Letters from the Issue of June 24, 2004
Knowing when to call it quits: Brett Sokol hits the nail on the head in his "Kulchur" column about Miami-Dade mayoral candidate Maurice Ferré ("Ego Without End," June 17). It was a great piece about a has-been who doesn't know when to stop.
Obviously bored with life, Ferré should be pitied. Too bad he's more interested in his name being noted (though ultimately as a loser again) than in ruining the dynamics of a close and extremely important political race. How sad for the people of the county. Shame on him.
Eternal Life for Reagan?
Only in my dreams...: Mosi Reeves's "Basshead" column about Ronald Reagan ("Death Becomes You," June 17) made me realize that I was hoping Reagan would never die. I was hoping he'd continue to drool forever and that Nancy would have to wipe up every precious drop. I can see it now -- a new slogan for the queen: "Hi, I'm Nancy Reagan and I'd like to remind you to 'Just Say No to Alzheimer's Disease!'"
Sorry about that, Mosi. I guess Republican arrogance breeds my own. I know in my heart that Bush and Cheney will make America what it once was -- a land of pious pilgrims decorating the chests of each of their victims with a big, red letter A.
Eggs, milk, sandwich bread, salad dressing, potatoes, fresh pickup lines: By my count, Humberto Guida's whimsical "BuzzIn" column of June 10 ("Tired of the Meat Market? Try the Supermarket") contained 616 words. Only in the final paragraph does he mention the Publix on South Beach as a great place for singles to hook up. He does this with 111 words. That's it! "Want to meet people? Try Publix."
In the June 17 issue, however, Nicole Cussell of Miami uses a ponderous 611 words in her letter rebutting Humberto's piece. In recounting her visits to Publix, she whines about lame pickup lines, serial French kissers, head games, anxiety, stress, drama, and -- gasp! -- STDs. Seems to me that Ms. Cussell is a walking bundle of negative vibes. It's a wonder anyone ever talks to or even approaches this poster child for multiple neuroses.
Living on South Beach, I often see a lot of young guys who look absolutely shell-shocked. Now I know why. They've just had a run-in with Ms. Cussell at Publix.
Shopping tip for Nicole: Come on over to my Publix on Twentieth Street. Older crowd and less jammed aisles. And if I happen to bump into you, I promise you'll hear no lame pickup lines.
And that goes for Humberto's column too: I think Nicole Cussell is missing the point that Humberto Guida's "BuzzIn" column is sarcasm and humor with a splash of nightlife. Only rarely is it serious beyond the mention of some social event like the opening of Tommy Lee's bar or some transgression like the bouncers and MBPD cops harassing an innocent would-be clubgoer.
He's making fun of everything stereotypical about South Beach, and he's usually right on the money. Yeah, there's a lot of tits and ass and how much wood Humberto sports when he's around certain women, but that's simply sophomoric humor.
It's a damn shame that most journalists -- at New Times and just about every other publication that comes to mind -- never get a chance to respond to letter-writers who bust their balls because they've misunderstood what was written.
Put the focus back on Flagler and Fisher: Thanks to Kirk Nielsen for his story about artists Roberto Behar and Rosario Marquardt and their proposal to transform Monument Island off Miami Beach ("Aqua Nova," June 10). Readers were alerted to the deplorable condition of the island's Flagler Monument.
While I don't agree with the vision of Behar and Marquardt, something must be done to save the monument from total destruction. I believe it is already a state historical landmark and cannot be altered, only restored. Can't the cities of Miami and Miami Beach get together in a restoration effort?
Henry Flagler and Carl Fisher gave so much to us, let's give something back to their memory.
Obviously a double agent, Rosario -- now he must be eliminated: Kirk Nielsen's "Aqua Nova" was fascinating. I enjoyed reading about the Flagler memorial and Behar and Marquardt, who are truly artistic visionaries. The image of a multipoint compass star in Biscayne Bay would be profound.
That image, however, is strikingly similar to the symbol of the Central Intelligence Agency. Any connection? Just wondering.
Steel-pedal mastery awaits: Regarding John Anderson's June 3 article about the pedal steel guitar used in South Florida's black churches ("Steel's the Show," June 3), it was great! I have been a guitar player for many years and have always wanted to learn pedal steel but could not find anyone in Miami who knew a player I could talk to.
The article gave me some hope.
And it's not sleazy either: This is in response to Mosi Reeves and Celeste Fraser Delgado's coverage of Memorial Day on Miami Beach ("Holiday In!" May 27). Lackluster and penniless in flavor, the mainstream hip-hop faction makes "Stuck on Stupid!" seem great. They've put the culture in a slinky see-through dress, placed it in platform high heels, and have it dancing exaggeratedly on an oiled stripper's pole. Rappers have given everyone the vision of hip-hop being an untalented zoo of morons!
Why is it that when the true form of hip-hop -- the B-Boy Masters Pro-Am -- gathers in Miami Beach each May, the police don't run for their electrifying Tasers? Never have I been to an underground hip-hop event and feared for my life. No one seems to have noticed that once Biggie Smalls and Tupac passed on, a superhighway was opened for all kinds of talentless idiots who mobbed the road and created gridlock.
Another point I'd like to pull out from under everyone's closed eyelids is the fact that none of these rappers pull this type of shit in New York. So why in hell should we let them come down here with that nonsense? Aaron Merriman's proposal ("Letters," June 10) to have them shut the fuck up is not enough -- and will never be enough.
Christopher M. Purrinson
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