So this is totally random, but it’s 10:01 pm and I’m sitting in the Floridian, a 24-hour Ft. Lauderdale diner.
A few moments ago I retreated to the men’s room to take a piss. As soon as I entered I was reminded that the Floridian—a place I’ve frequented dozens of times—boasts what must go down as one of the world’s lamest attempts at music memorabilia.
Hanging in the bathroom are a series of framed “gold records.” The Beatles. Babs Streisand. Julio Iglesias. Dean Martin. And they all share a couple of characteristics in common:
• Crappy wood frames.
• Poorly photocopied album covers.
• “Gold records” that are neither made of gold nor records. In fact, I’m pretty sure they’re half records, tucked behind the photocopied jacket in order to appear whole.
As you can see above, the paper is the kind you buy at Staples—$6.99 for 500 sheets. It’s warped and discolored and unworthy of Beatlemania.
But it’s sorta entertaining.
