Wish you were there.

I’m back from Miami. I don’t know what to think about that city. Stroll through South Beach and you’ll find storefronts that ooze with tackiness (think tube tops adorned with rhinestone-encrusted pythons — shiver), nightclubs that rape your wallet ($20 cover charges and $15 drinks — on Tuesdays), throngs of Puerto Rican men in sheer, chest-hair-baring shirts and straight-up pretentiousness (what does Miami think it is … LA?) But it did have crazy good food, some of the most pimped out locales I’d ever seen (can I please live at Hotel Delano?) and this sort of electric charge that kept on buzzing well past my bedtime. I had a great time hanging out with old friends. The convention itself was ambitious, especially considering the state of the journalism industry. People generally seemed uncertain about the future, yet hopeful. The thing I realized as that I’m in a pretty good place right now, despite what some people have tried to make me believe.

 I am so glad to be back. Missed you all.