By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Kyle Munzenrieder
By Terrence McCoy
By Jeff Weinberger
By Ryan Yousefi
By Chuck Strouse
By Terrence McCoy
By Terrence McCoy
Jessica Dorsee endured not a moment of that whole teenage self-loathing thing. "I'd be sitting in my high school classroom and I'd see myself, instead of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., addressing crowds. I had visions of myself as a great leader. If you went back and talked to the kids in my high school, they'll tell you öThat girl's a preacher.' That's who I am." Dorsee and some classmates at Norland Senior High School noticed the turbulence in the lives of their fellow students and started their own minimovement.
"We got tired of what was going on in our society, and at sixteen, we wanted to change it," Dorsee recalls of her millennial awakening. She founded a group called Sister Love, which puts on mother-daughter picnics and teen summits for its hundred-plus members. While studying for a broadcast communications degree at Florida International University, the twenty-year-old also has her own Miami-Dade Cable-TAP weekly half-hour talk show also called Sister Love. Dorsee describes the program as a hybrid of Oprah and MTV's Total Request Live, the hyperactive half-hour where teenagers scream for celebrities and music videos. "I love the energy and youth of TRL," she explains. But whereas TRL adopts an all-frivolity-all-the-time motif, Dorsee has a lot more on her mind. "Too many people believe that there's a white man holding them back. But the African American community failed to realize they had hip-hop music in the palm of their hand. And instead of feeding the community truth, they fed us the bling-bling, the materialism. The slavery mentality has not gone away. It's still here, fresh and alive and breathing strong."
It is clear that Dorsee believes her tenets of self-affection: "If you did not know me, if you never saw my picture, or knew how old I was, you'd be interested in talking to me just because of my conversation skill alone. That's what I ask God for. Yes, I look this way. I can model. I can be in a commercial. I could be the Beyoncé, dancing. I have the body, I have the looks. But I have the spirit of Maya Angelou and other great women, Mother Teresa, in me. I just feel a greater desire in me, a hunger to lead. And it won't stop. It will not stop until I get to the point I need to be." Sister Love is on Cable-TAP at noon and 8:00 p.m. Tuesdays and Thursdays, and has a Website at www.sisterloveinc.org.
Saladino on the Roks
The Bitch's nightclub sources tell her that RokBar co-owner and long-time Miami Beach promoter Sean Saladinohas parted ways with the much-hyped whiskey bar at Nineteenth Street and Collins Avenue.
A squeaky-voiced receptionist at RokBar confirmed Saladino is out. "He's no longer working with us," she said. Reached on his cell phone, a grumpy Saladino eloquently saluted The Bitch with a "Fuck off!" Saladino's apparent former partners, including Mynt Lounge owner Nicola Siervo and celebrity waste Tommy Lee, could not be reached for comment.
Waiting for Willie Williams
As sports columnists and commentators spent the better part of a week waxing righteous about basketball and football brawls, The Bitch sensed something amiss. It wasn't the annoying tendency of the sports media to extrapolate "The Big Sociological Problem" from two minutes of drunken punching and cup-throwing. The problem was the lack of South Floridians making serious contributions to the latest sports scandal. We used to lead the nation in athletic corruption, but now we must admit the sad truth: Times have passed us by.
Where is hotheaded Alonzo Mourning, known at one point in his Miami Heat career for body-slamming opposing players and storming around the court wearing New York Knicks coach Jeff Van Gundy like a legwarmer? Zo is in New Jersey, and the Heat is left with child-friendly Shaquille O'Neal and solid citizen Dwyane Wade. Heck, the Heat's most promising troublemaker candidates -- weed-happy Lamar Odom and rabid Anthony Mason, whose rap sheet includes an arrest for inciting a riot and two different attacks on police officers -- became good guys after coming to Miami.
Where are the Dophins? It's been years since Cecil Collins broke into his neighbor's apartment, or Tony Martin allegedly cozied up to a drug kingpin. Sure that dreadlocked dude split right before the season started, but that was a snoozer of a scandal about a guy too stoned to give a damn about his teammates (or his massive paycheck). We need a good violent felony to go down, or at least the knocking over of a convenience store. Which brings The Bitch to the Miami Hurricanes. Some Canes fans pretend they don't revel in outlaw imagery, but these fools are missing the boat. For a couple of decades, part of the allure of being a UM football fan was knowing that these guys were bad -- when they weren't beating up random dudes (or women), they were hanging out with Uncle Luke and getting all kinds of illegal fringe benefits under the table. They were hiding in the closet and watching teammates have sex with unsuspecting coeds. They were failing drug tests at a Williamsesque clip -- and playing anyway. Sure, Antrel Rollestarted the season off right, with an arrest for disorderly conduct and felony battery on a police officer, but he just seems like a messed-up kid, too fundamentally decent ever to become truly bad like UM alumni Ray Lewis and Michael Irvin.