Me o my am me thirty… 3.30.24

Me o my am me thirty… 3.30.24

My days were dwindling down, like the sands of an hourglass. I had to play carefully and define my priorities. I was pretty much done wiith being the tourist because I had run out of places to go. I had been a diligent tourist, now with these final days, I would just do what I wanted. I was on vacation from my vacation. 

When I had signed up for the Everglades tour (to see how the other 95% of tourists lived), I had also signed up for a boat tour around the islands in Key Biscayne Bay.  The first boat was at 11 and I rushed down there, walking to the Government Center and then getting on the Metromover to College/Bayside and walking the 2 blocks over to Bayside Market. I was early. I found my company eventually and stood in line with the other tourists. Again there was the mandatory photo taking. This one was different from the other one though. They were going for the big kill I was later to find out. 

We stood patiently in line for all the procedures. Then there was the mad rush to get a good seat; preferably by a window. I ran all the way up front where there was a seat by the window though part of the window was covered in clear plastic it was still good. 

Traveling among tourists it gets easy to categorize them with a glance. Romantic couple, big family trip, family with small children, family with young adult chidren, loser loner (that’s me), Mysterious guy (also me), single woman (danger! danger!). My seat mates were obviously couple with young adult child. The family was Swiss and the guy was so eager to talk to me. He was in securities (makes sense for the Swiss) and he was pretty content just to talk to me. His wife was a whirlwind of taking pictures. The poor daughter looked so withdrawn, trapped with her parents. 

The boat held about 130 people, I know that because the guide, a fast talking, joke kraken Latino was very knowledgeable about the subject of the boatride which was basically, let’s go look at the houses of the rich and famous. However there was other information about Miami. Miami is the cruise ship capital of the world. Last year 6 million people took cruises out of the city. Since I was right up front it was easy for me to hear him and also to ask him questions when he wasn’t talking. Of course, celebrities are fun to think and talk about so I didn’t mind. As we were pulling out, “do you see that big strange looking building that looks like there are fish gills up and down”. Those are condos going for 1.5 million each, except the entire top floor which is owned by David Beckam.” ooooooh. 

We sailed by all the other islands as well. We say Jackie Chan’s house, Shaq’s old house, Jlo and Ben Afflecks house, F

After talking to the man I felt sorry for the young girl maybe 15. I talked to her. It took her a minute to activate the english part of her brain. She had just finished 9th grade. In Switaerland you had a choice at that stage in your life to either continue on the academic course or to go to vocational school. I was surprised to hear that this young woman was going to do her apprenticeship in an office to be a secretary. There seemed to be no stigma to this and the father seemed proud of his daughter. I asked the girl what was her passion. “Makeup” she replied. I asked her about Korean makeup and she agreed it was the best. I asked her what she was going to do with she was going to do with all her money. “Shopping”. 

We got back around 1:30, a little later than I expected. As we got off the boat we were presented with the option of buying photos. It was very clever. They juxtaposed the picture they had taken with all the famous sites in Miami, the ferris wheel, the art museum, the basketball stadium. In the packet there were about 20 pictures and a magnetic frame. All yours for just $35 dollars. What a tempting deal….for most tourists but not for me. I wonder what percentage of those pictures they sell. Otherwise just throw away. 

The next step in my intricate plan was to board the double decker bus for another tirp to Miami Beach. It was my second time and I decided just to stay below and eat my late lunch. I was the only one there and in no time I was at the beach. It was about 2:15 when I got there. Today I would not go to the beach and swim at all. My schedule revolved around going to ILaria’s party at 6. Since playing at this most magical place was the highest priority, I would forgo the beach today. 

I got ready and was playing by 2:30. As usual nobody seemed to notice me or complain about me. I was again dodging the sun, hiding behind palm trees, vacillating between feeling ignored and awed by the shere beauty of the place, the palms, the beautiful weather, the shuffling breeze, the beautiful people, the families, the muffins. I didn’t need anyone to be happy here…..but….

Then  2 young women walked up. They were both gorgeous and probably about 20 years old. They came up and immediately gave me so much attention and focus. One was white and one was cocoa colored black woman. Both were showing a lot of skin, with tops that looked like band aids, not even trying to cover their breasts. Only the nipple wasn’t showing. 

“I just want to thank you for playing. It is so wonderful and thank you for spending all that time to learn to play that instrument is a noble act. I admire you for doing that. “ The white girl seemed more hidden in her world, slightly removed from reality. The black girl was more down to earth and more accessible. “Wait a minute. Are you guys high?” It was my experience that only musicians or people who were high could appreciate my music. The girls looked at one another and then the black one broke and smiled. “Well a little”. I knew it. Don’t worry. That is cool.” The black girl with the golden strip of cloth that barely covered her nipples rolled her eyes. “But we don’t usually get high. It’s our day off.” “Oh…what do you do?” We don’t do anything. We just live. We live ….in Miami Beach.” They smiled as if they had just said something profound. “Are you musical?” “Well we were both in choir but we don’t really sing anymore” they said with a giggle. 

Now it was my time to be dramatic. “Do you know what I want?” and I let the question hang in the air. The enigmatic white girl looked at me coquettishly. Her eyes lit up. She unconsciously wet her upper lip. “No. what do you want Frank?”  Her lips moved seductively. She batted eyes. She grinned at me. Wow. What was this? Was she teasing me or was she serious. However my mind was not processing the here and now. I was thinking about what I was going to say. I wasn’t in the here and now.  “I want ……..to sing”. Her expression wilted.  It was like some air had been deflated from a tire. . 

However, they were both nodding and smiling. They were into it. At least the black one was. She was really gorgeous and more open than the other one who was just a big mystery to me.  I got her singing and it went really well. In no time we were laughing and playing with words and song. She could sense the freedom that she had. The young women then launched again into excessive praise. “Frank. You are a very special person. You can be a star if you want. Everyone should appreciate you.” I interrupted then to point out that actually no one appreciated my music, but that was ok with me.  They looked at one another. There was no denying my point. “That’s because they are all ignorant. They only like Regga-tone. They are stupid. 

While I did appreciate their full throated support, I was sure it was drug induced. Still I couldn’t help from dwelling on my missed oppotrunity. What if I had given a different answer to the question, “What do you want?” I could have said, “Your lips”, “a kiss” , to be in a big bed with both of you?” and what if they had said, “OK”. Dummy. Dummy. Dummy. 

At least I had met them. I asked if we could stay in touch and both young women said, “We don’t have our phones with us.” I asked what their instagram addressed were and they both answered, “We don’t know our instagrams by heart. We need our phones to see.” Ri…..ght……! I told them my youtube channel name. “Frank (like Frank Sinatra….do young people even know him?) and Lev…(“Oh like Levi withouth the “i”) . Right. I knew I would probably never see them again. Ahhh…to be their good friend. 

I had fun playing the people; rocky, pink panther, police sirens when people were going to fast. I could hear a lot of people discussing me and looking at me but the main rule was in effect, don’t look at people unless they stop with the exception of kids, dogs and attractive women walking alone. One couple was walking up speaking loudly. “Trust me. That is a clarinet.” How can I trust anything you say these days?” Oh oh.   Trouble in paradise. Maybe I was lucky to be alone. As they walked by me, still looking, I looked up and sang loudly. ,”It’s a saxophone.” they both laughed like crazy. Maybe they didn’t realized that others could hear them talking to one another. The man protested and made a curvy motion with his hands. I sang out again in perfect harmony to the song I was singing, “A straight soprano saxophone.” They kept walking but were laughing almost uncontrollably. Another family came up.  They were having the same discussion. They were insisting that it was a clarinet. The funny thing was that they were all from Belgium. In case you (probably) don’t know; the saxophone was created in Belgium by Adolph Sax. I scolded them. YOU should know better. When you go home, go to the saxophone museum there. That is your homework. They promissed they would.

It was getting close leaving time if I was going to make that party. I didn’t want to go. It was soooo beautiful; the warm weather, the cool breeze, the happy people walking by, the sparkling waters, the mammoth ships cruising by. At 4:45 I left. I should be able to get there in an hour and 15 minutes. 

I walked past the fancy waterfront restaurant and came to the 3 diamond shaped fountains. It was about 7 blocks on 5th street. I got there ok and waited and waited. After about 20 minutes a bus came. It looked crowded. I squeezed onto the bus. It was full to the brim. I thought I could squeeze in. There were 3 of in front of the front door. Then I heard. “We can’t move if there are people blocking the door.” He said it mechanically and rather rudely. What did it mean, “Blocking the door?” Does it mean a physical blocking? The door could close. I was out of the way. Or did he mean, a visual blocking? For sure I was blocking his view to the mirror on the side of the bus on the right side. I wasn’t sure which one he meant but under the circumstances, I felt I oculdn’t ask. He yelled it out again, “We can’t move if there are people blocking the door.”  I guess it meant me. “There is another 100 bus right behind us. 

I got off the bus. Sure enough, there was another bus coming. However, the bus just kept going. It didn’t stop at all. The driver waved to us to say that the bus was full. However, it didn’t look full. I could have gotten on. Now I was really screwed. 2 100 buses had come. What was the chance of another bus coming anytime soon. I had planned so hard to get my playing in AND getting back in time for the party. 

At the party I might meet realy Miami people or other people that lived there like the artists and free thinkers. I was a part of my Miami education. I had to decide what to do. Ok I will wait 10 minutes and then go down to second street where there was a 14 bus pick up point. I started my timer on my watch.  After 2 hours, the 10 minutes was up. I was moving. 

I waited about 15 minutes and thankfully the bus came. We went over the bridge and they left me off at the Omni Center, where many of the buses came in.  From there I got on Metromover and then got off like I always did to play at Walgreens. It was only 6:30. It had taken almost 2 hours to get there. 

The party was to celebrate or commemorate the closing of the gallery. The landlord wanted to attract a restaurant. All part of the gentrification process. In 5 years, I am sure that this area would be jumping. 

The party was just starting. Alfondo, who claimed to be a chef was laying out the 3 kinds of olives, bread, cheese and some pastrami and salami. I was still keyed up from playing and went off on the olives. Ummm. I must have eaten 30 of them and lots of crackers and cheese. More cheese. More olives. I was pigging out. OMG. 

ILaria was singing up a storm with her husband, the pilot, and another guy who was playing guitar along with ILaria. I met her husband who was a commerical pilot, flying the dangerous B 737 Max. He had a lot to say about it. He seemed like a real nice guy. Good looking, sharp, a nice face, like someone you are sure you have seen in a movie somewhere. ILaria was a madwomen when singing or playing music. She didn’t care how she looked, she just cared about the music. For that reason she looked like she was having a mental breakdown. I liked it. The other 2 players weren’t that good. It helped when I started playing; I could play notes that suggested the key and where we were going.  We played for a while. It was a free for all. It was probably theraputic for ILaria and me too. I made frequent raids to the snack table. More olives. More chese. 

Around 6:30 pm I got a call. It was from the trumpet player, Jean. For some reason he couldn’t hear me so we started texting. He thanked me profusely for finding his headphones. He said it was very expensive. I told him I had planned to go to Lagniappe again that night and perhaps we could meet there. He said he had a gig in Fort Lauderdale that ended at 11:15 and after that he could come down around midnight. It was a little late for me. It was hard to get a bus at that time of night. Some of them shifted to once an hour. I texted. “Ok I can meet you if you can give me a ride home.” “It’s a deal.”  He was agreeable.

The doors to the street were open. Strangers were walking in and discovering ILaria’s art and the snack table. It was fun. It was almost like playing street music. Some of the friends of ILaria who were all imbeded with the myth that Frank was a genius musician kept bugging me; Telling me I had to do this or that.  You need to go on tour with a big band! You need to play this music. I felt like an insect that had been pinned to a big board in a museum. I couldn’t move. Finally I got away by saying I needed to eat something. 

I went outside. It was beautiful as it normally had been during my entire trip. Since the street was closed to cars, it was wide open. I felt like dancing up and down the street. New people were coming in all the time now. It was good adverstising for the gallery.  2 guys who claimed they worked for Sony and were doing music videos around the world, walked in.  No one knew if they were telling the truth until they started playing. They were good. For the next 15 minutes, we had a good jam going. 

By now the party was a good mix of friends and strangers and street people. Fun. No one was mistreating the sculptures so it was fine. I told ILaria that I would go soon. “Do you want to go with me to Lagniaeppe?” ILaria wasn’t sure. Oh well. Life goes on. We realised that we would perhaps never meet again. I got a warm goodbye hug from her. What a wonderful creative person she was. She gave me a little children’s book that she had made and illustrated. It was based on one of the dog sculptures she had decoraged next to the Perez Museum.

I walked down towards Biscayne Blvd, only 2 stops away. I was lucky and the bus came within 20 minutes.  I got to the club by 10 pm. This was a different kind of group. It certainly wasn’t Jazz. It was more like blues with a heavy harmonica presence. It was actually great. Not my favorite kind of music for long periods of time but I started getting into it.  I started getting tired around 11:30. Half an hour to go. Hard to imagine nodding off when this was going on. I hung on though and around 11:55 pm I went outside. 

I recognized his white car from the other night. He was sending me a message, “Are you ready?” when I went up to him and introduced myself. He was a nice looking young black man, very properly dressed and a bit formal in his speaking. I handed him the headphones and he opened the trunk for my stuff. It was a lexus. Nice car. Very comfortable. 

He was thankful and very friendly. I asked him about himself and he was ok with talking about his music. He was innovating a fusion between Haitian music and jazz. He started talking about Haitian music and very soon it was over my head. “Here. I’ll play you some from my latest album.” With a minimum of fuss and quite safely he put on a track. What I heard was unlike anything I had every heard before. It was like from another universe yet it was very appealing. He explained how it derived from the Haitian bass lines which were often played on just long pipes (because that is all they have) which will be played by 3-5 people. They weren’t even tuned so what you got was this atonal cacophous sound. The horn lines are all done by me in the studio and I doubled all the parts (I was barely hanging on)”. Yet the music didn’t lie. How lucky I was to meet this guy. 

I asked him if he knew Cisco Dimas who I had seen at Civic Center days before. “Oh yeah. CIsco is a good friend. He is a very fine player.” These guys all knew each other. 

I told him about myself. “I am not a high level player. More medium level but I love to play street music and get myself in the right frame of mind before. Yeah I like that too but when I playing with a serious band I have to be more focused. I was in awe of this guy anbd I liked this guy. 

The trip home was longer than I expected. A good 12 minutes. Too far to walk for sure. “I’m just sorry I didn’t wait around to listen to you play. If I had known who you were I would have. Do you have any gigs tomorrow?” 

“As a matter of fact I do. Tomorrow I am playing for an Easter Brunch in Miami Beach at the Setai Hotel. Very posh affair. Maybe you can see me there. But we won’t be playing my Haitian music, just old songs from the 20’s-50’s.” That was the kind of music I played. Actually I thought that that might work out ok. I was planning on going to Miami Beach tomorrow anyway. I could just go earlier. I told him. He pulled right up to my Airbnb and thanked me again. What a day!