Miami: A Day In the Life of a Hustler
In South Beach, Miami, everyone's a hustler. I did my fair share at the WMC - Winter Music Conference - and scored VIP tix to Paul Van Dyke and Carl Cox at Space and at the Raleigh Poolside party, free CD's, VIP seating and champagne at a few of the clubs. I ended up at Carl Cox's promoter's hotel room (nothing funky). I got a jet-ski ride from someone tryin to hustle me. I was serenaded and given roses, and last night I cruised Miami harbour in a speedboat until the sun came up, but that just kinda happened.
Now I'm back in Toronto in a Trance. Why can't life be like that everyday? I digress.
Miami is the scene for those who like to watch and be watched.
Inside the clubs women cover bare minimum. Some in hot pants, or with boobs hanging out, push it to the front of the floor to get the crowd heated. Everybody's workin’ it.
Space was the only real dark club, but then when we were done dancing at about 8 in the morning and you come out to their patio, full sunshine sprays your face with light. Everyone who can handle it under this magnifying glass after a night of hard partying is out on the dance floor trying to inspire the rest of the masses to get up and groove. Those just mashing on the sidelines usually can't handle it too long. But we stayed, until about 10am, dancing under a sky of butterflies and sunflowers until my legs just couldn't bear it. Out into the Miami heat in my pleather pants, I found my buddy Leo who hooked me up with a lift on his sportbike to South Beach about
20 minutes away.
Crobar was a feast of dancers with Ricky Martin hips and performance artists in Oriental theme. Erick Morillo and Armand Van Helden played the main room. Darren Emerson rocked the VIP room and gave me a sly smile when he caught me shakin’ my booty too.
A couple nights before, Digweed played a massive set while some friends from Uni were on stage trying to push the crowd harder. This is the place to be watched. Each sparkle of the eye or shake of the hip becomes part of the sensual energy building up the crowd. No longer content to be candy kids we got decked out in grown-up gear and let ourselves be devoured by salacious eyes.
Nothing here but people who wanna party. On Saturday, we forked out our $70 US to get into Ultra, a day rave beside the harbor. John Kelly, Timo Mass, Tall Paul and Richie Hawtin played danceable sets, but of the hundred or so DJ's spinning on one of seven stages, it was Pete Tong who made my day. After the heat got the better of us we made it over to the Twillo tent where things were so sticky and sweet there were jets of frost cooling off our bodies. The space went white for 5 minutes, enough to cool us down and get us refreshed for the next set.
Went to Nikki Beach four times last week (remember the old Penrod's?) Nikki's is my favorite club in the world. It's dreamy. Arrived at 3 in the avo for a seafood lunch, had to work a waiter friend for the last table. We sucked back some tropical bevvys and watched the people. This was a crowd that wanted to have fun, sucking back drinks as the sun was setting over South Beach. We grooved on the sand while Fat Boy Slim offered up some phat tunes. Wow! Fair and I were groovin’ in barefeet and grass hats made by our new found Cuban and Brazilian friends. Just in time for the Basement Jaxx duo came an ocean breeze to cool us down before things heated up again. The press was everywhere, becoming an audience for those wanting to be watched tearing up the sand with their breakdance beats or slinky threads gyrating to please the crowd.
It doesn't matter here whether you're a stripper, a DJ, a clubber, or a club owner. No one here gets special treatment unless you hustle your stuff, then of course you could just kick back and watch.
Bienvenito a Miami.
Now I'm back in Toronto in a Trance. Why can't life be like that everyday? I digress.
Miami is the scene for those who like to watch and be watched.
Inside the clubs women cover bare minimum. Some in hot pants, or with boobs hanging out, push it to the front of the floor to get the crowd heated. Everybody's workin’ it.
Space was the only real dark club, but then when we were done dancing at about 8 in the morning and you come out to their patio, full sunshine sprays your face with light. Everyone who can handle it under this magnifying glass after a night of hard partying is out on the dance floor trying to inspire the rest of the masses to get up and groove. Those just mashing on the sidelines usually can't handle it too long. But we stayed, until about 10am, dancing under a sky of butterflies and sunflowers until my legs just couldn't bear it. Out into the Miami heat in my pleather pants, I found my buddy Leo who hooked me up with a lift on his sportbike to South Beach about
20 minutes away.
Crobar was a feast of dancers with Ricky Martin hips and performance artists in Oriental theme. Erick Morillo and Armand Van Helden played the main room. Darren Emerson rocked the VIP room and gave me a sly smile when he caught me shakin’ my booty too.
A couple nights before, Digweed played a massive set while some friends from Uni were on stage trying to push the crowd harder. This is the place to be watched. Each sparkle of the eye or shake of the hip becomes part of the sensual energy building up the crowd. No longer content to be candy kids we got decked out in grown-up gear and let ourselves be devoured by salacious eyes.
Nothing here but people who wanna party. On Saturday, we forked out our $70 US to get into Ultra, a day rave beside the harbor. John Kelly, Timo Mass, Tall Paul and Richie Hawtin played danceable sets, but of the hundred or so DJ's spinning on one of seven stages, it was Pete Tong who made my day. After the heat got the better of us we made it over to the Twillo tent where things were so sticky and sweet there were jets of frost cooling off our bodies. The space went white for 5 minutes, enough to cool us down and get us refreshed for the next set.
Went to Nikki Beach four times last week (remember the old Penrod's?) Nikki's is my favorite club in the world. It's dreamy. Arrived at 3 in the avo for a seafood lunch, had to work a waiter friend for the last table. We sucked back some tropical bevvys and watched the people. This was a crowd that wanted to have fun, sucking back drinks as the sun was setting over South Beach. We grooved on the sand while Fat Boy Slim offered up some phat tunes. Wow! Fair and I were groovin’ in barefeet and grass hats made by our new found Cuban and Brazilian friends. Just in time for the Basement Jaxx duo came an ocean breeze to cool us down before things heated up again. The press was everywhere, becoming an audience for those wanting to be watched tearing up the sand with their breakdance beats or slinky threads gyrating to please the crowd.
It doesn't matter here whether you're a stripper, a DJ, a clubber, or a club owner. No one here gets special treatment unless you hustle your stuff, then of course you could just kick back and watch.
Bienvenito a Miami.
posted by sookie at 4:13 PM
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