Had I not already been aware of the impending Jay Z project and its 4:44 red carpet my reaction to this tour bus may have taken a more fangirl direction. I mean…this is simply divine. I embrace 444 no matter the origin. If the city I’ve come to call home and heaven wants to satellite the New York campaign it can count on my support. We are, after all, the Magic City, but driving to work this week has been dreary at best. This is a light in the tunnel of introspection, of despair, of nightmares and heartbreak.
It’s been well over a week that Miami has barely seen the sun. Boo-f*cking-hoo, right? I know, I know. Hashtag first world problems. Problems are relative, and right now not being able to ride my motorcycle presents a problem. I’ve been working a lot. A lot. This is not a complaint, it’s an affirmation. I love to work, it’s who I am. I’m career-oriented and I make no apologies, have no regrets. But girl cannot live on ambition alone. The nightmares have made that clear. Thankfully, my city also comes with an abundance of free and inspiring activities. Rain or shine, Wynwood is calling my name.
But first, ice-cream. Scoops of “The Chronic” and “Big Daddy Coconut” (Mr. Kream’s hip-hop versions of mint chocolate chip and coconut, respectively), served up by DJ and co-owner S.O.S. and subculture immersion begins.
Uninvited rain led to an abbreviated adventure. In lieu of my current state of ambivalence, I’ll leave the collection description-closed and interpretation-open. In review I can already foresee revisiting in the next post what I learned from this adventure.
In compliance to my lifetime love affair with ice-cream married to my love of cooking and being skinny/healthy, I bought a Cuisinart ice-cream maker. Undoubtedly I will create a menu of craft flavors and dub them ridiculous names. It’s what I do. Cooking is chemistry and chemistry is science and I’m a g*ddam scientist. Ice-cream batch No.1: coconut coffee, as of now still unnamed.