven't eaten the entire cart by now? I'm not going to lie, I'm disappointed that my tongue hasn't touched every part of that rolling restaurant yet. I think this Saturday will be the day of reckoning for my belly and that food.

Matters of maryjane, Malkmus, music, bikes, buses, and bros

Harold and Kumar may be coming out with a 3-D X-mas movie. New York Magazine alerts lovers of the Asian duo of this potential BLOCKBUSTER. OK, blockbuster is debatable, at least let me claim cult classic on this one, definitely a Miami, bro favorite.

Given that Kal Penn is part of the Obama admin, a screening on the White House lawn would be a sweet swift kick in the nuts of the GOP, a sort of thanks for nothing from the gays, potheads and people with preexisting conditions around the nation (equality now, legalize it, health care, yes!).

***

A truly, very funny "Public Apology" from Dave Bry at The Awl to Stephen Malkmus.

True story, the other day I repeated an embarrassing thought I had to a friend. I told her that I had recently fantasized about how jealous my exes and friends would be if Stephen Malkmus were my boyfriend. It really doesn't get geekier than that. Feel free to mock me a-holes, but I'm sure you've thought the same thought, or something similar, you're just too pussy to admit it.

***

Thrifting in Tampa, anyone? Do I smell a day trip? Oh, wait, I forgot I have $8 in my bank account for the next week. I love working and not being able to pay my credit card debt and buy used clothes.

***

Oooh, horror story. I was on Ocean Drive and 2nd on Wednesday, after work, and I ran into some friends on bikes. We said hi and chatted for a sec, when suddenly, I heard a loud pop and crack and I looked to my left and saw that a huge bus had run over a bike. I thought, how strange that a bike might be in the middle of the street like that. Then we heard the screaming. The bike wasn't alone.

The bus driver got out, yelled and went back in to move the bus, though I didn't see it move much. I went over to look and the man was conscious, in a helmet and going for his cell phone. It wasn't clear whether the bus had dragged him or ran directly over his legs. They were pretty beat up with abrasions and some visible bones. Talk about a trauma, bro. The most amazing thing to me was trying to imagine that this gigantic, 10-ton bus rolled over this 170 lb. human and he was not dead. My dad said the rubber tires help distribute the pressure or something (I prob misunderstood him), but still, that bus was filled with people. Truly horrible.

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I know you don't have party plans this weekend, and I know you like good music (or at least you pretend to), so here's something for Saturday. You're welcome.

Animal Tropical (formerly Down Home Southernaires) is one of the most talented Miami bands, just coming back from a tour (or been back. I like the drama of the "just," forgive me). At Cinema Sounds 6, you can check out "historic" Little Havana and hear some serious Miami musica. No excuses.