Category Archives: Miami

The BBC reports that the UN says Miami has the largest foreign-born population of any city in the world.

Some 59% of people in the city were not born in the US, the UN Development Programme report said.

…Toronto had the second-highest proportion of foreign-born citizens (44%), while Los Angeles was a close third with 41%.

Another two North American cities – Canada's Vancouver (37%) and New York (36%) – made it into the top five, the report said.

Outside North America, the town-state of Singapore scored highest (33%), followed by Australia's Sydney (31%), Abidjan (30%) in Ivory Coast, London (28%) and Paris (23%).

Plus we've got Shaq. But he was born in Newark.

How come the cool book tours almost never come to Miami?

A UM first year encounters a local meterological phenomenon:

I like the weather in Miami — it's usually sunny and warm — which is a distinct difference from anywhere else I've lived for nine months of the year. The problem? There's this particular tendency for it to monsoon, sometimes out of the clear blue, that lasts for thirty minutes and then totally clears up. It's perfectly tropical.

I think I prefer snow to this.

You do get used to it. And it usually ends before the end of the work day, which is convenient.

It seems that where I live is just a cash cow, not an electoral battleground.

As for Miami, Mr. Jordan said, the group [Moveon] was not ruling out advertising there in the future but said that the market is already rich in Democratic voters who will likely vote for Mr. Kerry. Miami is also almost prohibitively expensive, he said.

I am not ordinarily given to recounting my personal life here, much less to restaurant reviews, but I can't resist mentioning the place I went to dinner last night, “Las Culebrinas.” We wanted to go somewhere new, so we were trawling the Miami Herald restaurant review archive in the minutes before the babysitter arrived, looking for places that were not too far away, not too pricey, and interesting sounding. Then we found this.

I began to think that this might make for an interesting night out when I got to this part in the review, especially because I was pretty hungry:

Our waiter, a fellow with a merry twinkle in his eye and a deft hand with a blowtorch (more on that later), advised us not to order anything beyond the giant tapas. “TOO MUCH FOOD,'' he declared. We pressed on. Great rewards awaited.

But the next two paragraphs really sealed the deal:

There is a regular entree menu underneath the glass tabletop, but you need not look at it. Each night, a sheet bearing some 25 specials is circulated, and it is there that the truly interesting stuff can be found.

It is there that we spotted what no Spanish restaurant ought to be doing without, an entree called “Crocodile Medallions French Style'' ($12.95). This is a must-order, filet after filet of thinly sliced, pearly white, slightly chewy but delicious and virtually fat-free meat. Compare it to a good veal. The “French style'' involves a light egg wash and a bit of white wine and butter in the saute. Julia Child, meet Wally Gator. Served with a nice little row of tasty potatoes and a side salad made of mixed field greens, not the typical pallid iceberg.

Julia Child meets Wally Gator! How could I resist?

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I voted today. The polling place was empty. They seemed very glad to see me. Indeed the man whose job it was to explain how the touch screen voting worked wouldn't stop explaining complex concepts like, “you touch the screen to make your choice”. The machines are lined up in a row with the open side facing the room and thus feel very exposed compared to the old punch card system that had curtains you pulled while you make your choices. I assume the idea is that the screen angle makes it hard to see what you are doing from a distance, but I had the perhaps unjustified feeling that the hovering and underemployed poll worker, or anyone else who happened to be around, could be looking over my shoulder easily if he wanted to.

Our precinct votes in a common room graciously lent for this purpose by an ideally located Catholic church. To get to the common room you have to walk through a little courtyard, which is entered via an archway. Every time I've voted there has been a person, whom I always took to be a volunteer election official, sitting in a chair in the archway. Usually it's a local senior citizen, and they are very cordial, and point out the way to the entrance to the common room, which being on the far side of the courtyard isn't necessarily obvious if you've never been there before. This time, however, the senior citizen in the chair was wearing a bright orange vest that said something like DEPUTIZED POLICE. He stopped me and demanded to see my ID. He then scrutinized it carefully. Perhaps if it had said bin Laden I would have had to run for it.

Voting isn't anonymous — it's obviously necessary for the polling authorities inside to check my identity against the voter roll to make sure I'm registered, voting in the right place, and only voting once. This additional check was not, therefore, a particularly egregious assault on my privacy. But it was obviously pointless, and I didn't like it.