Recently a stand-up comic was working the crowd at a Miami comedy club. An out-of-towner traveling the comedy club circuit, he was clueless about the community, but always did his best to make his comedy locally relevent by digging through a town's newspaper for inspiration. He found a story about the Atlanta branch of the FAA restricting the new half-billion-dollar Carnival Center for the Performing Arts from lighting up the night skies with a permanent searchlight-- included at considerable expense in the design-- because it might interfere with pilots landing at MIA. This rankled many Miamians because it seemed the FAA was also consistently stopping them from having really tall buildings which many of them took as signs of a manifested example of large scale penis envy by Atlanta civic boosters. This was something the stand-up comic couldn't pass up and decided to use it in his routine that night. That joke would lead in to a riff on Castro who, a couple of days earlier, was reported in full-width front page headlines to be on his death bed. Those rumors were enough to get Cubans parading up and down Calle Ocho, the main drag through Little Havana. After introducing himself and telling his audience that he had just flown into Miami, he began his routine. The parentheticals are mine:

Is it a joke or what when the FAA restricts your new muy expensive performing arts center from popping its beacon on and lighting up the night sky because it might interfere with pilots landing at MIA? Hell, if anything, it ought to help them find it.

"I lost Miami!"

"Follow the light!"

"It's too bright! I can't see!"

"What? You didn't bring your aviator sunglasses? And you call yourself a pilot?"

(Uncontrolled laughter)

Geesh, I tell you, if I was paranoid, I'd think the Atlanta branch of the FAA which makes up these cockamamied rules has got it in for us. They're even telling us we can't build buildings as big as we want to. The nerve of them. Last time I checked this was America-- except for certain parts of Miami.

(Uneasy laughter)

Hey, I'm only kidding. Lighten up. Where's a translator when you need one?

(Someone heckles the comic in Spanish. He doesn't know Spanish but senses he may have crossed the line. He tugs at his necktie and begins to sweat under the spot lights. He quickly whips out his emergency back-up line)

I just heard Castro died!

(Uncontrolled cheering and shouts of joy)

Yeah, the first parade is scheduled right after this set.

(With the exception of a few tourists and a scattering of "Gringos," the room suddenly emptied itself as the audience rushed out onto Calle Ocho to begin another round of marching up and down the street and waving small Cuban flags which, the comic was surprised to learn, they always carried with them for exactly this kind of moment.)