It’s on rainy, grey, dark-as-soon-as-it-gets-light days like this one that my daydreams of Miami Beach are at their most frequent and most potent. When I was about 18, my Dad announced (to my great delight) that he was moving over there, and in the three or so years that he was an M.I.A. resident, I visited him 8 times – one time maxing out my tourist visa to stay for three months.

Even though my Dad has since relocated and I haven’t visited Miami for over a year, I still feel an intense connection to the place. I vividly remember the first time I ever stepped out of Miami International airport and was hit by the sultry, sweaty heat that lasts pretty much all year round in that part of South Florida. We jumped in a cab and rode across the bay on the causeway with the skyline of downtown Miami twinkling out the rear window. From that point onwards I was pretty much hooked.

People often associate Miami with beautiful Latinas, P. Diddy and huge nightclubs, and it is about all those things. But that was never what I loved about it. What I  loved about Miami was the light, which is somehow soft and strong at the same time, and the vibrant colour, which is everywhere you look. The beach ain’t too bad, either.

So yeah. Basically, I really miss that place. Will someone please lend me £500 so I can buy a flight back?

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Another great article: Hattie Collins meets Janet Jackson.

The Sunday Times: Janet Jackson on surviving the family circus and missing Michael

Or at least, Simon Reynolds of The Guardian and Sacha Frere-Jones of The New Yorker seem to think so. The former article is a comment on the latter; both are very much worth reading if you’re interested in Hip Hop. I know I am.

Reynolds:

“The refusal to admit that a genre can die (which doesn’t mean literally disappear – it may even generate good stuff now and then –but refers to stagnation, irrelevance, becoming uncoupled from the zeitgeist) is a denial of the possibility of change, renewal, the unexpected. The very vitality of a form of music implies the possibility of its eventual death.”

Frere-Jones:

“Hip-hop, a spinoff from New York City’s early disco culture, has been a commercial proposition since the release of “Rapper’s Delight,” in 1979. That’s thirty years, a long time for any genre. If you want to be conservative and decide that mainstream cultural relevance kicked in toward the end of the eighties, with New York’s golden age and the quick follow-up of gangsta rap, the wildly popular genre from Los Angeles, that still leaves twenty years of cultural impact. This may be a fine time for hip-hop to atomize. The original form has done an awful lot of work.”

Simon Reynolds’s Notes on the noughties: When will hip-hop hurry up and die?

Sacha Frere-Jones’ Wrapping Up: A genre ages out.

I’m slightly wary of the whole ‘motivational’, self-help culture that is so pervasive in the US. This is probably a bit (a lot) to do with the fact that I’m a cynical Brit and therefore not naturally disposed to being SUPER-SMILEY! and SUPER-ENTHUSIASTIC! all the fucking time. Nonetheless, I could read the inspiring words of a certain Mr. Ralph Marston all day long. (And actually I follow him on Twitter, so technically I do).

I’m not quite sure who this dude is – he has a pretty basic website and no other discernible web presence – but there’s something about his life philosophy that really speaks to me. To summarise it briefly: stop procrastinating, take action, be thankful for what you have, and understand that happiness lies in  gratitude more than anything else. Not ground-breaking stuff, I grant you that, but it’s nice that someone out there has made it their life’s work to remind you what you most need reminding of. Thanks, Ralphy.

Grace Ladoja is an immensely talented young filmmaker and a thoroughly nice lady to boot. Check out this trailer for her visually stunning documentary ‘London to Paris’, which tracks ten cyclists from around the world as they make a cross-Channel pilgrimage to meet Lance Armstrong at the end of the Tour de France.

Like what you see? London-based? Come down to the premiere of the film next Tuesday 1st December. Definitely worth braving the cold for. (Especially ’cause there’s free food, free drink, and a chance to win a free bike.)

Flyer with full info after the jump.

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Andrea Levy’s ‘Small Island’ is one of those books which causes you to form some deep emotional attachment to the characters, so that you go into a period of quasi-mourning when you reach the last page and realise you’ll never hear from them again. Or maybe that was just me. Either way it’s a proper warm-the-cockles-of-your-heart-but-not-in-a-cheesy-way type of novel which deals with the Windrush era of Caribbean immigration into the UK. Really interesting if you’re a history geek like myself, and actually really interesting even if you’re not. Swear down.

Anyway, that’s a very convoluted way of getting to my point (there is one, promise!): Today I found out the BBC have made a soon-to-be-aired adaptation of Small Island, and I am really fucking excited and I think you should be, too.

What’s that you say? BBC adaptations are for middle-aged couples who live in sleepy villages in Sussex and do their shopping at Ocado.com? Oh, piss off.