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what's
Up
in
South
Beach
by Stephanie Wilson
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It was what some people consider a “bender.”
I blame it on Katrina, when her category one hurricane status hit South
Florida with little to no warning, she made the partying start a few
days ahead of schedule.
Because, although the parties for MTV Video Music Award weekend kicked
off at Hotel MTV on Wednesday, the real debauchery wasn’t supposed to
start until Friday night, continuing straight through till Sunday
evening… or Monday morning, depending on your party-stamina.
But, alas, come Thursday afternoon, Hotel MTV was dismantled, the
30-foot Moon Man was taken down from the roof, and the residents and
visitors of South Beach stocked up on Hurricane supplies… mainly bottles
of wine, with a bottle or two of water thrown in to help reduce the
morning-after hangover. The VMA parties were canceled, the shopping
opportunities vanished, manicure-pedicure appointments were canceled,
and all I could think was “NOT ON MTV WEEKEND!” In order to drown my
sorrows about not being able to partake in the glamorous events that
were supposed to overtake South Beach for the week, I imbibed
one-too-many shots of sake in my candle-lit abode, freshly without power
as the category one wrecked havoc outside my window.
Upon waking on Friday morning to overcast skies, I glanced out my window
and took survey of the damage below. Downed palms and scattered branches
were the worst that hit my building. Unfortunately, after crawling over
to El Rancho Grande off of Lincoln Road for the Queso Fundido (literally
just a bowl of melted cheese served with tortilla chips—the ultimate
hangover cure), I was able to see the news, which showed parts of Miami
(mainly Homestead) under water completely, and the storm continued to
build strength in the gulf. But no worries, the news reported, The MTV
Parties will go on!
So the smart thing for me to do would have been go back to my apartment,
hole up in the darkness with a book and wait for power to be restored,
and rest up for the rest of the weekend. I, unfortunately, am unable to
make the right decision. So after a day full of hurried shopping at
Guess and Arden B on Collins Avenue, I got ready for a night on the town
in the dark, and hit the streets to see if there was any MTV buzz
occurring, despite the foul weather.
I received a text message from Empire Events: The Big Boi performance
originally scheduled for the Sagamore was being moved to Mansion,
beginning at 8:30pm. Immediately following the performance, guests were
to be cleared out, because Diddy’s official welcome party was occurring
in the same location. I debated going to the Big Boi show and then
hiding in the bathroom until the Diddy party started, but I figured that
would be…. Lame… so instead I headed over to the Setai for a cocktail in
a posh and electricity-fueled environment. I also wanted to pump the
bartenders for information about the supposed Diddy after-party taking
place there on Sunday night.
The damp weather did manage to dampen my spirits, and I called it a
night early, so that I could prepare for the events of Saturday.
At 3pm on Saturday, I was asked to meet up with some girls at The Ritz
Carlton South Beach for some champagne and people watching, but before I
got the official invite, I had to promise I could be cool in
celebrity-infused settings. Well, although I couldn’t guarantee
anything, I could sure try to be cool. Many celebs were calling The Ritz
home for the weekend, including Jay-Z, Snoop and 50-Cent. When I arrived
at the hotel, Snoop was jumping into his Escalade, which was surrounded
by screaming fans all snapping pictures. While walking through the
impressive lobby I kept repeating in my head “Be cool, be cool, be
cool.” And then I promptly tripped walking up the stairs and went flying
face first into the ground, right in the line of site of all of the
camera-toting people on the sidewalk. Not cool. So very not cool.
I made my way to the pool area with a bruised ego (albeit no other
visible bruises), and grabbed a cocktail, just as Big Boi from the Black
Eyed Peas made an appearance. My fall was forgotten, and I once again
repeated my mantra “Be cool, be cool.” A jeweler-friend of one of my
girls was in town from Denver for the MTV event, and as he joined our
party he pulled a diamond encrusted watch out of his pocket, which
promptly went on my wrist. I immediately felt much more cool. My girls
were also draped with diamonds and gold, and we finally thought we were
ready to head out to John Turchin’s party on Hibiscus Island, now that
we were complete with our bling.
The island itself was without electricity from the storm, and the party
was being powered by generator alone. This did not stop everyone in
attendance from having an amazing time in the house. The property is
right on the water, and the house was made for celebrations. The
two-tiered pool was home to many dancers, who changed their intricate
costumes constantly throughout the evening, much to the amusement of the
many Miami Beachers who were lucky enough to be at the house.
Usher arrived with Miss Russia around 9pm. Before that, you knew you
were at a great party, but upon Usher’s arrival, it officially became
the best bash around. I mean, its one thing to be at a club where a
celebrity is hanging, but most of the time, they have been paid to make
an appearance. When you are at a house party, and Usher arrives, you
know the party is hopping, and the night is only going to get better
from there. Those in Usher’s entourage all had matching diamond
medallions, and one of them came over and complimented one of my girls
on her bling, which was compliments of the jeweler from Denver. Yes, we
were now officially even cooler.
The party most likely continued well into the night, but around
midnight, I realized the week had caught up with me. I saw my friend
talking to Usher, and I didn’t even go over to try to get introduced! I
regretfully report that I went home “for a quick costume change”, and
instead hit my bed face first and didn’t move till morning.
So once again, I blame my lack of attendance at the remaining soirees on
Katrina. If it wasn’t for her early arrival, I would have been able to
last for the whole weekend, and I would have been part of the crowd that
was still at the Miami Beach Marina Monday morning, just hoping to get
on to Mariah Carey’s yacht, where the diva herself could still be seen
well after sunrise with a glass of bubbly in hand, dancing on the sun
deck to her own tunes.
Oh well. There is always next year. Wait, what am I talking about? This
is Miami. There is always next weekend.
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