This post could easily have been entitled, "You Know You're In Florida When..." and filled in with whatever comical crocodile reference you wished. 'Cause just thinking of crocs is funny. Not these crocs below, though I grant you, those are funny as in "ludicrous ridiculous pathetic" funny.
I give you, exhibit A. And exhibit W.
I mean, Jack, yes. He's so gone on coke most of the time, he probably doesn't know who dresses him, let alone what his feet are shod in. But the President of the Freaking United States?!
Oh, right. Moving on.
As you can see, we take our long, scaly lizards very seriously here in the State of Florida.
Gone are the days when Janet Reno's mother used to 'rassle' gators in the Redlands, near Homestead, and then host her biddy friends for afternoon tea (no, really, she did. Reno tells the story during the rubber chicken circuits). If anyone outside of the Miccosukee tribe tried that now, they'd be hauled away, Elian-style.
I suppose it's a comfort to know that officialdom are looking out for the crocs, and are adamant no one should molest them, to use the Spanish term. I'm not sure how anyone could without serious bodily harm coming to them, but there we are.
This was taken way over in Pinecrest, where crocs are seen everywhere -- as Fendi handbags.
First, I am all right. I had just swung by Coral Gables very early today, to get my license plate renewed when I decided to take a peak at Dadeland Mall, a mere 10 minutes away.
I left almost immediately. Here is why. ElCubanitoKC will have flashbacks.
MIAMI (AP) — Authorities responding to a shooting at suburban Miami mall say one person has been shot and taken to a hospital.
Miami-Dade Fire Rescue spokesman Lt. Eddy Ballester said the agency received a call about a shooting at the Dadeland Mall at 11:17 a.m. Monday. Another person was hurt, but their injury was not immediately clear.
Aerial news footage showed an armored car parked in front of the mall surrounded by police and fire rescue officials.
Jorge Divo was in the food court when he saw a crowd of shoppers running, screaming "that someone had been shot."
A Miami-Dade County police spokeswoman didn't immediately have any other details.
Dadeland Mall is located about 15 miles southwest of downtown Miami. It has more than 185 specialty stores, department stores, shops and boutiques.
Crikey, I was within seconds of being in the midst of this latter-day Cocaine Cowboys shootout!
For those of you who didn't see this documentary, it was at Dadeland Mall in mostly upscale Kendall, a noted suburb of Miami, that the Cocaine Wars which plagued this city, started back in 1979.
There used to be a Crown Liquors located there next to a Cozzoli's Pizzeria (my mother remembers an Italian by the name of Gino who either was the owner, or the ubiquitous employee -- he told her about that fateful day many times, in sombre tones). This is what happened.
Today, Saks Fifth Avenue is more or less the location of that event which happened nearly an unbelievable 30 years ago. How time flies. Dadeland looks almost nothing like the video shown above. I'm sad to see violence return to this suburban mall, at once wonderful, but today, again rent apart with gunshots...
ADDED: Wow! Look at the famous Dadeland Mall seahorse statue in the open air! My parents remember it being enclosed so this must date to at least the 70s. EDIT: In fact, the blog says it is "circa 1960s". Dadeland opened in 1962. Good grief. It must've been one of the first malls in the US.
Malls are still strange concepts to Brits (though they are fast taking over the High Streets all over Britain) and Dadeland was one of the first I remember.
Other than Toronto's Eaton Centre, it held and still holds a very special place in my heart. I think it was the first Food Court I recall dining at. 'Das Wunder von Miami', as my maternal grandmother called it. She would've missed the demise of Burdines, the famous local department store with the endless perfume spritzer ladies you could never quite avoid, now taken over by Macy's tentacles. Jane Fonda has no memories of it, as a workout book she was then flogging at book signings in the early 80s, had to be canceled. Burdines was flooded with bomb threats, as locals were none too keen to see Hanoi Jane amongst the high-priced tschokes.
By the way, check out the "Malls of America" blog, from which this photo comes, to see if you can find your own memory lane today.
UPDATE: Sadly, the Dunbar security guard died. He wasn't wearing a bullet-proof vest. His murderers are on the loose, so if you have any tips, please call (305) 407-TIPS.
Turns out that if I hadn't left when I did -- before the cops came -- I would not have been allowed to leave for 6 hours plus. Dadeland was locked down.
No matter where you are, chances are that if you're a Roman Catholic, like me, you're not far away from a church celebrating the resurrection of Our Lord.
For today is Easter Sunday, and on this special day, Sundries is taking you on a very special travellogue...a trip around 3 of the many Catholic churches in South Florida!
Yeah, a little church is good for you, for me come to that, ya hear?
At least, every once in a while, if only to hear some of the most beautiful voices singing their little hearts out for you, doubtlessly after many heated rehearsals all week, in the name of the Lord.
And it goes a little like this:
Young, old, woman, man, every section of society is represented in this humble church choir.
It also is your first introduction to one of our featured travellogue churches, which debuts this blogpost quite nicely.
STS PETER & PAUL ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
You've been to the Silver Bluff-Shenandoah neighbourhoods before with me, on Sundries, even if you don't immediately recall. That's where the cutest little house in Miami is located, remember?
And where Robert of 26th Parallel held his wedding, at this very church, the much beloved, Saints Peter & Paul, which also features a school of the same name. In fact, all 3 churches pictured in this travellogue, have schools attached to its parish, one of the imprimaturs of a healthy and successful Catholic community.
You know, I don't know about you, but I've yet to know of a Catholic school that didn't have a yard long waiting list for its school, a fact which has always made me smile.
For the world says that the Roman and Apostolic Catholic Church is in frank disarray, with dwindling membership, and an embittered and suspicious faithful -- which I don't doubt is true for many.
But this opinion is also an exaggerated view, often culled up by secularists who in repeating this, hope to seed doubt in people's minds. Catholic Church is dying! No one is attending Mass! Catholic priests are all paedophiles!
Indeed?
Well, in these three churches, ranging from working-class to elite status are anything to go by, perhaps all what we Catholics really need is a little more faith...in our faith.
By the way, did you see, "Sts Peter & Paul -- Panthers"?
How MANY schools have "Panthers" as their mascot in America?? It must be the single most popular mascot animal in this country!
Why never "Home of the Chihuahuas", hmm, hmm?
Holy Week started with me deciding to be a little more devout than I usually am, so on that note, I told my parents that I would be accompanying them to Mass, whenever they went. They have never forced me to do so, and for that, I've always been grateful.
In my own way, I'm rather religious, but man, am I lazy.
But anyway, mother rejoiced, and dad snickered, but then he would, old agnostic that he used to be.
So off we went to Sts. Peter & Paul, since that's my mum's favourite church.
Look at that neighbourhood. PACKED, totally packed. Not even a spot to swing the proverbial handicapped parking space cat.
We walked from two blocks away, where we had finally found a space, having first left a sign in my car window saying that I was at Church, so irate owners wouldn't have me towed away.
Oh, in two languages, of course! After all, that area is almost completely Cuban-American.
...and 50 years after their exile began, some of them don't even speak ni un pepino de ingles. Ah well.
That's St. Peter to the left, and St. Paul to the right. Or is it the other way around? I forget.
Either way, as you can see from the wide wooden doors, and aged sconces outside, it is a modern church (built in 1939), but still not an ultra-modern mega church, just another barn-like edifice masquerading as a house of worship, which frankly, I've never liked.
I just never have found the presence of God inside those modern, Protestant-looking Catholic churches which seem to abound in the US (sadly), you know?
But Sts Peter & Paul doesn't have that problem. It is very elegant, with all that implies -- understated colours, muted stonemasonry, and yet stately lines.
If I had to describe this church in one word, that word would be SOLID.
I always enter this church by the left-most door, and you know why?
Because the right-hand door leads you immediately to a statue of St. Joseph, holding as is the custom, our baby Lord, Jesus Christ. I like me some St. Joseph, it's not that, but I LOVE ST. THÈRÉSE OF LISIEUX.
And that's where the left-hand door leads you to: to her beautiful statue, in those Carmelite robes, holding that famous spray of roses with which she is so closely associated.
When I was a little girl, my maternal grandmother made me read her famous autobiography, Story of a Soul, and like millions of Catholics after her death, I instantly fell in love with this saint, who preached a Catholicism we could all do -- The Little Way.
Whichever church I go to, she's always my first port-of-call.
Like many churches, Sts. Peter & Paul has two little side rooms, an antechamber of sorts, where you can pray quietly and give a few dollars to help the church meet its expenses.
Right next to St. Thèrése, we have just such a room where a wonderful, unadorned crucifix of Our Lord hangs.
I'm not too keen about this newfangled modern candle thingie, where by a mere push of a little button, it lights up an electric "light" in memory of your loved one, and so forth.
Yeah, the old versions were fire hazards, but if the Vatican doesn't mind being engulfed in a conflagration to preserve the custom, with its holdings which are beyond price, why should a more modest church not do so, too?
Bring back the real candles!!
Every Catholic country has its particular Saint this, or Our Holy Virgin Mary of the other, and Cuba is no different.
Next to the prie-dieu above, there is a tiny little space for the Cuban "Nuestra Señora de la Caridad del Cobre" (Our Lady of Charity, which a Cuban friend once mistranslated as Our Lady of Sweet Charity with a totally straight face).
The French have Lourdes, the Portuguese have Fatima, the Mexicans have their Guadalupe, and the Brazilians have their Conçeicão, but the Cubans revere the story of this apparition of Our Lady for many reasons.
Three fishermen, one white, one black and one indigenous (the first totally Politically Correct santico crowd in the world, and to think, Barbara Walters had nothing to do with it...), chanced upon a statue of a lady in the waters where they fished. Attached to her was a little wooden plank with the words, "Yo Soy La Virgen de La Caridad" (I am the Virgin of Charity), which is some calling card, boy.
Her legend grew in Cuba, to the point where both Catholics and voodoo priests worship her with equal fervour. Interestingly, she was appointed patroness of Cuba by another Benedict, Pope Benedict XV in 1916.
I've never seen this little statue without some little old Cubana senior citizen praying reverentially under her.
(Ooh, I don't like the look of that panel in the ceiling, all peeling and yucky, which isn't noticeable when you're actually there, though. Never mind fire. What is the church doing about its damp and rot?)
Obviously, a cute little sign in brass asking parishioners not to use calculators inside church.
Sucks for the 6th graders cramming just before an exam.
Jam packed for Holy Week services, this elegant lady had to stand up, and do her devotions on the floor.
Mother turned to me and whispered, "I think that's Catherine Deneuve".
Oh totally, mum, definitely.
Catherine Deneuve flipped the bird to La Madeleine and Notre Dame and chose to attend Mass in an obscure Cuban-American Miami neighbourhood church, Sts Peter & Paul.
Anyway, is she even religious? Belle du Jour, indeed.
My favourite chorister is the lady allll the way to the back-right, who looks like a Cuban Barbara Bush. Que nice.
And what a booming alto! She's the topmost voice you hear singing "La Gloria Del Señor" in the Youtube clip above.
(In case you wondered, many of the Masses we attend are in Spanish, but neither my parents nor I, mind. Dad just pretends it's Latin, and mum sings in a mixture of French and Italian, much to the amusement of the viejitas around her)
A lovely, long view of the actual interior of the church.
You can get a fair idea of what kinds of people attend services, although I do have to say this is most probably 100% Cuban-American (minus stray gringos like myself, or other Hispanics).
Funny thing about it, is that some of the kids actually wore their school uniform, I noticed! It had the logo of the school on their yellow polo shirts, and blue trousers. You couldn't have paid me to put on my school jumper after hours, back in England...
Lastly a word about the "cura", the priest.
He's from Spain, apparently, and has a wonderful voice. Mass and services around the world are made or broken by the voice of its vicars, priests, imams, rabbis, etc.
Get a really boring, monotone chap, and that 1 hour of devotion will inch second by second, until all you do towards the end, is count the moment when you can bolt out the door.
But this guy? He has charisma, and a lot of presence.
Mum says she doesn't understand a word he says, because his Spaniard accent is too thick, but she loves going there at nights, just to listen to his voice.
If only our Church had more like my dear old mother.
EPIPHANY ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH
Our next church is located in upscale Pinecrest, the old neighbourhood of ex-Governor Jeb Bush, and in fact, used to be his and his family's local parish.
Yes, Pinecrest is a very wealthy area, with million dollar homes strewn all over Old Cutler Road, but for all that, its citizens are not to the manner born, like in Coral Gables.
Epiphany Church (yes, with school next door) reflects their non-fussy attitude, where Catherine Deneuve would never deign to appear.
It's actually a fairly new, ginormous church, resembling a cathedral in size and import, but still just a church.
It's not exactly to my taste, since it has a hint of that modernist architecture which I told you I greatly dislike, but their services ARE mostly in English, so my family and I sometimes go there just for that.
Makes a change to understand what's actually going on, you know?
Massive doors frame the entrance. It's not as minimalist as it seems, though. It's just a bit new, and hasn't grown into its character, like Sts. Peter & Paul.
Give it time. 60 years, which in Miami-time, is 300.
Not too sure I approve of the wicker ceiling (I think that's what it is). But at least the stained glass windows and depth of the transept give Epiphany a nice glow in daylight.
This is the Good Friday liturgical Mass, which was preceeded by the Stations of the Cross devotional.
(My favourite part of the whole Easter calender is Good Friday, when the Passion takes place. And yes, I was first in the queue when Mel Gibson's movie came out some years ago)
The priest in this church was a young, American chap, and very nice too, I'm sure. But he just doesn't have the gravitas the other Spaniard priest had, best illustrated by the lack of timbre in his voice, which he used to RUSH through the Mass (40 minutes flat, in what usually takes 1 full hour!).
My parents and I kept looking at each other, wondering where the fire was?
A Winchellesque performance, which I hope he will grow out of, as he ages gracefully into his role -- just like Epiphany church itself.
The paddles for the "offerings", or what you heathens know as the "begging for money" baskets.
I took a photo of the open door because it reminded me of an Oxford boatrace, when the oars (blades) are lined up just like that.
Fitting, because the service was over faster than an Eights Week bumps race...
Yes, there are poor folk in Pinecrest, which is like saying the poor of Kensington or Park Avenue, heh.
And here is the proof.
That's my mother opening up her purse and putting in a whole 3 bucks into the poorbox, one dollar for each minute of the Mass...
I'm very conscious that I'm taking pictures of reverential places for this travellogue, so I make sure I never catch anyone in actual prayer, which would be wrong.
I break this rule of mine, only once in the travellogue, and here it is.
Mother, child, looking up in devotion to Our crucified Saviour. Every photograph I have shown you has been taken with the joy of sharing my world with you.
But here, in this one photograph, I am showing you what my religion means to me, through the faceless body of a devout mother introducing her child to our faith.
What can be more beautiful than that?
If you guessed that I wasn't particularly bowled over by Epiphany church, you would not be wrong.
But I'll give them this -- that's the best church bell tower in all of Miami, bar none. On a fine day, you can hear them clear across Coral Gables, calling its faithful to pray in their Grand Prix.
CHURCH OF THE LITTLE FLOWER
So far, you've followed me to upwardly-mobile working-class Cuban-American Silver Bluff. Then you've traipsed with me to services in flexingly nouveau-riche Pinecrest.
But now, we're in the heart of the elite world of Miami -- Coral Gables!
Mum and I lost the armwrestle match with the old lady you see emerging triumphantly from the illegal parking space just in front of the church, so we parked three blocks over.
I'll say one thing for my newfound religiosity. What with the genuflections during Mass, the ups, the downs, the hiking of miles from parking space to church, I must've lost at least 3 pounds.
Catholicism is not only good for the soul, but it tones your abs, too.
I'm not exactly sure whose bust of a saint that is -- frankly, it looks not a little like Machiavelli or Savanorola.
(Just behind it is the requisite school of the Little Flower, which is $$$ to get into, as can be expected)
Keeping up my tradition, I always enter through the left-hand door of the church, though since this whole CHURCH is dedicated to my Little Flower, I don't do so to encounter her statue, more of which anon.
It's just that I like the view from the left, as one enters.
High vaulted ceilings. Flouncy alcoves, and a massive cupola above the Altar. I love it.
Yeah, a little ornate, but ornate is better than a modernist Costco Warehouse. Who can find God next to the Rice Crispies?
The only thing I found a little disappointing, was that the crowd was almost all older, and not very enthusiastic, as at least the Epiphany crowd were.
And I tell you what else disappointed me, now that I am in quibble-mode.
The outdoor statue of St. Thèrése, my beloved saint.
Nooooo, that's so totally not her face! She looks like a young Mirta de Perales! Look at that nose. Cubanaza and a half!
That's another thing about us Catholics -- we're fussy about our faith, and we each of us have in our minds, how certain things should be relating to it.
Take me, for example.
I can only worship in a church I like, which gives me the right "feeling" inside, when I enter it. If there is a priest I don't care for, or a statue which rubs me the wrong way, I may shun its comforting purpose, because I can always find another church which suits me better.
Sure, many religions have that peculiarity too, and furthermore, I do so because I have a wealth of choices around me -- but Catholics are notoriously sentimental about their churches, their priests, and their saints.
Anyway, just because the Church of The Little Flower has a snub-nosed St. Theresa outside, who looks like she just came out of the ring with Leila Ali, doesn't mean I have to look at her all day.
That's why I bring my Little Flower rosary box with me, so her more recognisably beatific face stares at me, whether the priest be boring, speedy or folksy.
Ahh, that's more like it. The Little Flower looking at me, for once a good little Catholic girl, observing her duties to her faith, and sharing it with all and sundries. But now, I must say...
This travellogue is ended. Go in Peace!
And Happy Easter, everyone!
UPDATE: Blogger colleague, Class-Factotum, makes an amazingly similar observation for the "workout" portion of the Catholic ritual. Read the blogpost here.
I know I shouldn't be sacreligious on such a day, but that's never stopped me before.
Why, I ask myself, hasn't a priest ever realised he could treble his parish numbers, if he instituted step classes in CYO?
Just a thought.
Please also read Benning's Easter post on the Resurrection. Very moving!
You know every speedtrap, cop hangout, and fuzzbuster shop in your city.
Oh, you're not one of those reckless, thoughtless drivers who speed all over your hometown, but maybe, say for the sake of argument, you like to tear around Pinecrest doing 42 on a 30 mph road.
Hypothetically, you understand. I myself NEVER EVER go above 30 mph. Miss Law & Order, that's me. I am also a proud contributor to the Police Booster Society. I love me some cops!
(Are they gone, yet?)
So, it was with great astonishment that I saw one of these little geegaws tucked discretely in a side street here in Miami, not too far away from the Clots Christmas House, in fact.
Now, Pinecrest police are super nice, not like City of Miami police who can be rather full of their own power; City of Coral Gables coppers who stop you if you merely give them eye-contact; City of South Miami finest who ticket you if so much make a rolling stop at a 4-way stop sign; or Miami Beach police who are way way too lenient, and really should crack the whip down hard on that pillock midget, Ludacris.
(I haven't a bad word to say about Miami-Dade County police. Oh, they've stopped me all right, but each time, I was able to con, I mean!, worm myself out of the ticket)
But usually, you know, the cops are actually there to issue citations, and the like.
This gadget above, which I presume clocks your speed, takes a photo of your licence plate, which is then used to send you a speeding ticket to your residence address, THIS worries me.
I can't charm a radar gun, bat my eyelashes at an aluminium casing, or flash my pearlies and cleavage at the cute officer, even though it might be a lady cop (please, like they're so heterosexual).
Just looking at it, all impersonal, humourless, and possibly uncorrupt, gives me the creeps.
I will be avoiding this road from hereoin.
It's George Orwell 1984 come to life, people. Be afraid, be very afraid. And eavesdrop at Dunkin Donuts.
