Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Vacation Regurgitation

Hey, it’s fig season!  Delicious figgy treats are waiting for you at finer produce markets in my neighborhood!  So do yourself a favor, visit my ‘hood and get a basket of succulent black figs!  Great with marscapone, or broiled and tossed in a warm spinich salad, or straight out of the carton!  Fresh figs are delicious!  Eat some before they’re gone for another year! 

Okay okay, I promised you Florida, so here’s some Florida. I call today’s series of photos, “Facades, Signs and Icons.” See if you can tell why.  The winner gets a juicy fig.  However, “juicy fig” is a euphemism.  Are you sure you still want to play? 

On Friday we visited Miami and the South-of-South-Beach district, where diets wither in the heat and the art deco facades gleam with the glamorous spirit of, oh, I don’t know, Scarface or something.  Anyway, I liked this one, and I thought it took a nice photo too.

Here’s another simple, yet elegant, building, just hunkered down on the side of the road as if it belonged there.  Come to think of it, it did. 

Here’s a “transitional photo” of the transitional nature of the neighborhood: this beautiful building used to be a synagogue, and is now the South Florida Jewish Museum - a modest collection in a beautifully detailed edifice, liberally decorated with the famous hebrew “fighting stars” or shirikinahuras.  oy, that was a reach, but it was worth it. 

Here’s where you get the transitional nature of the last photo - I’m moving from facades to signs. This one is inside the Jewish Museum, which is a really gorgeous space liberally punctuated with stained glass.  Many of these gleaming chromatic oculi bear the name of the devout congregationalist who ponied up the bux for its installation.  In this case, the pony was ridden by this guy.  I thought that was pretty cool.  Also cool: pomegranates.  Whatever else you want to say about him, that Lansky dude had taste.

This sign hung in the bar downstairs from the restaurant where I dined with Lynne Girlyshoes, as delightful a dinner companion as one could ever wish to meet, together with her husband “the RLA” and a saq-o-mangoes that puts most other produce to shame (with the slim exception of fresh figs) - thanks, guys, for a great evening and some really, really good fruit.  Anyway, the cryptic message pictured here could mean that you’re supposed to perform an unmentionable act on your physician, but actually the bar was off a boat dock where folk were feeding bait to thrashing tarpin, and the bartender got nailed in the elbow by an impatient pelican.  Wonderful birds, the pelicans.  I’ll be damned.  (Extra credit to those who know this poem.  “Extra credit” is also a euphemism.)

This sign can be found in a part of Hollywood (FL) known as “Liberia,” because it was founded by James Monroe or Zachary Taylor or something like that.  Anyway, they were out of beer at the food sore.  That’s a pity because it was a very warm day, as evidenced by the scorchmarks on the storefront - or should I say, “sorefront.” Well, at least it looks like they still have some wine to steal, though it probably isn’t being properly chilled.

Also a pity was the fact that the South’s most unusual store seems to have gone under.  All that is left are these ghastly visages.  She has hair color that switches from canary feathers to black needle bangs.  He looks like someone just pulled his finger, and the joke’s on them.  Or on us.  Or anyway, they’re closed, so let’s move on.

Finally, here is a photo of a quarter my mom got as change from some quotidian transaction.  If anyone knows the story behind this, I’d love to hear it.  This paint job is too detailed for any home hobbiest; it looks more like a postage stamp than milled coinage.  But hey, Florida is a tropical paradise, and everything is soaked with color - even the goddamn change in your pocket.

Okay, that’s enough for now.  I will go back to words tomorrow, but rest assured, there are more photos to share.  You’ve just got to soften me up a little and I’ll give with the goods, as Mr. Lansky might have said from the Century Hotel while hosing down the Food Sore for a quarter or two.  Have a tropical day - but not a depression, if you can help it.  More on those later.