I am always intrigued when people decide to marry. I wonder if the union will last, and whether or not the bride and groom are aware of what they’re actually getting themselves into. These days, it seems few people believe in the family of yore, where husbands and wives seldom separated, and children were rarely, if ever, born to unwed mothers. Now that liberalism has desensitized us to almost everything, it is hard for young people to understand how important a stable family is to the pursuit of happiness. For American women, knowing what sort of family to create is often a tough task, especially now that we have so many choices. But, even these days, when lunatics like OctoMom and Angelina Jolie are on the rise, some folks still do it the old-fashioned way.
A few years ago a girlfriend of mine called me up to ask what I knew about a young man she had recently met. I told her I had known him since school, though not very well, his dad was thought to be in the CIA. He had a tight group of buddies and always had a nice girlfriend. She was somewhat off-put by his corny text messages. But, since finding a good goy to marry in New York is next to impossible, even for a pretty and clever, globe-trotting heiress, she carried on seeing him. Two years later they were engaged. A few weeks ago they married in Miami at the Indian Creek Country Club.
The crowd was very international. Among the WASPy set were a number of Germans, and Lebanese, the bride being one half of each, as well as friends and family from Los Angeles. The men from LA were easy to spot. You probably know the type, over fifty, a Hamiltan, salt and pepper hair, and a beautiful young girlfriend. I can’t help but wonder why these girls end up with men old enough to be their fathers. Is it that they are gullible, and have daddy issues? Are they attracted to the gratitude, wisdom, and confidence some older men possess? Is it simply the financial reward? Whatever the reason, most of us had a cackle at their expense. Half a dozen flagrant Dirty Old Men lined up in a row are hard to ignore. A breeze kept us cool during the ceremony, and three majestic banyon trees obscured the view of Miami in the distance with their walking trunks.
The first time I went to Miami in 1991 was, according to those in the know, the beginning of the end. Though many of the Art Deco buildings had long since lost their gleam, South Beach had the sort of combination that can make a city interesting: drug-dealers, gays, surfers, pensioners, and artists. Back then, the beaches were hardly polluted with beer cans and cigarette butts, and few people were seen walking the streets. Guys like Bruce Weber could be spotted at the Marlin surrounded by attractive young things. Though the style was also casual back then, shiny brown hard bodies on roller blades, or Ralph Lauren types, were in stark contrast to the rotund spring-breakers down from Atlanta and D.C. who cruise the streets of South Beach now.
Unfortunately, Miami Beach typifies everything that is cheap about America. Not dissimilar to a Saturday afternoon at Universal Studios Hollywood. Most bars and restaurants have multiple TV screens, loud music, aggressive staff, and an informally dressed clientele. I was horrified to see a T.G.I Fridays had moved in next to the charming News Café. Every establishment I walked past, with the promise of a discount solicited me. No joke lost there. According to some locals, the mayor, Manuel Diaz, is a homophobe, and so all the homosexuals have moved out. Too bad for Miami, and America, the gays have a keen aesthetic, and at least they believe in marriage.
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The Usual Suspects