As you may or may not know, I deleted my Facebook account a few months back with the idea of giving more attention to this blog, and making a dent in that impossible pile of books growing next to the bed. I also hoped, with all this new freedom, that we could become more involved with the Broward/Miami-Dade cultural communities. I've done fairly well on the blog, although the book pile hasn't seemed to have shrunk any. And as far as getting out and doing more, well....
Last weekend we seriously overextended ourselves and packed too much into three days. On Friday, we went to The Original Miami Beach Antique Show, where our friend, Kevin, had secured a booth for the five-day event. Hence the free tickets. This event is billed as being "the largest vintage and antique show in North America". People from all over the world hawked everything from signed Warhol prints to art-deco figurines, tiny Picasso sketches, circa 1800's Tiffany lamps, ornate French cameo glass, and elaborate, centuries-old chairs that I wouldn't dare sit on, much less allow anyone else to.
The Miami Beach Convention Center, itself, is enormous (500,000 square feet of flexible exhibition space, according to Wikipedia, plus a 60,000 square foot Grand Ballroom) and while there were a number of interesting pieces amongst the pricey tchotchkes on display, it was the jewelry merchants who inhabited at least half the area allotted to presenters. There were--literally--thousands, if not tens of thousands, of glittering, gem-encrusted rings, necklaces and bracelets that may once have graced the likes of Babe Paley, the Duchess of Windsor, Jackie O, or any number of fashionable luminaries from times gone by. But probably not. There was also no shortage of rare watches from Patek, Rolex, Breguet and Piaget. And on and on. To be honest, I know nothing about jewelry and care even less about owning it: my wedding band is the only bit of ornamental regalia that occupies my person.
Still, it was fun catching up with Kevin and seeing him in the role of antiques dealer extraordinaire; his collection of assorted pieces is eclectic, to say the least, allowing him to present fascinating backstories for each piece. The sheer variety of objets d'art and vintage items on display throughout the convention center impressed both C and me. One dealer was willing to cut me a deal on an art deco bronze horse that he claimed once greeted patrons inside the entrance hall of a storied, long-extinct New York cafe that I'd never heard of (they all have backstories, some of them probably true). But I was, in equal parts, skeptical and enchanted with the bronze horse and his purported history. Perhaps sensing my hesitation, the antiquarian hastily dropped the price from $8000 to $6000 and watched me expectantly. Meanwhile, I served him side-eyed insouciance. Okay, he finally said, I'll let it go for $5000 but that's as low as I'm willing to go.
Hmm, I said. Give me a minute while I run over and talk to my husband and see if he thinks we have room for it. And then I walked away from this bargain-of-a-lifetime that Kevin assured me was not all that rare and could be found at any auction house online for less money. Not that I ever had any intention of buying it in the first place--we live in a smallish condo that is already crammed full of family treasures and knick-knacks (and a few pieces of art) that were relatively affordable when we first bought them but have steadily increased in value over the years. And, of course, there are the overflowing bookcases that really need no further clarification if you know me or have followed this blog.
In summary, we didn't end up buying anything at the antique show--we're more of the browser variety--although I can't say I wasn't tempted. We ended up leaving South Beach at 6:30 p.m. but it was almost 9 by the time we got home. To put that in perspective, it's roughly 40 miles from our front door to the convention center lobby. It's no wonder that Global Traffic Scorecard ranked Miami as the 5th worst city for traffic congestion in the United States. In the same report, Los Angeles took the 6th place spot. In another recent study, Miami was ranked 8th in the world for most congested traffic. IN. THE. WORLD. Chew on that awhile. This is why we no longer make frequent trips to the Magic City (a misnomer if ever there was one).
On Saturday we attended a wedding reception in West Palm Beach. A most boisterous Cuban wedding reception. The son of one of C's closest cousins got married in a local park, with the celebration closely following in a nearby banquet hall. When we arrived, I was immediately seized by the uneasy feeling that the space was much too confined to accommodate the 100+ guests pouring in to drink champagne and spirits, and dance to the D.J.'s energetic reggaeton and Latin hip-hop. We sat near the buffet table with the groom's parents, which proved not to be an ideal location since there was a continuous procession of hungry attendees squeezing themselves through the narrow gap separating our chairs from the tenants of the next table. I'm guessing that a large percentage of the celebrants (many of them friends of the bride and groom) were in the 25-30 age range. Even so, a not insignificant number of slightly older folks helped pack the premises along with all their children (infants and toddlers to teenagers) in tow. Frankly, I found myself a bit overwhelmed by the sheer exuberance of the crowd, not to mention the close quarters we were sharing. Having grown up in the wide-open spaces of the Texas Panhandle and Oklahoma, I still get fidgety in crowded rooms, even though I have been thoroughly citified by this point in my life.
If I'd been younger--several decades younger--I would have forestalled my unease by downing several glasses of champagne topped off with a few too many vodka tonics. Then, I'd have danced, probably on tables before the night was over. If I'd been younger and single, I might even have gotten lucky.
Instead, I stretched my mouth into a thin smile (think Pat Nixon during the Watergate debacle) and sat silently (it was way too loud for conversation) at our table, hoping that the crowd would eventually thin, and thus enable our exit. (We were the last to arrive so obviously couldn't be the first to depart). Suddenly, more food appeared, attracting throngs of young dancers whose exertions had rendered them ravenous. Once again, the tables, not being adequately spaced, presented a challenge for those queuing up for the buffet line. Not to be discouraged by the back-to-back seating plan, the revelers gently nudged us aside and made their way to the pork, black beans and rice, croquettes and pastries. A couple of hours later, we did manage to slip out, but not before many hugs and kisses were exchanged. Have I mentioned that, in addition to being somewhat claustrophobic, I'm a bit of a germophobe, too?
A hit musical based on Greek mythology, Hadestown features evocative New Orleans-style staging, and tells the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, star-crossed lovers who have the misfortune to cross paths with the cruel, tyrannical Hades, King of the Underworld. Hades' hedonistic consort, Persephone, has just--reluctantly--returned to the underworld after her sojourn on the earth's surface concludes for another year. Hermes, messenger of the Gods, the Fates, and the laborers of the underworld also figure largely into this story.
Briefly, the tale recounts the efforts of Orpheus to retrieve his beloved Eurydice from Hades' underworld and return her to her former life. Things don't go exactly as planned. Maybe next time, Hermes sings mournfully as Hadestown comes to an end. Regarding the performances, I particularly enjoyed Lana Gordon's Persephone, J. Antonio Rodriguez as Hermes, and--perhaps, most impressive--Matthew Patrick Quinn (echoing Patrick Bateman) as Hades. I also appreciated the performances of the Fates and the background actors doing double duty as the enslaved laborers of the underworld, and patrons of the tavern where Eurydice and Orpheus first meet. I liked the staging, I liked the band (although there are no tunes that stuck in my mind), and I liked the bohemian, 1920's costumes. For me, the only problems with Hadestown are Eurydice (Amaya Braganza) and Orpheus (Will Mann). For one thing--at the performance we attended, anyway--there was no detectable chemistry between the two. At times, it felt like Mann was going through the motions without ever connecting with any of the other cast members or the audience. On the other hand, Braganza performs for the audience without seeming to be remotely interested in Orpheus (who does not exactly ooze charisma). Possibly, Braganza and Mann were having an off day, or maybe it was me who was failing to engage with the two actors. In the hallway, after the play had ended, I overheard a young woman telling her friend that Hadestown was now her favorite Broadway production. Ever! She added that, prior to seeing Hadestown, Wicked--which she claimed to have seen 6 times--was the best musical of all time. I wonder if she has attended any shows other than these two? (Don't get me wrong, I've seen Wicked twice and liked it both times. But enough is enough.) After giving it some thought, I concluded that C and I would probably benefit from watching Hadestown a second time, with the same cast, when Mann and Braganza are more on point.
It was pouring rain when we left the Broward Center and, of course, we'd left the umbrella in the car-- which was idling in the city parking garage two blocks away. Upon exiting the elevator on the third floor of the parking garage, C realized that the car keys were most definitely not in his pocket. Shit! I said. Did they fall out of your pants during the performance? Maybe I'll run back to the theater and check the floor around our seats?
Not so fast, he indicated, still patting himself down and growing more frustrated by the second. And then it hit me. Let's check the car. Maybe you forgot to take the keys when we got out. And just like that, we found the car keys in the unlocked car. Still in the ignition with the car still running. Inside the car, it felt like a typical July day in Las Vegas. Mere seconds after climbing into the passenger side seat, I heaved myself right back out. It was with a sweaty, involuntary shudder that we turned off the car and popped the hood. I expected to find an inferno ablow in the engine. That car had been running for 3 hours! 3 fucking hours! No wonder it felt like Hadestown in there. We were certain there was no way in hell that all would be fine and dandy when we lifted that hood. And yet it was. It was okay. Fine and dandy. The motor clicked and knocked while we gave it ample time to cool but there was no telltale puddle beneath the car, and when we slipped the key back into the ignition, it started right up. On I95, we kept an eye on the car's thermostat as we prowled through traffic, expecting, at any time, for steam and water to boil forth from the engine. Didn't happen. This occurred more than a week ago and the car is still running fine. Mind you, this is a 2012 Hyundai Tucson with slightly less than 100,000 miles on it. Maybe I'll keep it awhile longer.
After a mercifully uneventful Monday, I got out of bed on Tuesday morning, started up the car and drove myself to the gym. The busy weekend was in the rearview mirror and neither of us were the worse for wear. In fact, I had a better workout at the gym that morning than I'd had in months. And then I came home from the gym and found a feverish C coughing and opening up a COVID test. Uh-oh. With gnawing certainty, I knew that, while we had left the weekend behind, it had not left us. Sure enough...
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