Bienvenidos a Miami

With LeBron James greedily, embarrassingly, and hilariously hogging all the attention the media seems all-too-willing to give him, the city of Miami, Florida has been in the spotlight of late.

I have friends who've lived in Miami as well as friends who have visited, and everybody seems to speak glowingly about it.

But I'm not too impressed with everything I've seen and heard. From what I gather, Miami seems to win people over with its fantastic nightlife, a scene in which I could not have less interest.

There just doesn't seem to be much about Miami that's appealing—at least to me.

Warm weather and beaches can be found in a lot of places, so what's the big draw? I hate clubbing and the culture that accompanies a strong nightlife scene. I'm sure there are other things to do in Miami, but I don't know what of these things is appealing enough to warrant a vacation there.

I briefly entertained drawing up a list (since I love them so much) of popular places that I'm not dying to visit. But I quickly realized that Miami's pretty much the only city for which that statement holds true.

An honorable mention goes to Los Angeles, California, though. Yes, technically I've been there before, but I haven't spent much time in the city itself, much less to do touristy things. I've seen the Hollywood sign and I've been to Universal Studios, and that's about it. And I'm not losing sleep over not having done more. The city of Los Angeles itself doesn't have a whole lot to offer, other than atrocious rush hour traffic and an annoying airport. And the awesome Venice Beach. I guess there's the Walk of Fame and other things of that nature, but I'm not particularly interested.

It's the surrounding areas that host some of the more appealing attractions: Anaheim (Disneyland) and Santa Monica (the Pier), for example.

I will say, however, that I'd love to see a Lakers game at the Staples Center and that I really want to visit Griffith Observatory.

Miami can kindly remove itself from the list of places I want to visit, though.

Although I do concede that seeing the Super Bowl there in February would have been fun.

Also, yes, the title of this post is from the Will Smith song. I unashamedly adore the nineties.

Breakfast in America

My family and I had to go up to JFK early yesterday morning, and my dad suggested that we stop and have some brunch in New York City on the way back home. My brother and I agreed, provided that we were back home in time to watch the World Cup Final (which was unfortunately really underwhelming).

We met a close family friend of ours in the Upper East Side, and he guided us to Baker Street Pub, an Irish-influenced restaurant on the corner of 63rd and 1st. I glanced at the menu posted outside, but wasn't particularly impressed by anything they had to offer. I was in the mood for breakfast food (when am I not?) and while this place serves "Irish Breakfast" all day, I found the idea of Irish bacon to be wholly unappealing.

But I didn't want to be fussy (I can nearly always find something to eat, anywhere), so I nodded my agreement of the choice and walked in.

The pub was completely decked out in soccer paraphernalia, which I assumed to be present because of the Cup, but photographs on their website prove that the decorations are a mainstay of the establishment.

The lighting overall seemed to be consistent with that of a dive bar—annoyingly dim. There's ambience, and then there's near-dark.

Plus, the sun was happily shining in through the front windows and it just seemed wrong to be sitting in such a gloomy place on such a bright and gorgeous day.

Another look at the menu effectively smothered all the lovely visions of belgian waffles, eggs, and pancakes that had been dancing around in my head for the past few hours.

Then my eyes landed on a glorious sight—the sides on sandwiches and paninis included the option of sweet potato fries.

For that reason alone, I perused that portion of the menu. Once again, I found very few of these options appealing, but I finally settled on the chicken wrap, without the sundried tomato mayo, as I dislike most condiments/spreads.

But sweet potato fries! What did it matter how the rest of the meal tasted?

The wrap itself was merely satisfactory; the chicken was slightly dry and the caramelized onions were dripping vinegar everywhere, making for a messier dining experience than I would have liked.

But the sweet potato fries were just as amazing as I hoped they would be. Despite their being relatively easy to make, I haven't had them in over two years, back when I made them in Jamaica.

So overall: semi-decent meal, but incredible fries. I showered them in salt and pepper (as I do with just about everything) and went to town.

And picking the sweet potatoes was a smart choice, too, because the regular fries (which my dad and brother got) were not good.

I don't anticipate ever returning to this place (at least not of my own accord), but if I do: sweet potato fries might have to be my entire meal.

Explosions in the Sky

I love fireworks. So as excited as I was to be spending the holiday weekend with two of my closest friends, I was also thrilled at the thought that I'd be seeing an excellent fireworks show on the National Mall.

My friends and I found a spot off the Mall, so as not to deal with as big a crowd. We parked ourselves on blankets set up on the lawn across from the DAR Constitution Hall (in which I saw a concert a few years prior—it's really beautiful inside).

A note to all who might repeat this one day: Bring bug spray.

The fireworks don't start until "dark," so we had a couple of hours to kill, during which we ate sugar cookies, took pictures, listened to RENT and The Beatles (a slightly strange combination), and made a quick run to CVS to purchase the bug spray we so desperately needed.

Then it was finally time for the fireworks!

Consider me seriously underwhelmed. I expected that because the fireworks show took place in the nation's capital, it would really be spectacular. Silly me.

They weren't anything extravagant; I've seen similar shows (and occasionally even better ones) in my hometown's community park.

The climax of the show can best be described as a mess; several fireworks were shot simultaneously into the air and exploded in tandem, only to create a hazy mess with a few intermittent sparks. Awesome.

As an added bonus, due to our relatively close proximity to the fireworks, we were in prime location to receive a shower of debris throughout the entire show. About two minutes in, an abrasive piece of ash landed right in my eye, temporarily blinding me. The debris continued to rain on us in the moments after the show ended, too; it was what I imagine it would feel like to stand in a mild hailstorm.

That said, I was still like a kid in a candy store during the fireworks. They always make me insanely happy.

Check out some of the better moments:

I think I'm making it sound like a terrible experience, and honestly, it wasn't. I had a great time, and I've always wanted to celebrate the Fourth in DC, so I'm glad to have had the chance to do so.

But as far as the overall quality of the show is concerned, it doesn't rank as highly as I expected it would (which was my mistake—having had high expectations at all).

But I'd still repeat the experience, so long as I was in great company again. Because at the end of the day, all I'm really concerned with is seeing some fireworks. Did I mention I love them?

Life Is Beautiful Around the World

For the Fourth of July holiday, one of my close friends and I drove down to the DC area to visit another one of our good friends, who recently moved to Northern Virginia.

We left early Saturday morning, figuring that the bulk of the traffic would exist on Friday night, and that a lot of the people were probably leaving the city in favor of the beach, anyhow. We appeared to be correct, and so made excellent time.

After unloading our belongings, we headed off to the National Mall to attend the Smithsonian Folklife Festival, an annual and "international exposition of living cultural heritage."

The Mall was broken up into regions that represented various parts of the world; this year, there was a section for Mexico as well as Asian Pacific Americans. Within each of these regions were several tents that served food, held events, and played music corresponding to the appropriate area.

Upon arrival, our first order of business was finding somewhere to eat (of course), so we headed over to "Mexico."

I had a chicken burrito, which was about the size of a Chipotle burrito, so needless to say, I was in heaven. There was a little too much rice for my liking, but the pico de gallo and black beans made for a perfect combination.

After a scrumptious meal, we headed down the Mall to check out the other regions. In "Asia," we went under a tent and watched breakdancers from Lao.

Over in another area of the continent, there was a woman cooking some Vietnamese cuisine; the set up in this tent was fantastic, as there was a mirror hanging above her so the audience could see what she was doing.

We also took a few moments to sign a wooden sculpture that served as a guest book. On it, they requested that we write our first name and word that describes us—vertically, so as to serve as a reminder that many Asian languages are written in this manner.

While I was signing my name, some man photographed me, and after some awkward conversation, led me to believe that my picture was going to end up in the Smithsonian archives. I guess I'll never really know if he's serious.

All in all, the festival was a fun experience and a nice departure from the standard tourism of DC. Assuming that the specifics of the festival change slightly on an annual basis, I'd definitely consider attending it annually, were I a resident of the city.