You know, we didn't always have Snooki and various Kardashians shooting brain-cell-killing lasers out of their otherwise empty heads at us through the television box. A long time ago, people actually went to theaters and watched these things called films. You probably wouldn't know it by looking at the slate of filming permits filed in Miami-Dade this past year, but it's true. They were these weird things: 70 minutes to three hours, depending on how ballsy the director was feeling. Usually with plots — you know, a beginning, middle, and end. Characters learned things, changed as human beings. In the best ones, maybe the audience did too. I Love You Phillip Morris is one of those films. Jim Carrey and Ewan McGregor star in it (maybe your grandparents have heard of them). They play two gay lovers who meet in prison, and then some high jinks ensue in Miami. Wide release of the film has been held up in America because of that whole two-gay-lovers thing. Apparently, this country cannot handle the sight of Jim Carrey wearing a tacky Versace-like outfit while walking around South Beach with a seminaked male lover and then offering him a daiquiri poolside. If the film opens in more theaters, we highly recommend you take your eyes off Snooki's and Kim's buns and see it.

Recently, the idea of moving up the last-call time in clubland has gathered steam. But we don't think the draconian measure is a good way to dampen the spirits. Move the time up to 3 a.m., and tons of patrons will cozy up to the bar for a last-hurrah booze binge beginning at 2:30. Then they'll end up out in the street at the same time, only earlier, fighting for cabs or, worse yet, climbing behind the wheel. But if city officials have to do something to score political points, here's a case we'd like to make: Exhibit 1: Great Britain recently introduced 24-hour liquor licenses and has seen violent crimes involving alcohol actually fall 21 percent. Exhibit 2: Seattle is contemplating doing away with its 2 a.m. last call in favor of later, staggered closing times. We like that second option. Cops can concentrate on different club areas as they let out, and people who need cabs will find them more easily. Is that a last call we hear?

Every episode begins the same. A dead body. Forensics on the scene. And CSI Lt. Horatio "H" Caine, played by superserious, melodramatic David Caruso getting debriefed on the situation. Caine looks at the body, assesses the situation, slowly and deliberately puts on his sunglasses, and blurts out a really bad pun such as "Looks like this guy was taken to the cleaners." Cue Roger Daltrey screaming, "Yeah!" as The Who belts out "Won't Get Fooled Again" during the opening credits, and you have CSI: Miami. The popular CBS program follows Caine and his Miami-based forensics team as they solve murder cases throughout the Magic City using state-of-the-art science and Horatio's undaunted instincts. Each episode does its best to capture the city's diverse ethnic culture while seemingly advertising the 305 as a town where one can play hard and sometimes die hard. Like most shows set in Miami, it's not actually shot in Miami, with buildings and canals in Long Beach and Los Angeles doubling as South Beach scenery. And like most shows set in Miami, each episode takes place in a backdrop of tropical beauty and beautiful people. So what if it's not really Miami. The setting is Miami. And every Monday night, the city looks beautiful and dangerous — as it should. Detective: You know, H, this show is shot mostly in California. Horatio: California, you say? Well, I guess you can't spell SoBe [puts on sunglasses]... without la-la."Yeaaaaah!

We've all seen some things in this city — dirty, nasty, criminal, soul-crushing things. Most of us, with our trademarked 305 cynicism, tend to ignore them. But an anonymous man, going by the Internet handle of DC Vision, is paying attention. In 2007, he began taking photographs of the prostitutes and drug addicts who line the streets of downtown Miami. They wind up on his Tumblr, titled the Street. The site's header ominously reminds us: "This is an exploration of other people's lives. Look around you, there are streets like this in every town. They are all connected." Recently, he began posting mug shots and arrest info for some of the girls he has photographed. Sadly, many of them wind up right back on the streets. The effect is haunting, especially when much of the blatant activity takes place in broad daylight and most of the subjects wear the marks of hard lives on their faces. Some people might see it as exploitation, but it's a chilling reminder that the city has a long way to go to clean up its streets and that we should be thankful our lives don't resemble the images in these photos.

When the Miami Dolphins made Chad Henne the 57th overall pick in the 2008 NFL Draft, no one was really sure what the team was getting. (This has been the case with any quarterback drafted or signed since Dan Marino retired in 1999.) Hailing from the University of Michigan, Henne was a big kid with four-year starter experience, a bazooka for an arm, and Mr. Spock's immutable disposition. He seemed to embrace the challenge of being a future franchise quarterback. This could mean that Chad Henne is, in fact, a robot from the '50s. But it could also very well mean Henne is the long-sought franchise savior. Still, the Chad Henne Era wasn't supposed to begin until 2010. But that plan was scrapped during week three of the 2009 season when San Diego Chargers linebacker Kevin Burnett crushed starter Chad Pennington's shoulder into peanut brittle after a vicious hit, knocking Pennington out for the season. Henne came in and finished the game with 92 yards passing, no touchdowns, and one pick-six. But because robots are devoid of memory and shame, Henne bounced back with big wins in his next two starts, against the Bills and in front of a national audience on Monday Night Football against the Jets, where he threw for 241 yards and two TDs — including a 53-yard strike to Ted Ginn Jr. Henne also proved he could hang with the likes of Tom Brady, as he did when he led the Fins to their week 13 come-from-behind win against the Patriots. Even with a mediocre receiving corps, Henne had a fine first season. He finished the year with 12 TDs and a respectable 75.2 QB rating. Now it's all about finding the Robot some weapons. Once he gets a playmaker or two to pitch in, it will be all systems go. The Dolphins appear to be in excellent shape for the next decade at the QB position. Not bad for the 57th overall pick.

Ignacio Rodriguez's title for South Florida's chronically anonymous pro-soccer team is a bit oxymoronic — like being a real estate agent to the homeless, or head of the Israeli shellfish harvesters' union. Attendance at the team's tin-bleachered Lockhart Stadium in Fort Lauderdale rarely exceeds the single-digit thousands, and the front office has taken to frequent gimmicks in order to stave off extinction: They signed elderly one-named former fútbol demigod Romário and then two recently defected Cuban phenoms, and the players volunteered to shave their heads if fans showed up. But the bleachers remained nearly empty. Through all of these thwarted shenanigans, Rodriguez has remained friendly, attentive, and upbeat — the kind of flack who literally won't let us off the phone until we promise to show up at either media day or the season opener. Given that most sports flacks act like they're guarding a stable of 25 popes rather than a bunch of dudes who get sweaty on Sundays, its awfully refreshing to deal with a PR shield eager to make even the most audacious press requests happen, and always prefers a sit-down lunch to an email exchange.

For some inexplicable reason, Miami Heat head coach Eric Spoelstra has a habit of starting Michael Beasley and then sitting him down during the stretch run of games. Even on nights when the team is down a crapload of points in the fourth quarter and in desperate need for someone other than Dwyane Wade to put the ball in the basket — which is something Beasley is especially astute at — Spoelstra has kept his starting forward on the bench, towel over his head, looking pitiful. This has angered many Heat fans, forcing them to jump on Twitter and say nasty things about Spoelstra's mother in 140 characters or less. But the vitriol is justified. The only thing B-Easy seems to do when he's on the court is smash opponents' faces via smooth jumpers and ball-crushing defense. Selected second overall in the 2008 NBA Draft, Beasley has shown flashes of the badassery he displayed as a freshman phenom at Kansas State, averaging 15.3 points per game and displaying an innate ability to take over games whenever he hits a hot streak. Beasley's shooting range is sick. He can knock down shots from pretty much anywhere on the court and can slam-dunk with the best of them. Plus he knows how to crash the boards like a man possessed. And he's only 21 years old. Let that sink in for a minute. It's painfully obvious that Michael Beasley is the perfect Robin to D-Wade's Batman. He's a kid with unlimited potential and All-Star talent. If only his head coach were aware of this!

Tom Falco's Coconut Grove Grapevine community blog can be irritating. When he's writing about threatening to take photos of kids "posing" as school basketball players — only to watch them "scatter like rats" — or railing against a woman in a food truck poaching customers from Grove restaurants, Falco has all the perspective of a Picasso. But Merriam-Webster's definition of a gadfly is one who "stimulates or annoys, especially by persistent criticism," which might as well be the Grapevine's mission statement. There is no louder voice for a community — in his case, the Grove's business owners — in Miami.

OK, so shortstop phenom Hanley Ramirez is the best Marlin — until the day he absconds to a bigger market or enters the Hall of Fame with a portrait of a gasping fish on his cap. But baseball connoisseurs will tell you there's more than one potential superstar on the team. Big Josh Johnson, at six-foot-seven and 252 pounds, is Randy Johnson Lite, a flamethrower who, when healthy, is one of the game's strongest pitchers. It's been a bumpy early career for the Marlins draft pick, who made his Major League debut in 2005. After an extremely promising rookie season, his elbow blew out in 2007 and he underwent Tommy John surgery. Johnson recovered from the serious arm operation in near-record time, retaking the mound only 11 months later and wrapping up his abbreviated 2008 with an I'm-back-bitches 7-1 win-loss record and an ERA under 4. In 2009, his first full season in the Bigs, Johnson was absolutely unhittable at times, boasting a 15-5 record and a 3.23 ERA. The surgery appeared to have left him stronger than ever, and we're pegging him as a perennial Cy Young candidate from here on out. Remember, he's only 26.

You might not have heard any songs by Fort Lauderdale rapper Lyrikill.com — yes, his stage name is a web address — but if you regularly watch network news, you've probably seen his work. The dreadlocked white boy has taken self-promotion to obsessive, highly invasive new levels. For three years, he's been bum-rushing live telecasts while screaming and holding signs bearing his name. The practice has made him public enemy number one among the perfect-hair-and-mike-lapel set — he's been threatened on-camera by a pole-wielding producer and had his YouTube account suspended for copyright violations — but the possibility of a Lyrikill.com sighting makes boring ol' nightly news worth watching.