Miami, how different it is from other cities? How different it is from New York City, where I call home even though I don't live there? As we drove west with the sea behind us, into the sunset over the city whose skyline comprises skyscrapers as well as palm trees, I thought of the past 24 hours in Miami. It was, for me, the city of "Miami Vice", a TV show I have little recollection of because I didn't understand enough English about. I only remember Don Johnson and the black fellow. Neither one is particular noticeable now on any medium. I thought they were cool and the women in the TV were attractive. I had just entered teenage years.
But now, the city is more complex, and yet in many ways it is completely compatible with my youthful memories. The superficiality that is part of American culture is abound. There are countless Mustangs, one of the icons of American culture, at least one that I recall in my childhood. I had never even seen a Mustang, but I always associated it with coolness, a part of White culture I could only aspire to be a part of. Now I could see one every time I want to notice, and often when I wasn't even searching for one. They come in so many colors and shapes. Mustangs are just one type of cars that remind all visitors that this is a city of affluence, not only because of the wealthy New York jews that settle here for their retirement, but also of movie starts, Hispanic nouveaux riches, politicians, and many others we only think of from TV and movies. There are plenty of Jaguars, BMW, Mercedes, Corvettes, and many other cars that belong to the realm of the riche. When I drove down cross the inter-coastal, all I saw were giant yachts. My heart was awed because they belong to a world as unreal and foreign as if they appeared, not from behind the windows of the car, but on a silver screen. I am always amazed not only by wealth, but the gap between me and the few percentage of people on this planet that belong in that circle. This impressiveness are many folds and complex, but for now it was enough that I felt it.
Miami is superficial in other ways. The people on the beach are as much two-dimensional as the cars and yachts. On South Beach almost all beach people were young people with perfect bodies; women skinny in skimpy bikinis, and the men were all big, muscular, and towering over whatever girlfriend they had at the moment. There was some sense of pity for them, but then, who am I to express such opinions when I am hopelessly out of that circle of people. They were interesting to watch; they weren't necessarily good to look at, just interesting. I saw a girl wearing a simple bikini and a viking horn of two horns, attracting all sorts of attention. That's what was happening, no? Women dressed to get attention of muscular men. At my age, for the circle of people I hang out with, these human creatures in front of me are more foreign to me than most cultures I've encountered in my travels, and so much more superficial than most. They were young people (where were the old people?) who just wanted to be superficial. I wonder, did I miss my superficial years? At their age, I wanted to study, get homework done, and my only way to impress girls was to show my grades, my class participation. I don't really regret having missed any opportunities to live in such superficial life.
Not that I had such opportunities. I was born of a poor family and while I might not have much higher self-esteem than those muscular young men, I certainly have the money to impress girls with. Nevertheless, lucky as I might be, thankful I should be that I didn't lead such superficial life, I looked at this people with immense curiosity. They must have such different life perspective than me, and so I wonder always what they want from life, then, and ten years later, which is what I am now.
But I was here, on South Beach, watching the people, sitting on nearly snow-white sand, and beyond the superficial people was the turquoise water, calmer than yesterday. I was an immigrant child from the rough city of New York, at least it was rougher before. And here, there was the sun, the clean sand, the warm water, and people beyond my realm. I remembered the milonga last night. Instead of the usual tango performance, we saw a drag show of one man lip-singing to some oldie. That was Miami, representative? Not sure, as I've only been here for 24 hours. But it was strange. I am sure something like this *can* happen in New York, but I have never seen it, and never in a milonga. There are many questions I can't answer without living here, and all the superficiality belies something I won't comprehend by the end of the five-day weekend here. Nevertheless, I am impressed by everything I've seen so far. People can be so different form me even though we are from the same country. The weather is the envy of all Northeasterners. And the life of cars runs a deep and long river in our culture.
