Sorry I am late getting to this, but we had the usual assortment of press conferences this morning. Got out a bit last night in South Beach, and a good time was had by all.
My buddy Michael has a condo down here, and he cooked a little Southern dinner last night for some friends. Chicken with a hearty gravy, some mashed potatoes, a little vino. Good stuff.
Seems like no one goes out until 11 - reminds me of college - so we headed down to this cocktail party on the beach. Sprint has set up a big glass house out there, which is supposed to be inhabited by the likes of Mark Wahlberg, Jessica Simpson, Chris Rock and LL Cool J once the bigtimers get down here tomorrow. Jeremy Riffle, the PR guy behind all of these beach activities, showed us around.
On Thursday, there's a celebrity flag football game going on - we're on the list - and a bunch of parties Friday and Saturday down there. J Lo is performing. I can't stand her music, but what the heck. We'll check it out and report back. Jeremy is hooking us up huge.
So last night we're about to leave Jeremy's party and this short, perky, gregarious woman starts nipping at our heels. She overhears me talking to my friend about my job or something, and immediately launches into this huge sales pitch for the city of Hollywood, Florida. Only thing is, she is falling-on-her-face drunk, and her spiel is extolling the virtues of some of Florida's elicit pleasures.
Honestly, she would start a sentence while standing to my left, and about halfway through she would be on the other side, like she was doing some kind of inebriated electric slide. We literally could not get away from here. My boy Don made a well-executed dash for the bathroom - veteran move - and I'm stuck in the sand with this chick, and now she's making a b-line for the exit with my press credential in her hands.
Thankfully, some of her pals from the Hollywood Tourism board or whatever showed up and I got the credential back (I think she would have eventually relented without their help, but, come on, we had a bar to get to and last call was approaching.)
So we hopped in a cab over to Diddy's spot, The Delano. Killer hotel. Luckily, Michael, the dude who cooked dinner, and his boy Sylvain are like regulars there, otherwise I don't think the guys at the velvet rope were letting us through.
The lobby is gorgeous and huge. Everything is glistering and looked like it had been purchased that afternoon. There is a beautiful patio area on the back and one of the swankest bars I have seen. White curtains were draped around the walls, creating private areas for lounging, and the people we met were all genuinely cool.
Not the kind of place I would ever hang out in normally - $9 domestic beers; $15 for a mixed drink (I'm on a short-leash with the expense account my friends). So I split a beer with two dudes I met at the bar from Toledo (okay, the finances are not quite that bad).
Tonight there's nothing major going on. Thursday we'll check out the flag football game, we've got Prince's press conference and by tomorrow night it should be raging on South Beach.
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