Barbidoesmiami

How to Stay Sane in the City of No Shame


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a night with my Dutch landlord… aka DJ Tiesto…

still at home with Tiesto's super-sized photo...

In case you didn’t know, our landlord is DJ Tiesto, and our landlord performed at LIV the disco @ the Fontainebleau last night, actually this morning.

“I go on at 1 am,” he e-mailed, “till whenever…”

So we took a mega nap, woke at 11 and got done up. I knew the drill, after 8 months of Miami I’ve learned that Saturday night on the beach means a dress that ends at the crotch and stiletto’s that can skewer a rat without anyone noticing it stuck in the arch of the heel. I complied, included ample make-up  but went without my implants and the mandatory ironed blond hair. Would I get in? I was on the list. On the  VIP, Tiesto guest, A-list.

Still, the big black bouncer made me feel like shit as in the minority revenge dish best served cold, like really stone cold….

“Stay there”, he barked as I moved forward,  an inch past some imaginary line. “But, but..” He ignored me as I repeated Tiesto and my name in one sentence an embarrassing amount of times, while several  younger, tight skirted, ironed blondes squeezed past, pressing their hard, high and  large tits against me as if to say ” if you aint got these you ain’t goin’nowhere, bitch.”

But I got in. Eventually. So did husband. We got in. So there.

And it felt great. I’d taken half a Vicodin (what else are they good for) so everything was perfect.

“Ultimate 21st century kitsch”, husband said, “I love it.”

“Me too,” I said, looking around the space; chandeliers the size of UFO’s, almost naked waitresses balancing bottles of champagne decorated with sparklers,  a flashlight, like a small dildo  clenched between their lips to light their path, the monotonous beat pounding my chest and confusing my own heartbeat in an exhilarating kinda way.

The space filled up. Blah looking guys in shirts worn open over their jeans, and thousands of girls in tiny dresses,  all dresses. Not skirts and tops, not shorts, not leggings. But dresses. Whilst high I imagined doing a collection of dresses called LIV and selling them at the Fontainebleau store. Even with a hangover, the next day, this seems like a good idea. Like where do they get all those sexy dresses? Tight. Low cut. Sleeveless, strappy, strapless, hugging, clinging stretching with lots of bling, jewels, chains, buckles and sequins, in every color.

To get noticed in this sea of sexy the pro-dancers wore nothing. What else could they do? They wore bondage that passed for more than plain nudity and girated and pulsated on their small pedestals as if to show the other bitches who was hottest.

Like, mirror mirror on the wall who’s the gyratest of them all?

So finally Tiesto appeared on the stage. Unassuming,  not tall, not short, not gorgeous, not ugly. Just a blond guy from Holland in a striped Gap Tee and a smile that tried to please . The crowd went nuts. The beat amped up. Men holding poster board with giant letters pushed by. Girls hopped on the spot,  like  jumping beans, encased in their dresses.

T  I  E  S  T  O ….

I let go. I stopped watching and analyzing and judging, I just grooved. The music in tune with some ancient rhythm  in my DNA I too hopped and gyrated and danced on the spot, mesmerized by the light show, happy on scotch and chemicals, Tiesto took me off somewhere other than my mundaine mind.

Then, towards the end of his first set, as the naked dancers left the stage a happy guy leapt in their place.  He was a great dancer too, only heavily clad in a cool skinny suit and pork pie hat. The crowd cheered him on as he danced his heart out. Until. A large, a large pumped up security guy pounced him, slammed him to the ground, stepped on him and dragged him off the stage  so fast that the whole thing seemed surreal. Now I was paying attention again and I noticed the cordoned off areas around me and  people begging bouncers to be let in, as if here and there were two different experiences, like a better parallel Tiesto universe awaited on the other side of the black security tape.

I noticed Alastair shouting at the guard who’d dragged off  the happy dancer, “What did you get him arrested for? Having a good time in a disco?”

I tried to hang in my careless groovy state as I loitered up the stairs behind the stage, but a guard grabbed my arm and pushed me along,

“You cant stop here here,”  he said. “Why not?” I was still oblivious. “Its a rule,” he shouted. “Like Homeland Security?”I screamed back.

“Fuck this fascist shit,” Alastair said. “lets go home.”

So home we went and wondered what was up with the controlling “BlackWater” patrol  at a Miami Tiesto disco bash…

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look who came to visit…

one manatee, reaching to introduce herself to Kiki’s foot.

then there were four…

frolicking in Indian Creek, by our house…

friendly and oddly pre-historic…

s l o w  but equally interested in us…

the girls said “it was the best Earth Day thing that could have happened today.”

I noticed a plastic Publix bag drifting under water nearby and I prayed they wouldn’t mistake it for a large jelly fish and try to eat it…

Then a huge yacht came by, as they swam away and again I was aware how it easy it would be to hurt them, so laid back and cool, such a contrast against the speeding boat filled with tan girls in tiny bikinis, men with rippled chests, disco music blaring…

if I wanna make a change then every day is earth day… and the Gordon girls give thanks for the manatee…


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every day is earth day

It’s Earth Day. Today.

Its also take your kid to work day. How did they get the two on one day? And who is they anyway? Like who allocates them? Mother’s day and Father’s day and Valentine’s day and Secretary’s day and Ocean day? My mother used to say, before my father ran off with her best friend, “every day is father’s day”. Personally I think every day should be Mother’s day. And Earth day and Earth Mother’s day and Mother Earth’s day. Really! We have, like, ozone holes and vanishing rainforests and melting ice, and oil spills and mountain top removal and fracking and extinct species, and air pollution and clean water shortage and now all that plastic in the oceans that kills everything from whales to birds to fish and eventually us, and all we have is ONE day! Only one day a year that is Earth day….

What bullshit!

One Day To Feel Good About Ourselves and the Environment Day is what today should be called, so tomorrow we can go back to our old ways of buying bottled Evian, forgetting to bring cloth bags to the market, leaving the lights on, driving instead of taking our bike or walking.

BUT

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe its arrogant to assume that we, as just another, be it rather pernicious species, have to assume the position of “saving the planet” when its only us who’s making the mess in the first place. Its a bit like beating your wife and then helping her with the ice packs and band-aids. Take a look at the last tsunami, the earthquakes, the volcano just last week and its easy to see that we the people, are, after all, pretty powerless, and that Mother Earth may just have her own plans  to save herself.

And I don’t think she calls it  “Human Species Day”.

What WE need is a Human Species Day. Atonement Day. Reflect humbly on who and what we are and correct our ways to save ourselves and each other.

(All of above said in the words of Michael Jackson: with the love…with the love…)

plover eggs and beach plastic


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earth mother’s day

photo: Iona Gordon

Last week I got a FB comment from Tony, my former fashion PR in London. We’d lost touch for 25 years. It said:
“Wow you’ve become such an ‘earth mother’… What happened?!!!!”
Ouch. I thought. I’m not cool anymore. I’m not post-punk London groovy anymore. I’m not young and cutting edge and wild  a n y m o r e.
I’m an EARTH MOTHER!

SHIT.

I thought of cutting my hair and bleaching it . I thought of piercing my nose and tongue and moving back to London. I thought of me 25 years ago and I felt wistful.

Tony now owns a  forecast service, predicting future fashion trends and runs it from Melbourne. I guess the latest wave of Green fashion hasn’t reached there yet, lets face it fashion forecasting from down under must be quite a challenge… I’m being bitchy. I know, here:    ; )   … a blinking smiley should make Tony feel better.

So  this is what happened:

I became a mother.

I grew up.

I saw better, clearer and beyond myself.

and use this in my work…

So maybe now I’m an earth mother and maybe I’m proud of it. Maybe the earth needs mothers. Its not like the fathers have done such a great job over the ages with their offerings of virgins and plundering and raping and not picking up after themselves. Maybe it takes some global mega-mothering, you know, like mothers for wiping sooty volcano’s, tucking in trembling fault lines, putting bandages on gaping ozone holes, and cold compresses on raising temperatures. And how about a few volunteer mother surrogates against the extinction of the Iberian Lynx , Saiga  Antelope, Sumatran Tiger, Silky Sifafka and the South China Tiger?

If only.

If only earth mothers had father time on their side….


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easta at aqua

we got water

we got eggs.

this year I counted them. 25 each. 4 went unaccounted for. They’re with the single socks. remarkably peaceful and laid back Easter sunday.
Husband had to do taped interview, go figure, so without annual church guilt, his father was after al the minister and easter by far the most daunting religious holiday of the year for him, us girls did pajamas, colored a few more eggs, ate  proportionately more chocolate eggs than were colored, watched tennis, quick visit to Lincoln Road to photograph dogs, Iona’s plan for a blog: THE DOGS OF LINCOLN ROAD, swam 20 laps, dinner and to bed.

OOPS, i dropped the pancake