Miami.com Happy Hour Tonight

I know it's raining outside. I have windows (in the distance, but close enough to decipher a gray from a white cloud). And I'm all for you (and me) staying dry. Unless of course, we're talking about booze. And guess what, that's what I'm talking about, my friends.

Tonight Miami.com is hosting happy hour at Andu Restaurant & Lounge in Brickell from 6-9 p.m. Free RubiRey rum cocktails for the first hour, after that, drinks are half off. The food ain't bad, either, so stay for dinner - it'll save you a trip to Publix, where the only spot left in the parking lot will be in a puddle (read: lake) thus forcing you to take off those coveted vintage stilettos and inevitably get ringworm. So there. Come to our happy hour and avoid flesh fungus.

What's My Motivation?

A few years ago around the holidays, I received a Harry & David gift box set from my grandparents in the mail. Pears, Moose Munch, petit fours. All good stuff, I admit. This bounty, however, wasn't the usual Christmas offering I usually got from my father's parents - that would be cold hard cash. And not the $2 check from senile Aunt Linda cold hard cash. So I did what any confused/concerned (Was I going to get a half-empty box of cereal next year?) grandchild would do - I called another grandchild to see if this was a grandchild-wide development or if I had at some point during my last visit stuffed my face full of petit fours and exclaimed, "I love these things!" "It's because we're adults now," my cousin replied. "We only got the cash because we didn't have jobs." There it was. Nanny and Pa making like the unemployment office, effectively cutting us off upon recieving proof of employment. After considering moving back into my parents house for a mili-second to get back on the grandparent gravy train, I decided to not look my Moose Munch in the mouth.

Stuff that's good

So I've decided that I'm going to, once a week, relay a few or, in a good week, ten, (PG) things I experienced and couldn't get enough of -- themed, of course.

This week: Stuff that makes me fat

Publix Chocolate Covered Peanut Brittle
"This stuff should be renamed Christmas Crack," writes Megla on the Footballguy.com message board solely about PCCPB (which predictably degenerates into jokes about how Publix sounds like "Pube licks"). I don't frequent Footballguy.com, I googled PCCPB and it was the top link, but I totally agree with Megla. But the great thing about PCCPB as opposed to, say Harry & David's Moose Munch, which is also lethally delicious, is a) you can eat it any time of the year and not have to wait for your grandma (hi nanny) to send some to you around the holidays and b) it's a generic brand and ergo cheap.

WIN STUFF!

Undershorts are a good thing. Always have been. Always will be. And now we are giving away our Undershorts. Well, sorta. Debuting this weekend at the Arsht Center, Undershorts is a series of short adult plays (that's right, 18 and over only) ranging in topics from... well, let your imagination run free. And speaking of free, we're giving away five pairs of tickets for Miami.com night -- Friday, June 13.

All you have to do is register and respond to this blog with a comment that reads "Give me some Undershorts, Miami.com." That's it. You and a guest will be ready to go to the 10 p.m. show.

The Beat Goes On

I had low expectations for the Fillmore. Like basement low - and Miami doesn't even have basements. With the exception of Studio A, which will soon be headed to the live music venue graveyard (tell Billboard Live I said hey), there's no place in Miami that consistently hosts (good) mid-level bands. In the past, I've seen (good) shows in places like the Polish American Club (Of Montreal), Ice Palace Studios (Interpol), Manuel Artime Theater (Jose Gonzalez), The Gusman (Ben Harper). But unlike other mid-size metropolitan cities -- and this isn't breaking news -- Miami has always been devoid of a permanent, long-lasting locale where one can see a good national act every week. For that, we must schlep to Broward.

Snuggle With Miami.com

I've been writing and editing in Miami a loooong time. Okay, not like 40 years long. Not like 25 years long. But about a decade, which, in "Miami years," is a really long time. I think it's something like dog years - multiply by seven and you get how long it "feels" like you've been here. So really, I've been editing and writing here for 70 years. Yes, longer than I've been alive (a couple times over). Unbelievable, I know.

Nightclub B.E.D. has been around about as long. Yes, they have been slinging drinks on Washington Ave. since the Prohibition. In fact, that's where the name comes from - patrons would stuff bottles of bootleg gin under their mattresses when the po po came around. Not really, but wouldn't that be a great story? Anyhoo, I digress.

Say hello to our other side, Miami.com en español

Growing up in San Juan, Puerto Rico, you could say I earned somewhat of a split personality when it comes to culture and language.

While I enjoyed hitting the beach and munching on bacalaítos fritos (cod fritters), hitting up a local San Juan nightspot to listen local band La Secta and taking in a local indie film next to El Morro fort at the now defunct Cine en Ballajá, I also happily enjoyed an array of awesomely gringo offerings that come with being part of the United States.

Don't get me wrong... I mean gringo in the most loving way, because due to my adoration of Green Day, 1990s teen slasher flicks such as Scream and my penchant for watching a little too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I would get called gringita here and there by kids in my bilingual elementary/middle/high school. And I was fine with that. I was just happy being myself.

Hot Essex Miami.com Happy Hour

There are certain movies you're okay with admitting you watched over and over as a child: Neverending Story; Troop Beverly Hills; Ferris Bueller's Day Off*.

Then there are the ones you knew even back then should be watched with the curtains drawn: Annie; National Lampoon's European Vacation; Revenge of the Nerds II: Nerds in Paradise.

But every once in awhile, those bad movie memories you've tried so hard to suppress come up without any warning. Take the following dialog I recently had with a colleague.

Me: What's the name of the hotel where we're having our happy hour?

Stay away from SoBe? Pourquoi?

Get out of town! Save yourselves! You don't want to get shot/stuck in traffic, do you?!

Miami has always been a drama queen, so it's no surprise she gets all worked up when hoards of thonged ladies and blinged papas take to SoBe. Wait, isn't that, um, every weekend?

I'm tired of hearing people describe this weekend as some kind of Dawn of the Dead meets Grand Theft Auto apocalypse. Sure, I was planning on avoiding South Beach this weekend - but for the same reason I try to every weekend (no parking, $20 drinks, Ed Hardy-induced vomiting). Until this morning.

Art in unexpected places

There's no better place to be on a late Sunday afternoon than Zeke's on Lincoln Road. $3 beers and choice people watching as the temp drops to a cool 89 degrees - it's one of the very few redeemable qualities of the Road left. Now, I wasn't around (or old enough) to experience the strip when it was a seedy bohemian enclave, where acoustic guitarists and dreadlocked artists let their creativity flow freely and rent was like $5 a month. But I'm sure if I had been, I would've complained about all the dirty hippies and wished out loud for a place to get gelato. In a perfect 2008 world, I would be able to grab a scoop of hazelnut at Parmalat after a screening at the art house cinema that serves boutique beers and tapas with fancy cheese.