Via miamismpix.com: The Britto “Beach Ball” at the Miami Shores Country Club gets spiked.
Lincoln Road might seem an inappropriate place to start a blog whose mission is essentially to discover Miami’s secret heart (or establish that it doesn’t have one). Lincoln Road — by which I mean the eight-block promenade bound by Alton Road in the west and Washington Avenue in the east — is certainly no secret. A skinnier version of Barcelona’s Las Ramblas (skinnier in both width and waistlines), Lincoln Road on almost every night of the year teems with flawless women, leering men, laughing/yawning/bawling children, second-rate buskers, sunburnt tourists, their necks hung heavy with DSLRs, invisible beggars, tefillin-entangled Hasidim, perky hostesses, and fugitive parrots cawing hysterically among the palm fronds (they escaped from the zoo during a hurricane, I hear). It is one of the places South Beach hotels brag about being nearby, and it boasts national retail stores from Victoria’s Secret to Ghirardelli Chocolate to Williams-Sonoma.
Point being: it’s a known quantity, the kind of place smug locals abandon to the sap tourists in favor of a gritty dive bar with sticky walls and no identifiable women. Nonetheless, by choice and by default, I have spent quite a bit of time there. It’s a vulgar place, fueled by lust, greed, and vanity — the three sins are neatly synthesized in the leukemic mannequins striking Pompeiian poses in the storefront windows — but, honestly, I kind of like it.