By Michael E. Miller
By Ryan Yousefi
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Sabrina Rodriguez
By Michael E. Miller
By Carlos Suarez De Jesus
By Luther Campbell
By Kyle Munzenrieder
THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON, PART ONE: A TARABLE PARABLE
Brava for your telling interview of Tara Solomon ("She Only Comes Out At Night," January 8). From vacuous to vulgar, she bared the shallow depths of her subcelestial soul. Who's next: Henrietta?
Tara dear, try the imported champagne; it has much more editorial sparkle than the "non-domestic" variety!
THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON, PART TWO: THE FREEBIE THEORY
I read "She Only Comes Out At Night" rather reluctantly, in the hopes that it would unlock the very secret to the popularity of its subject; either a secret to which I have not been made privy, or a plain joke, the humor of which I fail to understand.
Having relocated to the Miami (not Beach) area some three years ago, and also having had semi-extensive "professional" contact with this lounge lizardess, I found myself bemused to see that other professionals were mistaking the very public histrionics of this overzealous "personality" as part and parcel of her position in business and society. I am increasingly disturbed to see the rapid escalation of these luminescent nightcrawlers (your subject, the Bone Boyz, et al.) to figureheads of a "society" so desperate for rescue. Remember the welcoming of David Paul? Miami society seems to be desperate for some icon or figurehead to justify its own growth and image.
I recall with much pleasure my visits as a teen-ager to Studio 54 during its heyday. I still remember the thrill I felt the first time I saw Rollerina, the fairy godmother of New York, skate across a very crowded dance floor, her minions parting like the proverbial Red Sea. Disco truly elevated and exonerated the spirit of the individual. "To be" was simply its own pleasure and reward. "To be covered" by the various media is the bellwether of the Nineties.
I, for one, long for the era when the nightclubs were ruled by disco and the omnipotent DJ gods. I remember being able to close my eyes and dance forever; not knowing or caring who was where, and whether or not a particular nightspot was "sanctioned" by the self-appointed kings and queens of the night.
And I wonder if she would be so enthusiastic about club-crawling, should respective owners decide to charge her and her court for one month. Perhaps the recession would be aided by her purchasing the contents of her closet, instead of having her adoring fans "provide" for her. I would like to know specifically which "social causes" (AIDS, homelessness, et cetera) she has donated time/money toward. As I see it, the money she is saving on cover charges and drinks (perhaps at least twenty dollars per week?) would make a most generous addition to the strapped budgets of these social agencies.
ONE PERFECTLY ROUND OMELET WITH EXTRA GEOMETRICALLY CORRECT RED PEPPER, COMING RIGHT UP
A response to Jim Pavilack's complaint about Miami's lack of serious breakfast spots ("New Year, Old Peeves," January 1): Where has he been? Miami's a screwy town in a lot of respects, but when it comes to breakfast (and food in general), there're a billion and one places to go.
He wants a great omelet? Try Chico's Restaurant. They make a perfectly round (every time) little omelet with onions and cheese, beautifully garnished with exactly four green peas and one geometrically correct chunk of red pepper. Hits the spot every time. As for that "nutty, whole wheat toast": Screw that! Go for the Cuban toast. And while they may not have the fresh fruit, you can always get a side order of avocados. Avocados galore - I mean, they serve as table centerpieces. And the service is usually fast and good, if not extremely interesting. Of course Chico's is a pretty large chain. There are a bunch of little dives that are just as much fun and serve just as tasty a breakfast. Oh, did I mention that you can stuff your face for less than four dollars?
If you're in the mood for some wonderful, (slightly) greasy grub and want to know what it's like to be caught in a time-warp diner where everybody knows each other, try Finicky's in South Miami. The atmosphere is relaxed, incredibly cozy, and you'll get to meet Tina, the world's greatest waitress.
So you see, there's hope for Miami's mornings after all! Oh, and by the way, I don't work for Chico's, although I must admit I did apply once. They weren't hiring.
JUST WHAT YOU ALWAYS WANTED IN MIAMI (EXCEPT IT'S IN HOLLYWOOD)
Jim Pavilack ("New Year, Old Peeves") can get the breakfast of his dreams at the Coral Rose Cafe, 1840 Harrison St., Hollywood. Take it from one who's been there.
WHITE MAKES WRIGHT
Not since Don Wright left the Miami scene has any local political cartoonist been able to capture the essence of news with a real flair for hitting his target's bull's eye so consistently with such thought-provoking comment. No one, that is, until New Times and Tom White ("White Space") came a' courtin' the Magic City. Wow!