I grabbed the cameraman.
"Hey, there's Kanye West. Shoot him."
He swung the camera in random directions. Clearly he was confused.
"Who the hell is Kanye West?" he finally asked.
"Right in front of me. The short black dude with the white sunglasses."
"But that's a white woman's name," he replied.
The cab driver pointed to a group of ghostly pale hipsters walking down the street.
"You can tell Art Basel's started," he said.
"Why? Because of the lack of skin color?"
"No. The strange t-shirts," he replied. "Like that middle fellow. What the hell is that? I don't understand what he is wearing."
The out-of-town Art Basel hotties tend to be quite pale with really dark - practically black - hair. They wear really dark jeans, sport German accents, and feed on the blood of children.
This gig in Miami is really fucking with my bio clock. Normally I eat dinner first and then go out to have some drinks. But so far it's been: hit some parties starting at 7 pm, fill barren belly with vodka, and then finally grab a meal late at whatever restaurant happens to be open before I head back to the hotel to sleep. This how they party in Bizarro World, and me no like.
Went to this event in the Design District, which was insanely packed with rich people party-hopping from one gallery party to the next. The event we hit was especially popular, with a couple hundred wealthy types furiously trying to claw their way in. We were watching with some amusement as several older gentlemen covered with fake tans and $3,000 suits were furiously screaming at the doorman, "We're VIP!"
"Motherfucker, everybody VIP!" replied the doorman as he shoved them back.
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