By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By David Villano
By Jose D. Duran
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Luther Campbell
Bienvenidos a Miami!
Jordan Heath-Murtha spent several months in Miami in 2001. The then-tetherless 28-year-old stayed in hostels and worked odd jobs. In March of this year, he decided to return to Miami in more concrete fashion, and encountered what can only be described as a South Beach welcome.
"I found a place at 750 Collins, but I didn't have the three grand deposit they wanted," says Heath-Murtha. "So I just said, 'I'll give you a grand today to sort of reserve it, and try to get the rest.' They said they were fine with that. I never signed anything." You know how the rest of this goes: He came back the next day, said he couldn't get the rest of the money and could he have his thousand dollars back? "The lady who works there shooed me out the door like a chicken, and told me to come back the next day."
The next day, of course, Heath-Murtha was told that "the guy who writes the checks isn't in." The guy who writes the checks is Peter Margolis, of Margolis Gral Collins, LLC. Not surprisingly, he didn't return The Bitch's calls about Heath-Murtha's lost deposit.
Heath-Murtha called a lawyer about getting his money back, and a roommate referral service (AA1 Roommate Referral Service) about getting a roommate and an apartment.
The referral service worked out about as well as the first apartment. "The first woman they were sending flaked out and turned around when she was halfway across the MacArthur Causeway. The second potential roommate was a 44-year-old actor who was, you know, really a waiter. He said he couldn't help with the down payment because he didn't know when he was going to get paid or how much."
Heath-Murtha won't divulge personal details of his third potential roommate, because he says they're friends despite the fact that he got evicted from the apartment he finally found after she failed to pay her part of the rent. "So I lost another grand from the deposit on that place. Now I'm in a place downtown, but I'm not on the lease, so I can't really talk about it. But I'm still out a grand from the first place."
Los Angeles-based record producer Domino had to console The Bitch when she became irritated upon discovering that the Indies Trader, a research ship that was supposed to be ashore for inspection, was actually anchored about five miles due east of the Sagamore, site of this past week's Quiksilver Crossing launch party.
"There's a beach, a cool breeze, beautiful people, cool music ... what else could you ask for?" Domino soothed.
Well, the promised boat, for one thing, but the set by DJ Dan the Automator was indeed way chill.
Locally adored DJ and self-proclaimed "urban pundit" Kronoswill be on hand this weekend at PS 742's continuing-over-the-summer-aganza Surreal Saturday, this week sub-dubbed "Arroz Con Mango." For information and directions, check out www.ps742.org or call 305-324-0585.
What? And Leave Show Business?
A respectable-sized audience showed for the recent opening of the Coconut Grove Playhouse's Cookin' at the Cookery, a thin but tuneful examination of the life of blues singer Alberta Hunter. But first the audience was forced to sit through a well-worn Magic City tradition -- the frequent verbal back-slapping in which our public officials so delight. This time it was Miami Mayor Manny Diaz, presenting the playhouse's "Make a Difference" award to difference-making county commission chairwoman Barbara Carey-Shuler.
"Hey Manny!" cried out one oblivious late arrival in a white guayabera, raising his arm in greeting as he walked down an aisle to his seat. Then again, getting an award in Miami is so common, maybe the guy didn't think it was anything special. It seems like every seminotable in town has received enough paper, plaques, and chunks of etched glass to build a whole village for the homeless.
A gushing Carey-Shuler, luminescent in a white pantsuit, read her own rambling little speech about the importance of the arts before she, Diaz, and the playhouse's producing artistic director Arnold Mittelmanposed with frozen smiles at the edge of the stage for the obligatory photo-op. "I've never lived in a city before where people congratulate each other so much for doing jack shit," commented The Bitch's theater companion.