The novel coronavirus has a lot to answer for, including but not limited to: making Miami cool. The city that was once tolerated as the place you grudgingly go to shelter from the odd blizzard (read: IRS) is now slinging small-batch agave-infused margaritas instead of Margaritavilles. It's got crypto, it's got Cote, move over Brooklyn, the hottest borough is dead south and sorry Staten Island, it ain't you.
The downside is a metrocard doesn't quite get you there, which means the inevitable five-hour delay trying to get out of JFK. But wait, what's this? A time machine? To the 1960s? Didn't Vlad already push that button?
Ah, a more civilized age. When calling an airline help desk didn't involve a three hour hold. Your call is important to us... as long as you're Global Services.
Oh look, a tunnel not managed by the Port Authority. Things are looking up.
Step into a different world. When security lines were as short as the flight attendants' skirts.
Dad, why were Ubers so small back then?
The magnificent lines of Eero Saarinen's masterpiece puts today's nondescript terminals to shame. Although nostalgia is a powerful thing because your author distinctly remembers the decrepit TWA L1011 Tristars that would have been more at home at the United terminal down the road.
Mad Men and Madison Avenue. They go together like gin and tonic.
Can it really be mid-century modern if it pre-dates Instagram?
Do you think they have Paw Patrol on board Dad? Let's see kid, I think TVs were black and white back then.
Sorry kids, time to step back into reality. The TSA misses you.
Plugged into the behavior management system, should be all set for the next few hours. Which will be enough to move from number 28 for takeoff to number 3.
The sixth borough is rocking. If the party was any hotter Eric Adams would be here.
Cool bar, must be time for a nightcap? Nope, it's 5am and the kids are already up. And they said staying in the same time zone was the key.
All the hippest trends start down here now. Coconut water? Only if it come out of an actual coconut.
The crypto bros are in town! Purple Lambo, or is it just an NFT of a purple Lambo?
Not the Gowanus Canal.
Amazing what zero taxes can buy you.
We might as well just call it Manhattan Beach.
Daddy, what's a crypto? You know that cash register you have with the pretend money in it...
I'm sure the retro, Cold War theme seemed like a good idea at the time. Turns out a map of Russia's ballistic missiles might come in handy.
Dad, didn't we already eat at this restaurant? Yes, but that was the New York one.
I assume I get a tax break for Zooming from paradise?
Remember when this blog scoffed at sitting by a pool all day? We all make mistakes in our youth.
The ultra-hip Miami Design District makes Soho look like an I-95 strip mall.
2.99 for Premium 93? Clearly a starving artist.
Don't waste your time with this sculpture son, just copy the jpeg from this blog, fractionalize it as an NFT, wrap it in a DAO and you'll be in that purple Lambo in no time.
What do you call curated graffiti? You know, when you cross that invisible line where spray paint on a concrete wall starts to increase the rent.
Stopping at the boozy ice cream shop wasn't a winning strategy. Sorry kids, no ice cream for you, this is special spicy ice cream for mommy and daddy.
Welcome aboard ladies and gentlemen, this is Jetblue flight 289 with nonstop service to IRS International. Save your cheese plate receipt, it might be deductible.
