By David Villano
By Jose D. Duran
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Luther Campbell
By Frank Owen
By Allie Conti
In truth, the rent wasn't raised at all. Zero percent. Spector had merely been paying only $3700 of the $5700-per-month rent stipulated by his lease. "Business was slow, so we had a deal where we didn't have to pay the whole thing," Spector says. (The Herald had the opportunity to rehash the matter Sunday, opting instead to repeat the 40 percent rent jack.)
"The prior landlord gave them a month-to-month reduction, but we couldn't do that," says 9501 attorney Norman Ciment. Ben Grenald, corporate officer of 9501 Properties, is aghast at the criticism his company has received.
"If you print that we raised the rent one iota, you will be sued!" Grenald thunders. "There's been no rental increase. They have the same lease. I wanted them to stay -- I need a tenant and they need a place."
Carnival of candidates Four and a half county mayoral candidates met for a debate sponsored by the Urban Environment League on Wednesday, April 28, at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral on North Bayshore Drive.
Hooligan's bar owner Jay Love, eminently quotable Bitch fan and media honcho José Cancela, unmedicated school board member Marta Perez, and county Commissioner Jimmy Morales were all there, as well as a doppelgänger for Miguel Diaz de la Portilla. The candidate whose name The Bitch loves to say, Diaz de la Portilla couldn't make it, so he had a friend show up as sort of a medium for the living.
As (WPLG) Channel 10's Michael Putney moderated the showcase of quirks -- Cancela jumping to his feet for every answer and Diaz de la Portilla's séance -- Perez took the nut prize. She answered every question with the same unsettling, "Thank you, Michael, the fact is ..." as a Stepford-worthy smile creased her face. When she could answer the questions, that is.
During one query about whether the county should move the boundary defining development limits, Perez began her "Thank you, Michael" routine, then froze. She stared at the crowd and smiled. She continued staring. When the pause grew uncomfortably long, she simply said, "I'm sorry," and continued smiling. Finally someone yelled out the word they thought she was searching for and, interface jump-started, Perez sprang back to life.
Clove cigarettes, anyone?
Guests at simultaneous Thursday parties -- one thrown by Ocean Drive magazine at the Nash, the other for the Ritz-Carlton South Beach's spa (address: the actually nonexistent "1 Lincoln Rd.") -- were confused, even dismayed by the new coctel trend of submerging chunks of concealed seafood in what appeared otherwise to be normal, booze-filled shot glasses. More than one oyster boilermaker was accidentally made and partially consumed.
Faring better were those fortunate enough to attend Carlos Suarez de Jesus's successfully curated sendup of the art world on the Surreal Saturday before the full moon at PS 742. Suarez de Jesus and performance artist Jasmine Kastel ladled Slime©-colored Jell-O shots from an orange bucket that had clearly, at one time, contained biohazardous materials. When The Bitch inquired, not unhopefully, if the viscous solution contained LSD, Suarez de Jesus retorted, "If it did, would I be giving it toyou?"
"Verbatim" "If a dog bites me, I go to the police and deal with the dog owner. I do not go to city hall and ask them to pass an ordinance banning dogs." -- Doug Bedell, South Pointe resident
"Do you have a dog named Opium" - fellow resident from the audience at a Miami Beach public hearing on a nightlife noise