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Purples R Her

I read, in the Sunday paper, that Marrakesh is now Miami in a caftan. I took umbrage.

What’s wrong with caftans?  What’s wrong with Miami?  What about Miami could possibly remind anyone about Marrakesh?  I mean, hey–I don’t believe I ever saw Marlene Dietrich in Miami.  In Marrakesh she was stunning!

Marrakesh and Miami don’t work in the same sentence, let alone adding the worthy caftan to the mix.   What I got from the statement was there is something silly about Marrakesh now, implying it’s gone American, god forbid, all cleaned up and fresh.  Like…Miami?  Poor Miami, minding it’s own business.  Who are these newspaper people, glibbly picking on the innocent stander-by?  Including the venerable Marrakesh.

Because the article was actually about Tangier, and stated that now Marrakesh has gone to seed in its caftan,  Tangier is the place to go.

So now I have this strong desire to go to Miami.  I like Miami.  I approve of Miami.  When I’m in Miami, I always feel like I’m in the LA of fifty years ago.  All blue skies, white buildings and pink GTO’s with flamingos painted on them.  Like both places have just had their evening bubble bath.

The caftan part?  Let’s face it.  This is the perfect description of Palm Springs.

 

 

 

 

 

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