By Ryan Yousefi
By Chuck Strouse
By Terrence McCoy
By Terrence McCoy
By Terrence McCoy
By Michael E. Miller
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Michael E. Miller
In her abundant spare time, The Bitch has been thinking of ways to entertain herself while annoying others this summer, and has decided to adopt the following affectations:
1. Pretending to smoke Nat Sherman's clove cigarettes.
2. Developing and deploying a complex personal gang sign.
3. Angrily demanding that people call her "il Duce."
4. Speaking exclusively in terrible Milanesan Italian slang.
5. Constantly referring to her "agent."
Sweetwater Beatdown Redux
The grinding and clanking heard by a nineteen-year-old who claims to have suffered a near-fatal beating at the hands of Sweetwater police officers may be the engines of justice finally coughing to life. Peter Daniel, the alleged victim, and his family have been waiting for the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office to complete its year-long investigation into the incident. Daniel says he was brutally beaten on June 18, 2003, by Sgt. George I. Alvarez and officers José F. Lopez, Catalino Rodriguez, and Allen St. Germain in a holding cell in the Sweetwater police station.
Daniel, whose injuries were so severe he required extensive surgery followed by a long hospital stay to mend wounds to his liver and spleen, says that the night of the beating he was driven around by Sweetwater Mayor Manuel Maroño in the mayor's city-provided Ford Excursion along with three of the officers. "I'd like to see them all go to jail," hisses Lourdes Lima, 45, Daniel's mother. (Under advice from his attorney, Daniel declines comment. Lima says the family will file a lawsuit against the city.)
After nearly a year of being relieved of duty -- with pay -- Rodriguez and Lopez returned to work earlier this month. Alvarez and St. Germain remain on paid leave.
Assistant State Attorney Joe Centorino, head of the SAO's public corruption unit, won't comment on the investigation. "It's not something I can discuss," Centorino says. "But I can tell you we are close to the end." The SAO last year fired one of its chief investigators, Jorge Alonso, who was suspected of leaking information regarding the beating probe to Sweetwater assistant police chief Robert Fulgiera.
Maroño insists he did nothing wrong that night: "People have only heard one side of the story. The whole truth has not come out yet. But it will."
Where Will Noonish Cravings For Shrimp Po'Boys Be Served Now?
It has been a little while since The Bitch had lunch at northern Design District bistro One Ninety, but she didn't think anything of it when, waiting for a companion operating on subtropics time to arrive, she had the place to herself -- entirely to herself -- for about 30 minutes last week. Did The Bitch help herself to some intoxicating One Ninety lemonade? No, the dining partner showed just in time, and chow was downed elsewhere.
Contacted later, One Ninety's ever-congenial proprietor Alan Hughes said the resto-bar's gentle, relaxing, and decidedly European vibe didn't suit itself to the American power lunch, even by laid-back Miami standards, so One Ninety continues to throw a successful Sunday brunch and to serve dinner, atmosphere, and great music every night. "It's fine," said the sanguine Hughes. "We don't mind keeping things intimate and a little quiet."
A little quiet? "Well, there's usually somebody here," said Hughes. "We'll do better about keeping an eye out."
Dr. Faustus; or a Really Wilde Time
The Bitch has found the fountain of youth, and it is in the pages of the Miami Herald. Specifically, the May 23 "Neighbors" section, which includes a full-page ad for a product called Biocell Ultravital, which claims (in large type) to be "the most important and significant anti-aging discovery in history."
It doesn't take much perusing of the ad to realize that someone involved with this product is a genius. The ad asks, "Why should we use this treatment?" answering with the following statement: "A human being's life passes through constant aggressions that limit its health; the environment is usually polluted; inadequate eating habits; the existential anguish, etc.; this places us on the road of premature aging." Indeed existential anguish alone has subtracted many dog years from The Bitch's life span.
The scientific portion of the ad is similarly lucid, mentioning "synergetic action" and "proteinic structuration," leading The Bitch to ask two questions: First, is it possible that in some ad agency somewhere, furiously typing away in a cubicle, there is a thinker whose mind encompasses both the philosophical and scientific areas of inquiry with the alacrity of Descartes or Pascal?(Come to think of it, the ad reads a lot like Pensées.) And more important, where does she sign up for a product that "prevents organic aging"? For more information, the ad states, call Propharma International Corp. at 305-670-0212.
But as one of The Bitch's most infernal sources would note, negotiating immortality is tricky: The woman who answered the phone, notably unimpressed by the possibility of free publicity, referred The Bitch to another number. Someone who sounded an awful lot like the first woman answered the second phone, saying only: "That person is out of town. I don't know when he'll be back. Bye." So The Bitch called the first number back, and this time the woman on the other end really let loose: "He's not here!" she screeched before hanging up. But the Bitch, like Ponce de Leon, would not be dissuaded. A public records search turned up a Miami-based company called Propharma, but spokesman Ray Farinas said his company has nothing to do with Biocell Ultravital. "They're using our name, though," the flustered Farinas griped.