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
HOTH is a T-shirt and clothing design company owned and operated by Carlos Rodriguez and Juan Carlos Rojas. After visiting Miami in May for the Cuba Nostalgia expo at the Youth Fair grounds, Rodriguez decided to move his half of the business to town. (Rojas remains behind in Union City, New Jersey.)
Rodriguez gears his sassy slogans toward what he calls New Generation Latinos. "We want to be associated with art, music, fashion, and nightlife that is 180 degrees from the mainstream," says Rodriguez, who earlier studied graphic design at the Parsons School and mastered Websites for Time and HarperCollins.
Despite the Cuba-referencing name, HOTH's tees represent with a kind of Pan-Latin system of graphemes, including a map of the U.S. labeled "Estados Unidos" but made up of Spain, Portugal, and the countries of South America; and The Bitch's favorite, the look-twice-to-figure-it-out pun of a tilde placed over an orange traffic cone.
"To us, Nintendo is just as much a part of our culture as rice and beans," says Rodriguez of his visual shorthand. Check out the shirts at www.havanaonthehudson.com; they're also available at Tinta y Café and Yvonne & Angelina in Miami.
The Bitch scored her golden ticket and was filled with jittery sugar-rush excitement when she arrived at the Museum of Discovery and Science Blockbuster IMAX Theater in Fort Lauderdale this past Sunday afternoon. Though she personally despises white, dark, and milk chocolate, this scavenging pup would have been happy to score a plate of fruit, marshmallows, and pretzels while bypassing the sinful flow of the cocoa fountain. But while prepared for a mad crunch of sticky-fingered children leaving fudgy handprints on her fur as they scrambled for free candy, she did not expect to be shoved around and hollered at by adults who were more concerned with mimicking Augustus Gloop by shoveling free food into their backpacks than on the whereabouts of their young charges.
In line for the movie itself, The Bitch was merely a pylon for the snaking line, as more pushy parents pulled their offspring ahead of the cowering canine -- whose tail had already been stepped on twice -- with total disregard for common movie theater etiquette.
"Excuse me!" shrieked a Violet Beauregarde-like voice charging from behind. "I need to get to my husband!" The Bitch tried to shuffle her paws out of the way, but the shrill woman with skunk-striped highlights and platform espadrilles stomped on, leaving a perfect impression of "Candies" on The Bitch's smashed appendage. She then yelled at the next person in line: "Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to stand there?!?!" managing theatrically to block the flow of traffic.
When The Bitch finally was able to procure a seat near the center of the second row -- close enough for Mike Teavee but far away from the crazy-actin' parents who plowed their way to the back rows -- she overheard two Cocoon VI: A Ruckus at the Early Bird Buffet-age women next to her complaining about the aggressive seat-saving.
"They're like animals," one said.
"Beasts," her friend agreed.
"So, where are the 3-D glasses?" the pair leaned over to ask The Bitch, who was sad to report that, um, this film isn't in 3-D.
"Are you kidding? And we drove all this way? We could have just gone to the regular theater," the first woman huffed to her friend as she swatted her on the arm. "Florence, you never get anything right. Just wait until I tell Johnny [presumably not Depp] about this."
But once the film began, all were blown away by the giant screen filled with Tim Burton's magical images. "Wow," Florence whispered. "It feels like it's in 3-D."
Like a Triangle with Two Sides
The Bitch and some of her lupine brethren were howling at the moon from Nocturnal's rooftop lounge when she noticed the absence of lovable nightclub promoter Tommy Pooch and his crew. Perplexed as to the whereabouts of the king of the velvet rope, who has been a Saturday standard during the club's short history, she pawed her cell phone and dialed her Poochy pal. "We haven't been there in weeks," Pooch growled. "They have $15 million to build their club, but they don't have a dime to pay their promoters." The acrimony began when the promoters arranged to bring down photographer and Rize director David LaChapelle for an exhibition and covered all of his expenses. Nocturnal then abruptly pulled the plug on that event, opting instead to invite DJ Jazzy Jeff to the decks. "Jazzy Jeff," said Pooch with utter disdain, "didn't even show up."