Princeton to Miami

As readers of this page will know, my thesis is done. As a direct result of that situation, I spent the last five days as far away as possible from the B-floor of Firestone. That is to say, I went to Miami.

After spending several breaks locked in the dank confines of Unit B-13-H-4, I decided that some sun, sand, and surf were in order. I was also motivated by the prospect of visiting a high school friend whose graduation from the University of Miami this year will soon deprive me of my free place to stay and complimentary tour guide services.

The cheap tickets didn't hurt either.

As you may guess, Miami is somewhat different from Princeton.

Though one could think of both as playgrounds for the rich, neither really is. Or rather, both are much more than that. Furthermore, Miami money — typified by plastic surgery, fast cars, and vast holdings in Latin America — differs substantially from the kind of money one finds around Princeton, which tends to be older and more curmudgeonly.

My reading material on the flight down highlighted another cultural difference. In the latest issue of "Foreign Policy," Harvard political scientist Samuel Huntington—who seems to have gone nativist in his old age — gives a rather xenophobic diatribe on the dangers of immigration from Latin America. Huntington argues that 1) America is becoming more Hispanic and — more problematically — 2) that this could bring about the demise of the Republic and our collective descent into laziness, despotism and other "Latin" vices.

The consensus among the faculty I discussed the article with was that Huntington, who is one of the most influential scholars alive today, has gone off the deep end on this one.

As I landed among the palm trees I conceded to Huntington his first point — the first sign to greet me declared "Bienvenido a Miami" — but not his second.

Miami is a city bursting with energy and commerce, far more vibrant than before it became the northernmost Latin American city. (In fairness to Huntington, he believes Miami is not a total disaster; his problem is more with poor, uneducated Mexicans than upper-class Cubans.)

But even if Miami's ethnic makeup does not foretell the moral ruin of the country, its other aspects very well might. A recent New York Times article noted that if Boston is about brains, New York about money, and Washington about power, then Miami is about sex. Its inhabitants permanently exude a certain "2:30 a.m. at the Street" attitude that, fueled by the warm weather and beautiful environs, coats the place with the pungent scent of hedonism. Unfortunately, the beauty is transient and superficial — no more real than the silicon implants that parade up and down Ocean Drive.

Even the artifice is artificial. For example, on South Beach one finds far more Midwestern tourists than resident Beautiful People, the former desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of the latter. It's like Disney Land for grownups; Miami has bottled sexiness and sells it to people from colder climes for a healthy profit.

My high school friend, Emily, was sick of this town with no soul. After four years in paradise, she longed for character-building New England winters and places where bodies came in various shapes and sizes. Miami had been fun, she said, but not forever.

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But I came for vacation, not social commentary, and fakeness matters surprisingly little when you're sitting on the beach with a cool drink in hand. Miami may be a somewhat shallow place, but that suited me just fine.

I thought the city was showing me its more thoughtful side the day before I left, when John Kerry spoke at the University of Miami (which will also host the first presidential debate). Scores of people lined up to see him, including not a few protesting Bushites.

But when the senator asked how many people at the rally — which filled the venue to capacity — came from out of state, about 70 percent raised their hands. That might explain those hanging chads!

Miami bills itself as the "magic city," and it is certainly a place of illusion. Though it would be difficult to argue that Princeton is more "real" in any meaningful sense of that word, it is perhaps more substantive than the city "where the heat is on." Will Smith puts it best: "Everyday like a mardi gras/ everybody party all day, no work, all play, OK." or a little post thesis fun, it was certainly OK by me. Tom Hale is a Wilson School Major from Saunderstown, R.I. His column runs every other Wednesday. You can reach him at thale@princeton.edu.