Best Of Miami® 2004 Winners
People & Places
When the night ends, it doesn't matter if the artwork altered anyone's perception because, as they say, it was all good. Rocket Projects, at 3440 N. Miami Ave., was at the vanguard of this lowbrow cultural movement, always providing complimentary booze, DJ sounds, and even, on one chilly night, free barbecued chicken out back. OBJEX artspace's soirees tended to be a higher form of lowbrow, but with new digs at 203 NW 36th St., this gallery gets credit for taking the art party movement into ever deeper depths of Wynwood. Lawrence Gartel went even higher (i.e., lower) for an exhibition curated in conjunction with David Lombardi's Roving Fridays. This show, Cyberotica, featured digital art inside the warehouse and painted ladies (literally) who were shaking what they had on a rickety little runway out back. Free vodka drinks, natch. There were many other shining examples of this exciting new trend, but we don't remember them.
Canker creeps, Wagner Creek reeks, traffic snarls, rain storms arrive, Latin Grammys arrive, rapists prowl, kids take bullets, DCF kills, Omar Paisley dies, John Brennan dies, Leonard Pancoast dies, MIA rabbits get to live, Crandon Park cabanas live again, Augustín Roman steps down, David Leahy steps down, Constance Kaplan steps up, real estate goes up, cafeterías get busted, pot growers get busted, Miami Seaquarium gets busted, smokers get the boot, Chuck Lanza gets the boot, Mandela gets an apology, more rapists prowl, tolls rise, gas prices rise, Nikki Beach fades, cruise ships kill, drag races kill, Robert Curbelo, Jr., gets busted, Ric Sisser gets busted, Performing Arts Center busts budgets, MIA travelers are frisked, priests are accused, cops are convicted, Doral is born, Celia Cruz dies, Wilkie Ferguson dies, Chesterfield Smith dies, Rene Touzet dies, Florida Philharmonic dies, Cuban hijackers go to jail, José Canseco goes to jail, Miami Gardens goes broke, Miami Herald goes dumb and dumber, NAACP arrives, Marvin O'Quinn arrives, terror-alert orange arrives, FTAA arrives, cops swarm, protesters are arrested and sprayed and shot and beaten, and more traffic, more rain, more bullets, Carlos Manuel defects, Bob Graham stumbles, MIA workers smuggle, smuggled Cubans land on South Beach, old Beach buildings go down, Bliss House goes down, downtown booms, Lighthouse Café burns down, Miami bond ratings go up, Sunny Isles goes up, up, up, Ira Clark gets the boot, Steve Shiver gets the boot, George Burgess gets appointed, MIA rabbits take bullets, José Calvo takes a bullet, manatees die, Millie the orangutan dies, Clyde Killens dies, turnpike kills, canals kill, rip currents kill, DCF kills again, Judge William Hoeveler gets the boot, UM's North-South Center gets the boot, North Bay Village politicians are busted, Fernandez Rundle boys are busted (again), Mercedes Masvidal is busted (again), Miami Circle is buried (again), more traffic snarls, more rain falls, crops get swamped, Joe Carollo goes bankrupt, Sal Magluta goes to prison, Willie Falcon goes to prison, Fabio Ochoa goes to prison, Manuel Noriega stays in prison, David Paul gets out of prison, Miami's film festival sees new life, S&S Diner lives on, Miracle Mile Cafeteria dies, Piccadilly dies, Marlins take it all, Denise Calvo takes the Fifth, public schools take a hit, Kelly Cobiella hit with DUI, Bill Kamal hit with DUI, Romero Britto hit with DUI, Norman Van Aken hit with DUI, Frank Cobo cops a plea, Pat Tornillo cops a sweet plea, David Samson dies, Raul Ernesto Valdes-Fauli dies, Space 34 dies (temporarily), serial rapist Reynaldo Elias Rapalo gets caught (finally), and at last some good news (happily): Ron O'Daniels strums guitar, violates Miami Beach law banning street performers, gets arrested, refuses guilty plea, sits three weeks in jail. Then the extremely wise Judge Mary Jo Francis steps in and declares the law unconstitutional. Miami Beach buskers are free at last!
Canker creeps, Wagner Creek reeks, traffic snarls, rain storms arrive, Latin Grammys arrive, rapists prowl, kids take bullets, DCF kills, Omar Paisley dies, John Brennan dies, Leonard Pancoast dies, MIA rabbits get to live, Crandon Park cabanas live again, Augustín Roman steps down, David Leahy steps down, Constance Kaplan steps up, real estate goes up, cafeterías get busted, pot growers get busted, Miami Seaquarium gets busted, smokers get the boot, Chuck Lanza gets the boot, Mandela gets an apology, more rapists prowl, tolls rise, gas prices rise, Nikki Beach fades, cruise ships kill, drag races kill, Robert Curbelo, Jr., gets busted, Ric Sisser gets busted, Performing Arts Center busts budgets, MIA travelers are frisked, priests are accused, cops are convicted, Doral is born, Celia Cruz dies, Wilkie Ferguson dies, Chesterfield Smith dies, Rene Touzet dies, Florida Philharmonic dies, Cuban hijackers go to jail, José Canseco goes to jail, Miami Gardens goes broke, Miami Herald goes dumb and dumber, NAACP arrives, Marvin O'Quinn arrives, terror-alert orange arrives, FTAA arrives, cops swarm, protesters are arrested and sprayed and shot and beaten, and more traffic, more rain, more bullets, Carlos Manuel defects, Bob Graham stumbles, MIA workers smuggle, smuggled Cubans land on South Beach, old Beach buildings go down, Bliss House goes down, downtown booms, Lighthouse Café burns down, Miami bond ratings go up, Sunny Isles goes up, up, up, Ira Clark gets the boot, Steve Shiver gets the boot, George Burgess gets appointed, MIA rabbits take bullets, José Calvo takes a bullet, manatees die, Millie the orangutan dies, Clyde Killens dies, turnpike kills, canals kill, rip currents kill, DCF kills again, Judge William Hoeveler gets the boot, UM's North-South Center gets the boot, North Bay Village politicians are busted, Fernandez Rundle boys are busted (again), Mercedes Masvidal is busted (again), Miami Circle is buried (again), more traffic snarls, more rain falls, crops get swamped, Joe Carollo goes bankrupt, Sal Magluta goes to prison, Willie Falcon goes to prison, Fabio Ochoa goes to prison, Manuel Noriega stays in prison, David Paul gets out of prison, Miami's film festival sees new life, S&S Diner lives on, Miracle Mile Cafeteria dies, Piccadilly dies, Marlins take it all, Denise Calvo takes the Fifth, public schools take a hit, Kelly Cobiella hit with DUI, Bill Kamal hit with DUI, Romero Britto hit with DUI, Norman Van Aken hit with DUI, Frank Cobo cops a plea, Pat Tornillo cops a sweet plea, David Samson dies, Raul Ernesto Valdes-Fauli dies, Space 34 dies (temporarily), serial rapist Reynaldo Elias Rapalo gets caught (finally), and at last some good news (happily): Ron O'Daniels strums guitar, violates Miami Beach law banning street performers, gets arrested, refuses guilty plea, sits three weeks in jail. Then the extremely wise Judge Mary Jo Francis steps in and declares the law unconstitutional. Miami Beach buskers are free at last!
Step into the Raleigh and instantly you're transported to another time -- 1940 to be exact, the year prolific architect L. Murray Dixon's monument to Streamline Moderne design threw open its dazzling doors. Slink through the sophisticated lobby like the movie star you are. Slip into the cozy bar, boasting martini glasses festively illustrated in the terrazzo floor, for a cocktail. Head outdoors and take a dip in the spectacular scalloped swimming pool surrounded by towering palm trees. Check into one of the 104 rooms and suites decorated in Art Deco-period style and your pleasant journey to the past might convince you it's futile to return to the present. The Raleigh's name was meant to pay tribute to Sir Walter Raleigh, intrepid British explorer, notable poet, and charming courtier to Queen Elizabeth I -- a true Renaissance man. Who better than an urbane figure like renowned hotel honcho André Balazs -- behind the swanky empire that includes Los Angeles's Chateau Marmont and New York's Mercer -- to assume ownership of the Raleigh? He did so recently, assuring continued excellence.
Step into the Raleigh and instantly you're transported to another time -- 1940 to be exact, the year prolific architect L. Murray Dixon's monument to Streamline Moderne design threw open its dazzling doors. Slink through the sophisticated lobby like the movie star you are. Slip into the cozy bar, boasting martini glasses festively illustrated in the terrazzo floor, for a cocktail. Head outdoors and take a dip in the spectacular scalloped swimming pool surrounded by towering palm trees. Check into one of the 104 rooms and suites decorated in Art Deco-period style and your pleasant journey to the past might convince you it's futile to return to the present. The Raleigh's name was meant to pay tribute to Sir Walter Raleigh, intrepid British explorer, notable poet, and charming courtier to Queen Elizabeth I -- a true Renaissance man. Who better than an urbane figure like renowned hotel honcho André Balazs -- behind the swanky empire that includes Los Angeles's Chateau Marmont and New York's Mercer -- to assume ownership of the Raleigh? He did so recently, assuring continued excellence.
The future of poetry is on the streets. Urban angst and inner-city pressure have inspired the hip-hop generation to take up "spoken word," where emotion and intimation flow from moving lips to open ears. In Miami a young, dreadlocked, dark-skinned man known as Kronos (real name: Yves Verela) performs his poetry at art functions as well as popular poetry nights, and often teams with bands and DJs to lend music to his lexicon. His deepest impressions are planted during conversations with strangers, when the engaging but gentle poet breaks into freestyle verses, always leaving the listener with reflective phrases: "One gets the whole truth half the time." Kronos's life experience as a traveler from his original Haiti to Miami's sunny shores, plus an extended stay in Israel, has certainly contributed to an ethereal multinationalism in his phrases: "I betted, you came, I summoned, you added a smile without the sentimental charge of a Motel 6." For members of a generation short on voices that speak directly to them, Kronos represents a youthful renaissance.
This ten-day tennis tourney at Crandon Tennis Center on Key Biscayne has become the fifth biggest in the world, behind only the four competitions that form the Grand Slam. Last year's singles winners were Andre Agassi and, in a thriller against hometown favorite Jennifer Capriati, Serena Williams, who notched her second consecutive Nasdaq win at the 2003 event (followed by her third at the '04 event). In addition to the finest pro tennis this side of Wimbledon, the event includes a blimp, exhibitions, food courts, and many other diversions. That it pumps millions of dollars into the local economy doesn't hurt.
Builders are banking on Miami's magic in a big way. Somehow in the next two to four years -- poof! -- the downtown area, from Brickell through the newly christened Biscayne Boulevard Corridor, will fill with some 40,000 new residents eager to shell out a quarter-million to a million bucks to live in so-called lofts in chic neighborhoods. For now, many of those neighborhoods are largely imaginary, hopeful names scribbled in developers' dreams: the Performing Arts District, the Cultural Arts District, the Florida East Corridor. The names of the new so-called loft projects are no less whimsical: Aria, Quantum, Platinum, Star, Mist, Blue, Sky, Ice. But who knows? Sometimes developers' dreams do come true. Maybe in five years or so Miami will be transformed into Manhattan south, with well-heeled culture vultures perched in high-priced nests overlooking Biscayne Bay. On the other hand, maybe there aren't quite so many gritty culture hounds with deep pockets ready to move into little skyboxes in America's Poorest City. Maybe then the prices will come down and families from the shrinking middle class will have a chance to move into condos with "endless views of Biscayne Bay." It's possible not even the middle class will buy into the developers' fantasy, and the buildings will stand empty, sky-scraping testaments to another crazy Magic City scheme. That could be cool, too. Imagine mile upon mile of empty towers. A wild squatters' underworld. A sultry Blade Runner. Instead of the art scene driving development, once again we'll have urban decay driving the art scene.
Builders are banking on Miami's magic in a big way. Somehow in the next two to four years -- poof! -- the downtown area, from Brickell through the newly christened Biscayne Boulevard Corridor, will fill with some 40,000 new residents eager to shell out a quarter-million to a million bucks to live in so-called lofts in chic neighborhoods. For now, many of those neighborhoods are largely imaginary, hopeful names scribbled in developers' dreams: the Performing Arts District, the Cultural Arts District, the Florida East Corridor. The names of the new so-called loft projects are no less whimsical: Aria, Quantum, Platinum, Star, Mist, Blue, Sky, Ice. But who knows? Sometimes developers' dreams do come true. Maybe in five years or so Miami will be transformed into Manhattan south, with well-heeled culture vultures perched in high-priced nests overlooking Biscayne Bay. On the other hand, maybe there aren't quite so many gritty culture hounds with deep pockets ready to move into little skyboxes in America's Poorest City. Maybe then the prices will come down and families from the shrinking middle class will have a chance to move into condos with "endless views of Biscayne Bay." It's possible not even the middle class will buy into the developers' fantasy, and the buildings will stand empty, sky-scraping testaments to another crazy Magic City scheme. That could be cool, too. Imagine mile upon mile of empty towers. A wild squatters' underworld. A sultry Blade Runner. Instead of the art scene driving development, once again we'll have urban decay driving the art scene.
In the absence of a full-fledged art cinema, the place to see a movie may as well be chosen for its parking as much as its programming. Narrow ramps, cavernous floors, electronic parking-payment contraptions? No thanks. When you have only five minutes to put butt to seat before the credits roll, pull into the wide-open lots at Sunrise Intracoastal (for free). Hustle to the ticket booth and enter -- lines are rare, except at bargain matinees showing movies with geriatric appeal. "No stairs to climb. Listening devices available," the North Miami Beach theater advertises, clearly spotlighting a more aged demographic than those ramp-cavern-contraption places. Though the programming won't be proclaimed "adventurous" by any sane person, you are likely to find two or three of the Intracoastal's eight large auditoriums screening those artsy foreign and indie films you read about so wistfully in the New York Times.
As any starving artist knows, it is possible to create culture without money. But it's a heck of a lot easier to be creative with money. For the 1000-plus cultural groups in Miami-Dade County and thousands more individual artists, Michael Spring has been a crusader, benefactor, and best friend. The director of the county's Department of Cultural Affairs oversees an annual budget of more than nine million dollars, and he makes sure as much of it as possible sustains the cultural diversity that makes Miami's art scene vibrant. A graduate of Edison High and the University of Miami, Spring has a long-standing commitment to Made-in-Miami culture. A member of the county's arts bureaucracy since 1983, he is a supporter of established institutions, but he's also the go-to guy for new arts initiatives. This enlightened bureaucrat pushes artists and arts presenters to think bigger, to reach new audiences, and welcome other cultures into their work. Spring has spearheaded a major county initiative to maintain and build new arts venues and has structured grants programs that nudge otherwise ethnically isolated groups to present their work in unfamiliar territory. Tango in Overtown? Vodoun dance in Little Havana? Why not!
As any starving artist knows, it is possible to create culture without money. But it's a heck of a lot easier to be creative with money. For the 1000-plus cultural groups in Miami-Dade County and thousands more individual artists, Michael Spring has been a crusader, benefactor, and best friend. The director of the county's Department of Cultural Affairs oversees an annual budget of more than nine million dollars, and he makes sure as much of it as possible sustains the cultural diversity that makes Miami's art scene vibrant. A graduate of Edison High and the University of Miami, Spring has a long-standing commitment to Made-in-Miami culture. A member of the county's arts bureaucracy since 1983, he is a supporter of established institutions, but he's also the go-to guy for new arts initiatives. This enlightened bureaucrat pushes artists and arts presenters to think bigger, to reach new audiences, and welcome other cultures into their work. Spring has spearheaded a major county initiative to maintain and build new arts venues and has structured grants programs that nudge otherwise ethnically isolated groups to present their work in unfamiliar territory. Tango in Overtown? Vodoun dance in Little Havana? Why not!
Since the lights first flickered on less than a year ago, the Cinematheque has established itself as the screen to be seen. In the heart of South Beach, the movie house's art-gallery setting provides a perfect scene for cineastes eager to enjoy true classics (Hiroshima, Mon Amour), rare oddities (Todd Haynes's Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story), or specific programs tied to local festivals such as Art Basel and the Winter Music Conference. The Cinematheque also provides an outlet for locally produced independent films, making it something much more important than simply an alternative to multiplex hell.
BEST PEDESTRIAN EXPERIENCE
Flagler Street from Twelfth Avenue to Biscayne Bay
Power up for your stroll with a pinolio purchased at the Nicaraguan cantina on the corner of Twelfth and Flagler. A cold cocoa drink made with sweet milk, it's just the jolt you'll want to get you on your way. Heading east on Flagler, you'll pass street peddlers and homeless immigrants working hard to collect those nickels and dimes for their main meal of the day -- a sixteen-ounce can of Schlitz Malt Liquor. At Tenth Avenue, Central American families are drawn to La Ideal, the Burdines of East Little Havana. The next few blocks feature empty lots and forsaken office buildings ripe for redevelopment. Then you traverse the Miami River via the Flagler drawbridge and head into the murky dead zone created by Interstate 95. As you emerge from the behemoth overpasses, signs of urban life beckon: the Miami-Dade Cultural Center, designed by famed architect Philip Johnson and quickly denounced for its intimidating, fortresslike isolation. But it's still home to the main library, the Historical Museum of Southern Florida, and the Miami Art Museum -- at least for the moment; the museums are plotting to abandon the place. Moving past the stately courthouse, you plunge into the teeming commercial center of the city. With its cacophony of blaring music, display-window strobe lights, luggage and electronic and shoe and jewelry and perfume stores, plus the street vendors and the alluring aromas from open kitchens, this stretch of Miami's signature thoroughfare could easily be mistaken for the main drag of most any Latin American capital city. Your journey ends at the entrance to Bayfront Park and the magnificent, panoramic views of Biscayne Bay. It's been less than two miles and a couple of hours or so, but you'll feel as though you've just toured the entire Western Hemisphere.
BEST PEDESTRIAN EXPERIENCE
Flagler Street from Twelfth Avenue to Biscayne Bay
Power up for your stroll with a pinolio purchased at the Nicaraguan cantina on the corner of Twelfth and Flagler. A cold cocoa drink made with sweet milk, it's just the jolt you'll want to get you on your way. Heading east on Flagler, you'll pass street peddlers and homeless immigrants working hard to collect those nickels and dimes for their main meal of the day -- a sixteen-ounce can of Schlitz Malt Liquor. At Tenth Avenue, Central American families are drawn to La Ideal, the Burdines of East Little Havana. The next few blocks feature empty lots and forsaken office buildings ripe for redevelopment. Then you traverse the Miami River via the Flagler drawbridge and head into the murky dead zone created by Interstate 95. As you emerge from the behemoth overpasses, signs of urban life beckon: the Miami-Dade Cultural Center, designed by famed architect Philip Johnson and quickly denounced for its intimidating, fortresslike isolation. But it's still home to the main library, the Historical Museum of Southern Florida, and the Miami Art Museum -- at least for the moment; the museums are plotting to abandon the place. Moving past the stately courthouse, you plunge into the teeming commercial center of the city. With its cacophony of blaring music, display-window strobe lights, luggage and electronic and shoe and jewelry and perfume stores, plus the street vendors and the alluring aromas from open kitchens, this stretch of Miami's signature thoroughfare could easily be mistaken for the main drag of most any Latin American capital city. Your journey ends at the entrance to Bayfront Park and the magnificent, panoramic views of Biscayne Bay. It's been less than two miles and a couple of hours or so, but you'll feel as though you've just toured the entire Western Hemisphere.
Nobody truly escapes reality via public transportation, not even on a long day's journey from Government Center to Aventura via Biscayne Boulevard (and on to Miami Beach if you want). Go surreal: Put the L'Avventura in your field trip to Aventura and turn this ride into a mind film. Friends afeared you've vanished to the point no one will ever find you, a cast of thousands, sights to behold or be filmed. Like Antonioni's dense tableaux, you may judge your encounter with mass transit as aggressively alienating and maddening in its slow pace, but by using your Truffaut-informed imagination (after steering clear of an aisle seat) and pretending you're chilling at Cinecitta instead, the vehicle transforms in that day-for-night way. As the Bluebird diesel rumbles north, downtown's hectic sets fall behind and the windows frame unbroken vistas of on-location neighborhoods -- housing, strip malls, construction sites, restaurants. Interestingly costumed extras appear, some more than once, making ominous eye contact or uninterpretable gestures. When you disembark at the mall, you will be astounded to discover that neither David Hemmings nor Monica Vitti is waiting to accompany you to the Gap. Ask the old woman in the heavy coat and sweater or the teenager appropriating black culture with his wardrobe but holding tight that platinum Visa just in case. Maybe Fellini should be your mental guide. At least until you enter the mall and walk head on into its 24-screen multiplex. A comedy turned tragic. So new wave.
The event's original presenters -- Miami architect Willy Bermello, attorney Peter Yanowitch, and racing celebrity Emerson Fittipaldi -- fled the scene like a torqued-up Porsche when they sold their interest in the three-day extravaganza to Championship Auto Racing Teams (CART) for $1.2 million. Then, after wreaking havoc on the Biscayne Boulevard streetscape by removing architecturally significant pavers and relocating palm trees that had lined the boulevard since the Twenties, CART pulled the plug on the Miami race, citing losses of nearly ten million dollars. Left behind: a two-million-dollar oil slick of bills and debts owed to the City of Miami and other public agencies.
The event's original presenters -- Miami architect Willy Bermello, attorney Peter Yanowitch, and racing celebrity Emerson Fittipaldi -- fled the scene like a torqued-up Porsche when they sold their interest in the three-day extravaganza to Championship Auto Racing Teams (CART) for $1.2 million. Then, after wreaking havoc on the Biscayne Boulevard streetscape by removing architecturally significant pavers and relocating palm trees that had lined the boulevard since the Twenties, CART pulled the plug on the Miami race, citing losses of nearly ten million dollars. Left behind: a two-million-dollar oil slick of bills and debts owed to the City of Miami and other public agencies.
Before Jacki-O's first album was even released, her hit single "Pussy (Real Good)" ("Nookie" in the clean version) was catching airplay and attention. The release of the album, Poe Little Rich Girl, by South Beach's Poe Boy Entertainment has been delayed, but the reviews are still hot: VH1 called her "the high priestess of the ghetto"; Rolling Stone said "she shows cocksure flow over sterling beats ...", and Vibe announced that "now the rest of the world has taken notice of the tune that's been whetting the South and Midwest for months." Even the New York Times indicated that Jacki-O doesn't appear to be a one-hit wonder, noting that while she had a "breakthrough single with 'Nookie,' ... her latest, 'Slow Down,' [is] even better." She's picked up the baton from fellow Liberty City rappers Trina and Trick Daddy (who appears on the album) to make sure Miami's presence continues to be felt in the hip-hop community.
Before Jacki-O's first album was even released, her hit single "Pussy (Real Good)" ("Nookie" in the clean version) was catching airplay and attention. The release of the album, Poe Little Rich Girl, by South Beach's Poe Boy Entertainment has been delayed, but the reviews are still hot: VH1 called her "the high priestess of the ghetto"; Rolling Stone said "she shows cocksure flow over sterling beats ...", and Vibe announced that "now the rest of the world has taken notice of the tune that's been whetting the South and Midwest for months." Even the New York Times indicated that Jacki-O doesn't appear to be a one-hit wonder, noting that while she had a "breakthrough single with 'Nookie,' ... her latest, 'Slow Down,' [is] even better." She's picked up the baton from fellow Liberty City rappers Trina and Trick Daddy (who appears on the album) to make sure Miami's presence continues to be felt in the hip-hop community.
When gross-out auteurs the Farrelly brothers were looking to jump-start their decade-old project, the Siamese twins comedy Stuck on You, where did they go? To Miami, of course, a prime shooting location for such "Hollywood" schlock as Bad Boys II and 2 Fast 2 Furious. Granted, this would-be plea for greater understanding of physically conjoined persons starred slumming A-listers Matt Damon and Greg Kinnear, and audiences gave it respectful reviews when it opened in December of 2003. But really, when is Hollywood gonna start taking us seriously enough to shoot some Academy Award-potential films down here? When Accounting starts asking questions about why movies that have nothing to do with Miami are being shot in Miami? "Because it has great weather, even better dope, and abundant nightlife" is not an acceptable answer unless you're, say, Oliver Stone. Or, apparently, those crazy Farrelly boys.
South Florida does have a history, and it's damn rich, especially considering the city's relative youth. It begins about the same time Edison invented the movie camera. That's good news for the Florida Moving Image Archive, which collects and restores film and video to add to its visual storehouse -- actually a large, crammed-with-stuff bunker beneath the main library -- of local history. The annual Rewind/Fast Forward fest celebrates the archived celluloid with a show featuring a broad spectrum of works that all use old footage. There was the mind-bending independent feature The Subversion Agency, the Oscar-nominated documentary The Weather Underground, the locally produced 3-D classic Creature from the Black Lagoon, and a slew of entertaining shorts involving creative use of archival film. Never a dull moment when the past meets the present in this forward-thinking but reflective festival.
She was the wife of wealthy Coconut Grove businessman and philanthropist José Calvo, until his September 2003 murder by a gunman during what appeared to be a straightforward robbery. By all rights Denise Calvo should then have worn the mantle of grieving widow. Instead police and the media began asking questions, and her life didn't do well under the scrutiny. For instance, it was revealed that her father, Michael Angelo Caligiuri, was an alleged mob figure who went to prison for racketeering and cocaine possession. Police had arrested Denise herself in 2002 for cocaine possession -- while she was pregnant! (The charges were dropped.) And when police finally apprehended a suspect in her husband's murder, Anthony Craig Lee, it turns out she had allegedly bought crack cocaine from his mother and had called Lee's cell phone several times. The case is still under investigation.
She was the wife of wealthy Coconut Grove businessman and philanthropist José Calvo, until his September 2003 murder by a gunman during what appeared to be a straightforward robbery. By all rights Denise Calvo should then have worn the mantle of grieving widow. Instead police and the media began asking questions, and her life didn't do well under the scrutiny. For instance, it was revealed that her father, Michael Angelo Caligiuri, was an alleged mob figure who went to prison for racketeering and cocaine possession. Police had arrested Denise herself in 2002 for cocaine possession -- while she was pregnant! (The charges were dropped.) And when police finally apprehended a suspect in her husband's murder, Anthony Craig Lee, it turns out she had allegedly bought crack cocaine from his mother and had called Lee's cell phone several times. The case is still under investigation.
She didn't grow up planning on a career in the music industry, but fate found Ellen Moraskie anyway. As senior vice president for Latin music at the Warner/Chappell publishing company in Miami Beach, the caring mother of two nurtured such songwriting talents as Elsten Torres (Fulano), Jorge Villamizar (Bacilos), and Fernando Osorio (author of the last hits of Celia Cruz). Eager to open the circle even more, Moraskie joined Desmond Child and other like-minded souls to create the monthly showcase Songwriters in the Round that ran from 1996 through 2002 and gave local talents a place to test their mettle. Moraskie passed away on December 13, 2003, but her passion lives on in the beautifully crafted songs of the many writers she inspired.
She didn't grow up planning on a career in the music industry, but fate found Ellen Moraskie anyway. As senior vice president for Latin music at the Warner/Chappell publishing company in Miami Beach, the caring mother of two nurtured such songwriting talents as Elsten Torres (Fulano), Jorge Villamizar (Bacilos), and Fernando Osorio (author of the last hits of Celia Cruz). Eager to open the circle even more, Moraskie joined Desmond Child and other like-minded souls to create the monthly showcase Songwriters in the Round that ran from 1996 through 2002 and gave local talents a place to test their mettle. Moraskie passed away on December 13, 2003, but her passion lives on in the beautifully crafted songs of the many writers she inspired.
BEST PLACE TO TAKE OUT-OF-TOWNERS
Kitsch tour of South Dade
Coral Castle
After the out-of-towners get tired of the South Beach scene, load them in the car and drag them to South Miami-Dade for a tour of the old tourist attractions, the ones without neon and ex-models all over the place. If they were good enough for you when you were a tot, they're more than good enough for your ironic hipster guests. Start out with a morning tour of the ever-mysterious Coral Castle -- the place where fragile Ed Leedskalnin perched giant boulders in impossibly balanced positions. Follow that with a sweet treat at the Knauss Berry Farm, which is run by German Baptists who dress in their traditional garb. Here you'll get sweet, sweet shakes and baked goods made from freshly picked berries and fruit. Then you'll have the afternoon free to cage yourself at Monkey Jungle, where the resident primates roam. If you're lucky, maybe you can lose the guests here. The shame is that the Serpentarium no longer exists.
There was a temptation to write this item about great ways to sober up. But then we realized that getting sober is, quite literally, the last thing anyone wants to do when they're drunk. So we dug out (pun alert) some plans for all to have a sloshing good time. It's not baseball. It's not softball. It's Sloshball! The game is played like baseball, except in order to pass bases (second and home) runners must first drink a beer. Don't laugh just yet. People across the nation participate in brew leagues, and even compete in a Sloshball World Series. At the official Website, local boozehounds can apply to start up their own league. And you thought cricket was weird.
The quiet, reserved Manny Diaz came out of nowhere in his 2001 mayoral bid against opponents who were far more prominent. He had been a well-liked but low-profile lawyer who was thrust into the limelight as part of the legal team trying to keep Elian Gonzalez in Little Havana. Initially his principal qualification, aside from having Elian credentials, seemed to be that he wasn't Joe Carollo. But Diaz, in his understated way, promised a major revolution in city government, proposing to run the place more like a business and less like a Calle Ocho festival that has gone on far too long. After taking office, he eased out city manager Carlos Gimenez and hired Joe Arriola, a wealthy retired executive with a big mouth but considerable business acumen. Arriola restructured city operations and ousted several long-time department heads, among them the police chief, which cleared the way for a ball-breaker to come in and shake things up. Diaz and his lieutenants have made priorities of improving streets, services, and economic development in general. You can certainly disagree with specific actions and outcomes presided over by Diaz and Co., but the overall direction of change has been very good. The urban core is being revitalized and the city's bond ratings have soared.
The quiet, reserved Manny Diaz came out of nowhere in his 2001 mayoral bid against opponents who were far more prominent. He had been a well-liked but low-profile lawyer who was thrust into the limelight as part of the legal team trying to keep Elian Gonzalez in Little Havana. Initially his principal qualification, aside from having Elian credentials, seemed to be that he wasn't Joe Carollo. But Diaz, in his understated way, promised a major revolution in city government, proposing to run the place more like a business and less like a Calle Ocho festival that has gone on far too long. After taking office, he eased out city manager Carlos Gimenez and hired Joe Arriola, a wealthy retired executive with a big mouth but considerable business acumen. Arriola restructured city operations and ousted several long-time department heads, among them the police chief, which cleared the way for a ball-breaker to come in and shake things up. Diaz and his lieutenants have made priorities of improving streets, services, and economic development in general. You can certainly disagree with specific actions and outcomes presided over by Diaz and Co., but the overall direction of change has been very good. The urban core is being revitalized and the city's bond ratings have soared.
Once the thriving and prosperous heart of black Miami, Overtown has been in a downward spiral ever since brilliant bureaucrats thought it would be just fine to tear the place apart by running massive interstate highways through it. Today it is the poorest neighborhood in America's poorest city. Over the past decade roughly $70 million has been funneled into Overtown in a colossal, and colossally corrupt, effort at rehabilitation. Around here, that kind of public money is guaranteed to attract the greedy, the incompetent, the criminal. Clearly it did. Even a cursory tour of the area provides a compelling overview of what a city audit spelled out in detail last year: Tens of millions of tax dollars have been plundered and wasted. The Miami City Commission has appointed a panel to figure out what went wrong. It will be joining the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office, state authorities, and the FBI in ongoing criminal investigations. About time.
Once the thriving and prosperous heart of black Miami, Overtown has been in a downward spiral ever since brilliant bureaucrats thought it would be just fine to tear the place apart by running massive interstate highways through it. Today it is the poorest neighborhood in America's poorest city. Over the past decade roughly $70 million has been funneled into Overtown in a colossal, and colossally corrupt, effort at rehabilitation. Around here, that kind of public money is guaranteed to attract the greedy, the incompetent, the criminal. Clearly it did. Even a cursory tour of the area provides a compelling overview of what a city audit spelled out in detail last year: Tens of millions of tax dollars have been plundered and wasted. The Miami City Commission has appointed a panel to figure out what went wrong. It will be joining the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office, state authorities, and the FBI in ongoing criminal investigations. About time.
One thing Bayside Marketplace didn't have, until recently, was land-and-sea tours. Literally. Thanks to Miami Duck Tours, passengers ride around the streets on the odd-looking World War II style vehicles (it's a truck! it's a boat!) and see the sights. Then the vehicles slide into Biscayne Bay for a water-based view of other sights. By land and by sea, it's definitely a different way to get a look around, providing a tourist magnet and a new diversion for locals as well. And when the bus-boat completes its journey and patrons disembark, there is no enemy army awaiting to assault them. Not usually anyway.
Ever wonder what the animals do at night after all the gawkers have left the zoo? Find out for yourself at a Zoo-Inn slumber party. September through June, Miami Metrozoo hosts groups of 15 to 30 nocturnal guests for overnight adventures. While the giraffes and elephants eat their evening grub, you'll nibble on pizza. Then a zookeeper will lead you and your friends into one lucky animal's nighthouse. Get an up-close look at a Bengal tiger, a Galápagos tortoise, or an Indian rhino doing whatever it is they do at night. Then embark on a bracing zoo walking tour and a presentation at the Ecology Theater. When you're done, the group will bunk down in the air-conditioned comfort of one of Metrozoo's classrooms or boardrooms. Sounds like fun, right? Especially because Mom and Dad can hardly blame you kids if you spend the night acting like beasts!
Ever wonder what the animals do at night after all the gawkers have left the zoo? Find out for yourself at a Zoo-Inn slumber party. September through June, Miami Metrozoo hosts groups of 15 to 30 nocturnal guests for overnight adventures. While the giraffes and elephants eat their evening grub, you'll nibble on pizza. Then a zookeeper will lead you and your friends into one lucky animal's nighthouse. Get an up-close look at a Bengal tiger, a Galápagos tortoise, or an Indian rhino doing whatever it is they do at night. Then embark on a bracing zoo walking tour and a presentation at the Ecology Theater. When you're done, the group will bunk down in the air-conditioned comfort of one of Metrozoo's classrooms or boardrooms. Sounds like fun, right? Especially because Mom and Dad can hardly blame you kids if you spend the night acting like beasts!
BEST PLACE FOR A FIRST DATE
Olympia Theater
Gusman Center for the Performing Arts
In our fantasy, the best place for a first date would be an exotic faraway locale like Casablanca or Spain's Costa del Sol. We'd meet in secret under the stars, perhaps pursued by nefarious forces, in the ruin of an old Moorish castle by the sea. You would look stunning in the half-light, gingerly stepping around a peacock as you approach through the rubble. We would kiss furtively, then part, fearing for our safety yet certain to meet again. In the meantime, let's meet at the restored Olympia Theater at the Gusman in downtown Miami. The faux Moorish architecture and simulated night sky will do for a setting. A peacock stares out from a box beside the stage. You will look stunning as you step gingerly up the steep balcony stairs, perhaps pursued by an usher, your hands filled with popcorn. If we pick the right night, Casablanca may be on the screen. We can kiss furtively when the lights dim. Whatever happens next, we'll always have the Gusman.
A few seasons ago Tim James carried the University of Miami Hurricanes basketball team to its greatest heights, making it to the NCAA tournament known as "March Madness." He then qualified for the Miami Heat's twelve-player roster. Nothing came of it, though, and he was soon gone. This year Miami native and former Miami High School star Udonis Haslem not only made the Heat roster, he's made a mark with skills far exceeding those of most rookies. Strong, fearless, and gifted, you can bet that this Miami product will be burning net and grabbing rock in the NBA for many years. Let's hope the Heat is smart enough to keep the young, versatile forward here in the sunshine, and, with starting forward Caron Butler's injury-related problems, in the spotlight as well.
BEST POLITICAL CONVICTION IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS
Pat Tornillo
The former United Teachers of Dade boss was a throwback to the days of smoke-filled rooms that admitted only good ol' boys. In 40 years Tornillo built the UTD into a political machine that propelled to power numerous school-board members, state legislators, even governors. With that kind of clout (and total control of the union), it wasn't so surprising to discover that the man's sense of entitlement led him to consider the UTD treasury his personal piggy bank. Audits revealed that Tornillo had embezzled at least $2.5 million to finance a lavish lifestyle that included luxury gifts for his wife, ritzy hotel rooms (some right here in Miami), and an extravagant three-week vacation that burned up $50,000 -- roughly the cost of hiring a new teacher with a master's degree and fifteen years' experience. On August 26, 2003, Tornillo pleaded guilty to federal tax evasion and mail fraud. Many were outraged at the lenient 27-month prison term he received, and incensed that he wasn't required to cooperate in further investigations. But he did get caught, and he was prosecuted, convicted, and incarcerated. In Miami, that's a rare achievement.
BEST POLITICAL CONVICTION IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS
Pat Tornillo
The former United Teachers of Dade boss was a throwback to the days of smoke-filled rooms that admitted only good ol' boys. In 40 years Tornillo built the UTD into a political machine that propelled to power numerous school-board members, state legislators, even governors. With that kind of clout (and total control of the union), it wasn't so surprising to discover that the man's sense of entitlement led him to consider the UTD treasury his personal piggy bank. Audits revealed that Tornillo had embezzled at least $2.5 million to finance a lavish lifestyle that included luxury gifts for his wife, ritzy hotel rooms (some right here in Miami), and an extravagant three-week vacation that burned up $50,000 -- roughly the cost of hiring a new teacher with a master's degree and fifteen years' experience. On August 26, 2003, Tornillo pleaded guilty to federal tax evasion and mail fraud. Many were outraged at the lenient 27-month prison term he received, and incensed that he wasn't required to cooperate in further investigations. But he did get caught, and he was prosecuted, convicted, and incarcerated. In Miami, that's a rare achievement.
Modern condo high-rises may tower over the five-block area just east of Biscayne Boulevard between 68th and 72nd streets, but history still lives there -- in the 208 houses of oolitic limestone, Dade County pine, and keystone that sit on the tree-lined streets of Bayside, designated an historic district by the City of Miami in 1991. Each street was platted individually between 1909 and 1925 by different folks, yielding four separate subdivisions and much later a patch of greenery dubbed Baywood Park. Along 68th Street, settlers from Elmira, New York, came down at the end of the Nineteenth Century and created the Elmira Colony, now one of Miami's oldest intact planned communities. Paving the road with seashells, the pioneers put up frame vernacular houses reminiscent of their northern abodes. One lovely home from 1903 remains. In the 1920s Coral Gables mastermind George Merrick and developer Wykoff & Estes got their hands on 70th Street, calling it Acadia and plunking down a batch of Mediterranean Revival houses. The Krames-Corlett Company's Baywood subdivision laid claim to 69th and 71st streets; and millionaire developer Samuel Prescott named 72nd Street "Washington Place." His stunning mansion at 72nd and Tenth Avenue, which once featured a golf course, has been there since 1923. One of the last bayfront estates in northeast Miami, the dilapidated house has been a sitting duck for years, repeatedly marked for demolition by developers, and even used as shelter by visiting anarchists during last year's FTAA meetings. Majestic Properties' Jeff Morr recently purchased the home, so who knows what its fate may be. Whatever the future holds for Bayside, it's certain the wise residents of this architecturally eclectic district will ensure it survives and thrives as one of the city's most pleasant neighborhoods.
Modern condo high-rises may tower over the five-block area just east of Biscayne Boulevard between 68th and 72nd streets, but history still lives there -- in the 208 houses of oolitic limestone, Dade County pine, and keystone that sit on the tree-lined streets of Bayside, designated an historic district by the City of Miami in 1991. Each street was platted individually between 1909 and 1925 by different folks, yielding four separate subdivisions and much later a patch of greenery dubbed Baywood Park. Along 68th Street, settlers from Elmira, New York, came down at the end of the Nineteenth Century and created the Elmira Colony, now one of Miami's oldest intact planned communities. Paving the road with seashells, the pioneers put up frame vernacular houses reminiscent of their northern abodes. One lovely home from 1903 remains. In the 1920s Coral Gables mastermind George Merrick and developer Wykoff & Estes got their hands on 70th Street, calling it Acadia and plunking down a batch of Mediterranean Revival houses. The Krames-Corlett Company's Baywood subdivision laid claim to 69th and 71st streets; and millionaire developer Samuel Prescott named 72nd Street "Washington Place." His stunning mansion at 72nd and Tenth Avenue, which once featured a golf course, has been there since 1923. One of the last bayfront estates in northeast Miami, the dilapidated house has been a sitting duck for years, repeatedly marked for demolition by developers, and even used as shelter by visiting anarchists during last year's FTAA meetings. Majestic Properties' Jeff Morr recently purchased the home, so who knows what its fate may be. Whatever the future holds for Bayside, it's certain the wise residents of this architecturally eclectic district will ensure it survives and thrives as one of the city's most pleasant neighborhoods.
You know you like each other. Now all you need is the spark that will set your love aflame. The grand circular lobby at the Eden Roc provides the perfect backdrop for larger-than-life romance. Get in the mood with a dry martini at the lobby bar while Patrick tickles the ivories and sings "The Way You Look Tonight." Hollywood-style romance. Then make like Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity on the spa's white sand beach. If all goes well, you may find yourself playing Raquel Welch to Frank Sinatra's Tony Rome: "Room service? Please send up a bottle of champagne. And two glasses."
Not just a building, it's a work of art. Maybe. Perhaps someday before we all die. In the meantime, the signs along the perimeter of this taxpayer-funded mess might read: "It's not just an ill-conceived albatross rife with multimillion-dollar cost overruns and design blunders, it's also a mangled mass of girders and construction guts spilling out onto Biscayne Boulevard, Fourteenth Street, and NE Second Avenue, mucking up the skyline and tying up traffic for years."
Not just a building, it's a work of art. Maybe. Perhaps someday before we all die. In the meantime, the signs along the perimeter of this taxpayer-funded mess might read: "It's not just an ill-conceived albatross rife with multimillion-dollar cost overruns and design blunders, it's also a mangled mass of girders and construction guts spilling out onto Biscayne Boulevard, Fourteenth Street, and NE Second Avenue, mucking up the skyline and tying up traffic for years."
While most stateside bands balk at making the drive all the way down to our southern tip of the Florida peninsula, the Rhythm Foundation for more than ten years has been bringing in top international acts from every part of the globe. Last year the foundation's TransAtlantic Festival introduced locals to some of the best and hottest World Music acts on the planet. From the Gotan Project (Argentina via Paris) to UK/Colombia's Sidestepper, Brazil's DJ Dolores, and Brooklyn's Yerba Buena, the bands just kept rolling through all summer long. For those of us fortunate to stick around for the heat and humidity, TransAtlantic was a cool relief.
More than 1200 people showed up on a blustery winter day (January 17) to form a giant replica of Picasso's painting Amnistia on the sand of Miami Beach. The event was organized by the environmental group Greenpeace to protest the federal prosecution of activists who boarded a freighter ship off the coast of South Florida containing an illegal shipment of mahogany from Brazil. Participants assembled to form the image of a dove being freed from tyranny and the words "Endangered Freedoms" as DJ Le Spam and the Spam Allstars mixed African funk beats with the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, and other civil rights heroes. The protest showed that Miamians are actually concerned about the Bush administration's infringement on civil liberties with the Patriot Act -- at least concerned enough to spend a day at the beach.
"Life is a carnival," Celia Cruz sang famously in her 1998 hit "La Vida es un Carnaval." Turns out that for the Salsa Queen, death was a carnival too. On July 19, 2003, three days after the 78-year-old singer's death, more than 70,000 bereft fans showed up to pay their last respects during her nine-hour public wake at the Freedom Tower in downtown Miami. Local officials and music-industry honchos put the wake together in an astonishing display of civic unity. Mourners from around the world held signs proclaiming their love in a line that stretched from Biscayne Boulevard and Sixth Street to Miami Avenue and Thirteenth Street. Inside her casket, the Queen looked resplendent in a blond wig, white evening gown, and shimmering jewels. As the mourners filed by her coffin, her hits echoed from a sound system beneath the Freedom Tower's vaulted ceilings. When "Rie y Llora" played, the last hit the star recorded, her voice seemed to come from heaven. She comforted her faithful with the chorus: "Laugh. Cry. Everyone's hour arrives."
"Life is a carnival," Celia Cruz sang famously in her 1998 hit "La Vida es un Carnaval." Turns out that for the Salsa Queen, death was a carnival too. On July 19, 2003, three days after the 78-year-old singer's death, more than 70,000 bereft fans showed up to pay their last respects during her nine-hour public wake at the Freedom Tower in downtown Miami. Local officials and music-industry honchos put the wake together in an astonishing display of civic unity. Mourners from around the world held signs proclaiming their love in a line that stretched from Biscayne Boulevard and Sixth Street to Miami Avenue and Thirteenth Street. Inside her casket, the Queen looked resplendent in a blond wig, white evening gown, and shimmering jewels. As the mourners filed by her coffin, her hits echoed from a sound system beneath the Freedom Tower's vaulted ceilings. When "Rie y Llora" played, the last hit the star recorded, her voice seemed to come from heaven. She comforted her faithful with the chorus: "Laugh. Cry. Everyone's hour arrives."
With a 40-9-2 record, Johnson would not, at first blush, be regarded as the favorite when he steps into a ring. But he danced around a spell of hard luck and bad decisions right into a victory over Clinton Woods to garner the International Boxing Federation's light-heavyweight championship. Johnson is regarded by fight fans as a hard worker who, though age 35, is now hitting his groove. He was born in Jamaica and moved to Miami in the Eighties. With a title, he is trying to foster a steady following. "I'm trying to be a million-dollar fighter," he writes on www.glencoffe.8k.com. "I can't do that without an audience." Johnson will need all the help he can get. Though he may be in top form at the moment, he's fighting in the same weight division as the legendary Roy Jones, Jr. Help homey by supporting his effort and his attempt to catch a glimmer of the boxing world's spotlight for Miami.
Hurricane Irene in 1999 and the no-name storm of 2000 produced severe flooding in West Miami-Dade, trapping thousands of residents in their homes and causing widespread damage. The inundations underscored the need for a major upgrade of the drainage systems in that part of the county, which is lower in elevation than other areas and which relies on the Tamiami Canal to carry away storm water. When the canal becomes overloaded during heavy rains, Sweetwater becomes floodwater. This past January the first of two 450-acre retention basins was inaugurated with much pomp and backslapping among the local, state, and federal bureaucrats who will spend some $50 million on the project. Located northeast of the intersection of Krome Avenue and Tamiami Trail, the new basin consists of flat forest land now surrounded by a manmade embankment, sort of a vast play pool. In a flood emergency, huge pumps will fill the basin with storm water up to four feet deep. It may not be glamorous, and most people will never even see it, but it's great news to nearly half a million county residents who are sick and tired of resorting to canoes every time it rains.
Hurricane Irene in 1999 and the no-name storm of 2000 produced severe flooding in West Miami-Dade, trapping thousands of residents in their homes and causing widespread damage. The inundations underscored the need for a major upgrade of the drainage systems in that part of the county, which is lower in elevation than other areas and which relies on the Tamiami Canal to carry away storm water. When the canal becomes overloaded during heavy rains, Sweetwater becomes floodwater. This past January the first of two 450-acre retention basins was inaugurated with much pomp and backslapping among the local, state, and federal bureaucrats who will spend some $50 million on the project. Located northeast of the intersection of Krome Avenue and Tamiami Trail, the new basin consists of flat forest land now surrounded by a manmade embankment, sort of a vast play pool. In a flood emergency, huge pumps will fill the basin with storm water up to four feet deep. It may not be glamorous, and most people will never even see it, but it's great news to nearly half a million county residents who are sick and tired of resorting to canoes every time it rains.
The ideal gadfly is an equal-opportunity abuser, which makes A.C. Weinstein, political columnist for the Miami Beach weekly Sun Post, somewhat less than ideal. Example: He is slavishly devoted to Beach Mayor David Dermer and obsessed with undermining Dermer's political enemies. But that aside, his columns are as enjoyable to readers as they are vexing to the targets of his busy pen. As persistent as a hungry mosquito, Weinstein is quick to pull the rug out from under blustering politicians and haughty publications. He's also not above giving credit where it's due, even if it's the same person he skewered the previous week. Example: Miami Beach city manager Jorge Gonzalez. When he wants to, Weinstein can offer his readers provocative analysis of projects and policies that could have a real impact on their lives. But he seems happiest when he's the irritating gadfly relentlessly buzzing his victims.
The ideal gadfly is an equal-opportunity abuser, which makes A.C. Weinstein, political columnist for the Miami Beach weekly Sun Post, somewhat less than ideal. Example: He is slavishly devoted to Beach Mayor David Dermer and obsessed with undermining Dermer's political enemies. But that aside, his columns are as enjoyable to readers as they are vexing to the targets of his busy pen. As persistent as a hungry mosquito, Weinstein is quick to pull the rug out from under blustering politicians and haughty publications. He's also not above giving credit where it's due, even if it's the same person he skewered the previous week. Example: Miami Beach city manager Jorge Gonzalez. When he wants to, Weinstein can offer his readers provocative analysis of projects and policies that could have a real impact on their lives. But he seems happiest when he's the irritating gadfly relentlessly buzzing his victims.
Keep your sabermetrics, kiddo. The only number Jack McKeon needs to know when it comes to baseball is 72. That's how old McKeon was when Florida Marlins owner Jeffrey Loria tapped the venerable coach to take over as manager of his rudderless young team midseason in May 2003. And that's how many years McKeon's got in his gut telling him how to play ball. He might not know exactly the right names of any of these kids running around the field in black and teal, but he knows who to play, who to pull, and when. Can a team win a World Series on bunts? Can a pitcher keep hurling fire on only three days rest? Before the 2004 series any other baseball person would have said, "No!" Ask the old guy, and the answer is the young Florida Marlins winning their second world championship in six years.
A slightly built fellow with shockingly red hair and an engaging manner, Kaplan is the guy who gets to answer the same question again and again: What's wrong with Miami voters? As spokesman for the Miami-Dade County Elections Department, Kaplan is courteous, helpful, and prompt. And he doesn't go home early. Which is good, because ever since the elections department moved from downtown to Doral, it's a pain to get out there and see him.
A slightly built fellow with shockingly red hair and an engaging manner, Kaplan is the guy who gets to answer the same question again and again: What's wrong with Miami voters? As spokesman for the Miami-Dade County Elections Department, Kaplan is courteous, helpful, and prompt. And he doesn't go home early. Which is good, because ever since the elections department moved from downtown to Doral, it's a pain to get out there and see him.
As leadoff hitter, Alabama-born center fielder Juan Pierre set the pace for the 2004 Florida Marlins and helped slay giants (and Cubs and Yankees, oh my). The main artery in a world championship team filled with heart, Pierre gave his all to hitting, base running, and fielding. He almost always put himself in the right part of the outfield at the right time to make the play. On those rare occasions where his positioning failed him, Pierre compensated by flying rather than diving to get to the rock and leave hitters feeling robbed. That speed served him around the bases as well. Clocking in at 3.6 seconds from home to first, Pierre led the National League in steals. And who can forget the team's first at-bat in World Series play, when Pierre tapped the ball into a dead zone in the Yankee defense, showing again that even in the age of steroids and home run kings, it's the small things that make champions. That and giving it your all.
Where do nightlife promoters go when the lights are turned on? Capponi, who leveraged South Beach party promotion into a small fortune without ever actually having to own a nightclub (thus avoiding all those pesky liabilities), has segued from making sure the dance floors are packed to partnering up with the starchy Ritz-Carlton South Beach as its "nightlife ambassador." But that's not the deal that impresses. This past year he hooked up with developers Gregg Covin, Chad Oppenheim, and Armin Mattli, who are building Ten Museum Park, the upscale high-rise condo in downtown Miami. Smart move. Capponi's contact list is filled with people who have too much money in their pockets, too much time on their hands, and a desire to keep the party going. Purchasing a condo in a Capponi-approved project means buying into a lifestyle of VIP passes, celebrity DJs, and the lure of lithesome beauties by the pool -- or at least the illusion of such. Ten Museum Park sold 95 percent of its units just nine days after going on the market.
Where do nightlife promoters go when the lights are turned on? Capponi, who leveraged South Beach party promotion into a small fortune without ever actually having to own a nightclub (thus avoiding all those pesky liabilities), has segued from making sure the dance floors are packed to partnering up with the starchy Ritz-Carlton South Beach as its "nightlife ambassador." But that's not the deal that impresses. This past year he hooked up with developers Gregg Covin, Chad Oppenheim, and Armin Mattli, who are building Ten Museum Park, the upscale high-rise condo in downtown Miami. Smart move. Capponi's contact list is filled with people who have too much money in their pockets, too much time on their hands, and a desire to keep the party going. Purchasing a condo in a Capponi-approved project means buying into a lifestyle of VIP passes, celebrity DJs, and the lure of lithesome beauties by the pool -- or at least the illusion of such. Ten Museum Park sold 95 percent of its units just nine days after going on the market.
If the Miami Dolphins can conjure up a quarterback and an offensive line, Ricky Williams will set rushing records for years. Combining speed and agility with Riggins-esque old-school muscle, Williams was the only moving part in the Dolphins' offensive engine last season. Williams's personality also makes him more interesting than your average hunnerdtenpercent-givin' jock: The 230-pound Heisman winner has dealt with social anxiety disorder all his life, and at one point only consented to interviews while wearing his helmet and Vaderlike visor. The eerily soft-voiced bruiser was also, for a time, unable to leave his house for fear of having to interact with people who recognized him. But a well-documented recovery (thanks to therapy and medication) and a trade from New Orleans to Miami in 2002 have resulted in a more confident Williams, on and off the field. Now all the Dolphins need to do is fire their coach, shore up the defense, and bring in the aforementioned QB and offensive line.
The Florida Panthers are a mediocre team with an outstanding goalie. Despite tepid group play all around him, Luongo has been stellar this season, racking up six shutouts by late February, when he led the National Hockey League in saves and was second in the league with a stingy .934 save percentage. Luongo has gotten better over three seasons with the Panthers, turning himself into one of the league's top goalkeepers. Unfortunately (and like Miami's biggest sports star, Ricky Williams) Luongo isn't getting a lot of help from a young, inexperienced Panthers defense. Part of Luongo's one-step strategy for filling up the net: Be big. At six feet three inches and 205 pounds, there's simply not much space to squeeze a puck around him.
Good & Funky may well live up to its own hype as "Miami's hippest charity." In the thrift store's "premium" department you'll find designer bags, little black dresses, and Fifties modern lamps. But if you're looking to give rather than get, Good & Funky still is a good stop. Proceeds earned from the sale of your donations go to Grubstake, the nonprofit organization that runs the shop. Its mission: "To help women in distress establish a new home and make a new start." Your rarely worn suit could help a recovering addict land a job. That pair of pajamas you never mailed to your nephew up north might comfort a little tot reunited with his mom fresh out of rehab. Grubstake accepts furniture, computers, and cars as well -- anything that might help a woman and her family get back on their feet. But Good & Funky doesn't discriminate. Some women in distress might remain that way for a while, but they still need clothes. So there's a chance you might see last New Year's Eve's lamé camisole out on Biscayne Boulevard adorning a working girl who hasn't yet quite got up the gumption to quit. Drop off your goods or call for pickup.
Good & Funky may well live up to its own hype as "Miami's hippest charity." In the thrift store's "premium" department you'll find designer bags, little black dresses, and Fifties modern lamps. But if you're looking to give rather than get, Good & Funky still is a good stop. Proceeds earned from the sale of your donations go to Grubstake, the nonprofit organization that runs the shop. Its mission: "To help women in distress establish a new home and make a new start." Your rarely worn suit could help a recovering addict land a job. That pair of pajamas you never mailed to your nephew up north might comfort a little tot reunited with his mom fresh out of rehab. Grubstake accepts furniture, computers, and cars as well -- anything that might help a woman and her family get back on their feet. But Good & Funky doesn't discriminate. Some women in distress might remain that way for a while, but they still need clothes. So there's a chance you might see last New Year's Eve's lamé camisole out on Biscayne Boulevard adorning a working girl who hasn't yet quite got up the gumption to quit. Drop off your goods or call for pickup.
With 95,000 miles of U.S. coastline to protect, it's nice to know the United States Coast Guard has more than 200 years' experience doing its job, especially considering that the Turkey Point nuclear plant and the sprawling, wide-open Port of Miami offer tempting targets to terrorists. Since 9/11 the Guard has mobilized reserves, mounting its largest defense since World War II. Miami is receiving extra attention, and not just because historically we've been a swinging door for smugglers and migrants. The main reason Miami gets bonus protection -- more cutters, more Port Security Units, more helicopters -- is that so many desperate souls try to sneak into South Florida from their native lands of Haiti, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and elsewhere. With all that going on over the years, the Guard has had ample opportunity to practice the tricky business of monitoring the open ocean and the nearly infinite approaches to the mainland. Local Coasties were ready to take on terrorists even before the jihad began in force. No wonder the Department of Homeland Security celebrated its first anniversary at Bayfront Park.
With 95,000 miles of U.S. coastline to protect, it's nice to know the United States Coast Guard has more than 200 years' experience doing its job, especially considering that the Turkey Point nuclear plant and the sprawling, wide-open Port of Miami offer tempting targets to terrorists. Since 9/11 the Guard has mobilized reserves, mounting its largest defense since World War II. Miami is receiving extra attention, and not just because historically we've been a swinging door for smugglers and migrants. The main reason Miami gets bonus protection -- more cutters, more Port Security Units, more helicopters -- is that so many desperate souls try to sneak into South Florida from their native lands of Haiti, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and elsewhere. With all that going on over the years, the Guard has had ample opportunity to practice the tricky business of monitoring the open ocean and the nearly infinite approaches to the mainland. Local Coasties were ready to take on terrorists even before the jihad began in force. No wonder the Department of Homeland Security celebrated its first anniversary at Bayfront Park.
The tight end finished second in receiving for UM this past season, but first in catching hell for his explosive verbal slants. One somehow morphed into a long bomb. The game in question: a humiliating 10-6 loss to Tennessee. Winslow, son of NFL Hall of Famer turned TV commentator Kellen Winslow, Sr., was peeved by the cheap shots Volunteers took at his knees. Then, while tackling Winslow after a 22-yard reception, Vols tore the helmet off his head. Other witnesses said Winslow spiked the ball too hard, and refs flagged him for unsportsmanlike conduct. After the game, in which the junior caught 7 passes for 88 yards, quoth he: "It's war. They're out there to kill you, so I'm out there to kill them.... They're going after my legs. I'm going to come right back at them. I'm a fucking soldier." Now that's the fighting spirit UM pays its professional student-athletes to whip up. But Commander Coker (Larry's a coach, not an English professor) issued orders for an apology, in case Winslow's military metaphor had offended any U.S. soldiers fighting real wars. "A-N-A-L-O-G-Y! What's that spell? ANALOGY! What's that spell? ANALOGY!" Winslow blamed the refs for squelching freedom of expression. "I can't even get hyped up after a play," he told reporters. "I can't even get my crowd hyped up." But you can bet he'll get many millions of dollars when he moves to the NFL, which he's been ready to do since he was a freshman. And which he will in fact do this year.
BEST POLITICAL MISCALCULATION
The Raul Martinez political machine versus the Hialeah Three
Early last year political novices Vanessa Bravo, Cindy Miel, and Adriana Narvaez announced that they intended to oust three incumbent Hialeah city councilmen. The incumbents were toadies of Mayor for Life Raul Martinez, and so political pundits warned that the ladies would be obliterated by the well-oiled Martinez machine. But after campaigning in every nook and cranny of the county's second-largest city, the newcomers shocked nearly everyone: They trounced the Martinez acolytes at the polls by overwhelming margins. Absentee ballots, however, were another matter. The incumbents somehow managed to attract far more of those than the Hialeah Three. Bravo and Miel ended up winning anyway, but Narvaez lost as a result of the absentee count. (In a lawsuit she is claiming vote fraud; law-enforcement agencies are now investigating.) The ladies' success must have humiliated Martinez, judging from his subsequent behavior. Not a city council meeting now adjourns without him having publicly insulted Bravo and Miel.
BEST POLITICAL MISCALCULATION
The Raul Martinez political machine versus the Hialeah Three
Early last year political novices Vanessa Bravo, Cindy Miel, and Adriana Narvaez announced that they intended to oust three incumbent Hialeah city councilmen. The incumbents were toadies of Mayor for Life Raul Martinez, and so political pundits warned that the ladies would be obliterated by the well-oiled Martinez machine. But after campaigning in every nook and cranny of the county's second-largest city, the newcomers shocked nearly everyone: They trounced the Martinez acolytes at the polls by overwhelming margins. Absentee ballots, however, were another matter. The incumbents somehow managed to attract far more of those than the Hialeah Three. Bravo and Miel ended up winning anyway, but Narvaez lost as a result of the absentee count. (In a lawsuit she is claiming vote fraud; law-enforcement agencies are now investigating.) The ladies' success must have humiliated Martinez, judging from his subsequent behavior. Not a city council meeting now adjourns without him having publicly insulted Bravo and Miel.
It was a slow year for trades involving South Florida's major sports teams, but one that was executed with little fanfare turned out to be instrumental in a championship run. That was the trade for Jeff Conine by the Florida Marlins. One of the franchise's original players, Conine returned to his old club this past July, smack in the middle of a playoff chase. After years of consistently trading away good players, the Marlins finally revived trust and support among fans by acquiring a batter who was both productive and, more crucial, productive in the clutch. They had to give up nothing more than a couple of minor-league prospects. When there was a need for a timely hit at the end of close games, Conine was often the man. He played a major (league) role in the Marlins winning the World Series.
Could the architectural wasteland at Biscayne Boulevard and 79th Street have seemed like progress when it was built in 1954? These days Biscayne Plaza is about as feo as a strip mall can be. Developer Ed Easton and a partner bought it for three million dollars in 1983 with hopes of attracting shoppers from all around town. Today the yellowish two-story structure sprawls over a dreary asphalt landscape where Pier One, Starbucks, even Walgreens dare not tread because robbers frequently do. But this intersection could be a sleek northern gateway to the Magic City, or so savvy urban designers tell us. Instead it says: "Welcome to Miami: Home of Payless Shoes, Dollar Stores, and Ugly Strip Malls." A big part of the problem, by today's standards, is that whoever designed the plaza had his head on backward. "They were applying suburban design principles to an urban condition, which is what Miami's zoning code still does," sighs Maria Nardi, former chief of urban design for the City of Miami. Instead of the current layout -- a 73,000-square-foot parking lot between the street and the storefronts -- the cool thing would have been to place the storefronts adjacent to the street and the parking behind the structures or in a beautifully concealed garage. Shops abutting the sidewalks, trees providing some shade. Above, as many floors of offices (or lofts) as developers desire. See the area bustle with happy pedestrians. Watch residential property values rise in Shorecrest to the east and Little Haiti to the west. So what's the holdup? Maybe the holdups. But also this: Today the rent even from lower-class tenants is all gravy. Easton has little incentive to sell. "It's a cash cow," says one knowledgeable developer. "They're making a killing."
Could the architectural wasteland at Biscayne Boulevard and 79th Street have seemed like progress when it was built in 1954? These days Biscayne Plaza is about as feo as a strip mall can be. Developer Ed Easton and a partner bought it for three million dollars in 1983 with hopes of attracting shoppers from all around town. Today the yellowish two-story structure sprawls over a dreary asphalt landscape where Pier One, Starbucks, even Walgreens dare not tread because robbers frequently do. But this intersection could be a sleek northern gateway to the Magic City, or so savvy urban designers tell us. Instead it says: "Welcome to Miami: Home of Payless Shoes, Dollar Stores, and Ugly Strip Malls." A big part of the problem, by today's standards, is that whoever designed the plaza had his head on backward. "They were applying suburban design principles to an urban condition, which is what Miami's zoning code still does," sighs Maria Nardi, former chief of urban design for the City of Miami. Instead of the current layout -- a 73,000-square-foot parking lot between the street and the storefronts -- the cool thing would have been to place the storefronts adjacent to the street and the parking behind the structures or in a beautifully concealed garage. Shops abutting the sidewalks, trees providing some shade. Above, as many floors of offices (or lofts) as developers desire. See the area bustle with happy pedestrians. Watch residential property values rise in Shorecrest to the east and Little Haiti to the west. So what's the holdup? Maybe the holdups. But also this: Today the rent even from lower-class tenants is all gravy. Easton has little incentive to sell. "It's a cash cow," says one knowledgeable developer. "They're making a killing."
Who needs a seven-foot center? Not the Miami Heat. They've found competitiveness without some towering freak taller than most trees. A small, fast approach can work when a team rosters a number of versatile weapons, the best of whom is this 6-foot 4-inch rookie guard who can play the point, shoot the nets out, pass with precision, and launch himself above the big freaks to slam home a highlight-reel dunk. Wade's NBA arrival is like one of his ferocious slams, hinting at (dare we say) "Michael potential." The young man also happens to have helped the Heat reshape itself into a potential championship team. Off the court, Wade is a quiet, sleepy-looking, 22-year-old family man. But on the hardwood his cross-over move could break an opponent's ankle and his gravity-belying acrobatics can make a Heat fan out of a New Yorker. Can a kid turn around a team quickly and thoroughly? If his name's Dwyane Wade, bet it all he can.
"If It's Tourist Season,Why Can't We Go Ahead and Shoot 'Em?"
"If It's Tourist Season,Why Can't We Go Ahead and Shoot 'Em?"
If weathercasters were ever accurate, this award would probably go to the one who was most often on the money about rain showers and cold fronts. But because forecasts are all the same and as reliable as a Bush administration intelligence report, the winner here must have something beyond the latest bulletin from the weather bureau. No weathercaster is as easy on the eyes as WSVN-TV's Jackie Johnson (Channel 7). Attractive, shapely, a self-described "outdoor girl" from Michigan, Double J has made the weather segment a must-see, especially among young males who judge women by superficialities like attractiveness, figure, and affinity for the outdoors. Her station knows this way too well: Sex appeal is what makes Johnson and WSVN a perfect match. She even has a special feature, "Living It Up," wherein assignments range from learning to handle the throttle on a speedboat to playing beach volleyball to "surfing" on South Beach. Segments like the last thrust a scantily clad, dripping wet Johnson straight into your throbbing living room. And you thought meteorologists were boring.
A lovely hot winter's afternoon on this winding way through the Everglades adjacent to Tamiami Trail. Indians in new-model sedans waving as they blow by. Two French women pigmenting canvases with the bold black-and-white images of wood storks set against the verdancy of piny perches. A dozen alligators basking by the shallows. A rubber-booted phycologist holding a magnifying glass above a scummy rock. An assortment of unusual structures that nonconformists call home. An eyes-to-the-ground snake collector toting a pillowcase and walking stick. An anhinga spreading its wings after a postlunch swim. The blue and white of the endless sky giving way to the ochre-orange fade of the sun. Peace in the swamp. And then -- yikes! Pickup trucks with Confederate flags across the rear windows screech to a halt. Out spring cropped-top, fatigue-wearing, gun-toting, painted-face warriors of unknown affiliation. Seriously serious-looking soldiers without a war whom one dare not risk approaching. In fact hitting the gas and getting the hell out of there is the right idea. Talk about your freaks of nature.
Yes, the clouds that billow over the Everglades and march east to erupt violently are breathtaking. So is the warmth of the ocean at midnight. But the best reason to stick around here during the swelter season is more basic: Nearly everyone is gone. Well, at least the people you want to be gone -- the tourists, conventioneers, and migratory snowbirds who flee at the first sign of serious humidity. As a result, parking spaces appear. Lines at the movies shrink. Restaurant reservations no longer need to be made a month in advance. And the nights are calm and quiet and fragrant with jasmine.
Yes, the clouds that billow over the Everglades and march east to erupt violently are breathtaking. So is the warmth of the ocean at midnight. But the best reason to stick around here during the swelter season is more basic: Nearly everyone is gone. Well, at least the people you want to be gone -- the tourists, conventioneers, and migratory snowbirds who flee at the first sign of serious humidity. As a result, parking spaces appear. Lines at the movies shrink. Restaurant reservations no longer need to be made a month in advance. And the nights are calm and quiet and fragrant with jasmine.
About 25 or 30 miles out on the Tamiami Trail there's a swerving turnoff that leads to a T-shaped strip of asphalt to nowhere. It runs parallel to the trail and about three or four city blocks in length, bordered by trees, marsh, and muck. At night especially, it's rare to encounter anyone other than the occasional snake collector or frog gigger, although possums, rabbits, and plenty of other creatures, including an occasional (extremely occasional) bobcat, come out to feed, fight, or facilitate offspring. Here, there is peace. And a stunning over-the-trees view of sunsets followed by utter darkness that allows for spectacular looks at a night sky unencumbered by the ambient light of the city. To be caught here in the middle of a thunderstorm is bliss, and when the stars put on a show (meteor showers and such), there is no better place to watch as you ponder your utter insignificance in the universe.
Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel was created to look into complaints of police misconduct. The panel is a refuge for those who are frightened by the power structure of local government and law enforcement. (There are parts of Miami, it should be noted, where complaining about the police is tantamount to asking for an ass-kicking.) So it was ironic, to say the least, that Miami City Manager Joe Arriola would choose a January 15 CIP meeting to throw a raging hissy fit -- as TV news cameras rolled. The city hall meeting had been convened to hear allegations of police brutality against FTAA protesters. When security guards tried to bar entrance to a fellow who had threatened city employees in the past, a few zealous community activists got it in their heads he was being harassed because of his political views. Arriola came out to the lobby to see what was going on. And then he detonated. News crews were treated to a red-faced tirade against activists Max Rameau and Leo Casino. Later Arriola could be heard stalking the hallway just outside the hearing, muttering, "Some people are just angry that the good guys won."
Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel was created to look into complaints of police misconduct. The panel is a refuge for those who are frightened by the power structure of local government and law enforcement. (There are parts of Miami, it should be noted, where complaining about the police is tantamount to asking for an ass-kicking.) So it was ironic, to say the least, that Miami City Manager Joe Arriola would choose a January 15 CIP meeting to throw a raging hissy fit -- as TV news cameras rolled. The city hall meeting had been convened to hear allegations of police brutality against FTAA protesters. When security guards tried to bar entrance to a fellow who had threatened city employees in the past, a few zealous community activists got it in their heads he was being harassed because of his political views. Arriola came out to the lobby to see what was going on. And then he detonated. News crews were treated to a red-faced tirade against activists Max Rameau and Leo Casino. Later Arriola could be heard stalking the hallway just outside the hearing, muttering, "Some people are just angry that the good guys won."
If you're one of the few hundred thousand souls who lives through the daily purgatory of sitting in morning-rush traffic, finding an entertaining distraction is a priority on your FM dial. So forget the monotone chitchat provided by National Public Radio on WLRN-FM. Since their arrival at the Beat last year, Mexican-American brothers Eric and Nick Vidal have been tearing up weekday mornings with their double-dope old-school hip-hop and funk mixes and their popular crank-call segment "Dropping Bombs," in which lucky callers get to play a practical joke on friends, family members, co-workers, even their bosses -- on the air. From their opening cue, a happy jig mixed over The Sanford & Son television show theme song, the Bakas provide their listeners a rudely comedic awakening. Their most engrossing routine: The duo offered lucky ladies free breast implants. Hordes of young women showed up at the designated spot only to receive complimentary chicken breasts injected with saline. Most morning shows are a poor man's version of Howard Stern, which the Baka Boyz easily outshine (as could a drunk parrot and two mimes). Already far beyond that in quality, the duo are setting a new standard, marking their own territory, probably to be copied soon by other morning shows.
BEST ROAD TO AVOID
Intersection of Coral Reef Drive, SW 117th Avenue, and Florida Turnpike
There was intense competition for this award, with many perennials in the running. But this year the title goes to a newcomer. Thanks to ever-increasing development along Coral Reef Drive west of Metrozoo, this contender came on strong. Add to the rapidly growing number of vehicles a couple of seemingly unnecessary stoplights and totally inadequate turn lanes that back up traffic and you've got a quarter-mile stretch of road that takes a good half-hour to navigate on weekday mornings and afternoons. Congratulations, Clusterfuck Junction. Now let's see if you can keep it up for another year.
BEST ROAD TO AVOID
Intersection of Coral Reef Drive, SW 117th Avenue, and Florida Turnpike
There was intense competition for this award, with many perennials in the running. But this year the title goes to a newcomer. Thanks to ever-increasing development along Coral Reef Drive west of Metrozoo, this contender came on strong. Add to the rapidly growing number of vehicles a couple of seemingly unnecessary stoplights and totally inadequate turn lanes that back up traffic and you've got a quarter-mile stretch of road that takes a good half-hour to navigate on weekday mornings and afternoons. Congratulations, Clusterfuck Junction. Now let's see if you can keep it up for another year.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon, after you've finished a full day of terrorizing everyone in your office or shop, you don't have to hate yourself. Sure, you've made your secretary's job a living hell, you've tormented your codependent girlfriend, you've sadistically tortured your wife. Radio host Jacqueline Hazel has a place for you in her heart. In her afternoon broadcast, The Forgiveness Forecast, Hazel touts the power of saying "sorry." Listen to Hazel on your drive home and you'll feel redeemed and ready to face that deep, dark truthful mirror above your bathroom sink. You'll regain the strength to continue the next day doing the awful things you do. And then apologize for. Nice way to beat the system, Hazel. Seriously, it's like Catholicism. Do whatever the hell you want, just make sure you get yourself absolved. And what better way to make amends than to apologize. After you finish listening to this uplifting show.
For a city that's relatively young, geographically challenged, and sitting at sea level, Miami should be grateful to have even one dignified place to bury its dead. It does. This is the only cemetery with the age and landscaping and, most important, notable permanent residents to make it worth visiting just to visit. And on those terms, this landmark delivers in a big way. Fat old oaks and floppy palms mix with bright bougainvillea and about a dozen other types of trees to provide shade and beauty to the burial ground, which dates from 1897, one year after Miami declared itself a city. Civic pioneer Julia Tuttle may be the most famous of the interred, but there are many other personages who played important roles in Miami's history. The fascination and revelation, though, comes in seeing how the cemetery was divided into sections for "colored," Jewish, and "other" (white) people, then trying to imagine how these folks lived together back in their time. The city's first and greatest cemetery is a moving place to visit, but note the access times. The imposing arched gate is open from 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. on weekdays and 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. on weekends. Check it out while you still can.
For a city that's relatively young, geographically challenged, and sitting at sea level, Miami should be grateful to have even one dignified place to bury its dead. It does. This is the only cemetery with the age and landscaping and, most important, notable permanent residents to make it worth visiting just to visit. And on those terms, this landmark delivers in a big way. Fat old oaks and floppy palms mix with bright bougainvillea and about a dozen other types of trees to provide shade and beauty to the burial ground, which dates from 1897, one year after Miami declared itself a city. Civic pioneer Julia Tuttle may be the most famous of the interred, but there are many other personages who played important roles in Miami's history. The fascination and revelation, though, comes in seeing how the cemetery was divided into sections for "colored," Jewish, and "other" (white) people, then trying to imagine how these folks lived together back in their time. The city's first and greatest cemetery is a moving place to visit, but note the access times. The imposing arched gate is open from 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. on weekdays and 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. on weekends. Check it out while you still can.
This past November the Miami City Commission passed a vaguely worded, overreaching bit of paranoid legislation that was an embarrassment. Worried about protesters arriving for the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit, the commission, at the police department's urging, passed a law that would make it a crime to possess a variety of innocuous items. They tried to be specific at first -- marbles, water balloons, stilts -- but then they just gave up and stated: "No person may carry or possess ... any materials or substances or pieces of hard materials or substances that are capable of being thrown or projected." Originally the city hall brain trust wanted to have the law apply to a single event of specific duration, but that effort was thwarted when someone pointed out the obvious: It was unconstitutional. So commissioners made it applicable 24-7. King Mango Strut, Miami Book Fair International, you name it -- all were subject to the same Draconian prohibitions. It was a stupid law, they were told it was a stupid law, and eventually they agreed it was stupid. Three months after enacting it, city commissioners repealed it.
This past November the Miami City Commission passed a vaguely worded, overreaching bit of paranoid legislation that was an embarrassment. Worried about protesters arriving for the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit, the commission, at the police department's urging, passed a law that would make it a crime to possess a variety of innocuous items. They tried to be specific at first -- marbles, water balloons, stilts -- but then they just gave up and stated: "No person may carry or possess ... any materials or substances or pieces of hard materials or substances that are capable of being thrown or projected." Originally the city hall brain trust wanted to have the law apply to a single event of specific duration, but that effort was thwarted when someone pointed out the obvious: It was unconstitutional. So commissioners made it applicable 24-7. King Mango Strut, Miami Book Fair International, you name it -- all were subject to the same Draconian prohibitions. It was a stupid law, they were told it was a stupid law, and eventually they agreed it was stupid. Three months after enacting it, city commissioners repealed it.
BEST SPANISH-LANGUAGE RADIO PERSONALITY
Enrique Santos and Joe Ferrero
Actually, make that personalities. With their El Vacilón de la Mañana show on El Zol, these two get away with stuff Howard Stern types can only dream about. Maybe no one at the FCC speaks Spanish. Despite the recent brouhaha over indecency, anybody who regularly listens to radio knows the real shock jocks are celebrated on the seemingly unregulated Hispanic stations. Enrique Santos and Joe Ferrero are rated highest among young listeners in Miami, but what makes them really worthy of accolades is their campaign to humiliate world leaders of local interest. In the past months they've managed to place prank phone calls to Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and Cuban leader Fidel Castro, and they just barely missed snagging Jean-Bertrand Aristide, who was gone when their call was taken by an unamused secretary to the former Haitian president. Beats the hell out of some has-been New Yawker using airtime to humiliate lesbian stripper amputees.
The body contorts.
Masters of forms undefined,
Divine and unmatched.
Men come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments, and this venerable clothier has seen them all. The thing about a really good men's suit salesman, what sets him apart from the off-the-rack hacks, is judgment. He has to be able to take the measure of a customer -- and not just literally. Is he a two-button kind of guy, or a three-button? Classic gray, dark blue -- or pimpin' metallic purple with pinstripes? Is this a man who has come to terms with his middle-age waistline, or one who needs to be gently nudged into a new size and style? The guys at Austin Burke (in business since the Forties) are experts in sussing out a man's soul. Stepping into the cavernous warehouse is like a journey back to some earlier time and place that's not quite Philly, not quite Miami, but all good. The salesmen and tailors know their business. So sit in one of the waiting chairs, or lurk among the racks and watch them work. They just might find the right man for you. Open 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. every day, except Thursday, when they are open until 8:00 p.m., and Sunday, when they don't open until 11:00 a.m.
Men come in all shapes, sizes, and temperaments, and this venerable clothier has seen them all. The thing about a really good men's suit salesman, what sets him apart from the off-the-rack hacks, is judgment. He has to be able to take the measure of a customer -- and not just literally. Is he a two-button kind of guy, or a three-button? Classic gray, dark blue -- or pimpin' metallic purple with pinstripes? Is this a man who has come to terms with his middle-age waistline, or one who needs to be gently nudged into a new size and style? The guys at Austin Burke (in business since the Forties) are experts in sussing out a man's soul. Stepping into the cavernous warehouse is like a journey back to some earlier time and place that's not quite Philly, not quite Miami, but all good. The salesmen and tailors know their business. So sit in one of the waiting chairs, or lurk among the racks and watch them work. They just might find the right man for you. Open 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. every day, except Thursday, when they are open until 8:00 p.m., and Sunday, when they don't open until 11:00 a.m.
Like any worth-his-salt railroad baron, Henry Flagler had his tracks laid and then proceeded to build a city around them. Several cities, actually, but we care only about Miami. It's not surprising a museum should honor, and document, this tropical "railroad" town's history. The museum began life under the auspices of the University of Miami at the Richmond Air Station, moved to Broward, then back again. It quickly grew, thanks to donations and wise purchases of old locomotives from around the nation. Included in the collection are gems like Roosevelt's presidential locomotive (Presidential Train One?) and a rescue train that arrived to help victims of the 1935 hurricane. (The museum itself took a direct hit during Hurricane Andrew.) As well as being displayed, several choo-choos are still operating on the property's tracks. Take the kids and explain how millions of Chinese, black, Native American, and other slaves suffered and died to build this great land of ours by driving spikes and laying rails.
A daily existence in which a simple walk down the street can be life-threatening, where the boom-boom-boom of bass music seems to emanate continuously from cars to bicycles, where all of humanity appears to be simultaneously marching toward you -- an existence like that can push even the most placid creature to the verge of homicide. But before you're condemned to death row, step off, ease up, relax. Enter the verdant haven that is the Miami Beach Botanical Garden. Founded in 1962, floundering in the Eighties, rescued in the late Nineties by a nonprofit group named the Miami Beach Garden Conservancy, the botanical garden sits on a five-acre plot across from the Miami Beach Convention Center. Aside from housing orchids, topiary, herbs, bromeliads, a Japanese water feature, and palms of all sorts, the garden hosts tai chi and Asian cooking classes, horticultural lectures, and even classical music concerts. Every year a week's worth of events pay homage to the venerable palm tree. Tending the land helps ease a troubled soul and is always welcome. If digging in the dirt becomes a habit, you can show support by becoming a member of the conservancy. It's a serene green space in the center of a hectic city better known for its sun, fun, and surf. And best of all, admission is always free.
A daily existence in which a simple walk down the street can be life-threatening, where the boom-boom-boom of bass music seems to emanate continuously from cars to bicycles, where all of humanity appears to be simultaneously marching toward you -- an existence like that can push even the most placid creature to the verge of homicide. But before you're condemned to death row, step off, ease up, relax. Enter the verdant haven that is the Miami Beach Botanical Garden. Founded in 1962, floundering in the Eighties, rescued in the late Nineties by a nonprofit group named the Miami Beach Garden Conservancy, the botanical garden sits on a five-acre plot across from the Miami Beach Convention Center. Aside from housing orchids, topiary, herbs, bromeliads, a Japanese water feature, and palms of all sorts, the garden hosts tai chi and Asian cooking classes, horticultural lectures, and even classical music concerts. Every year a week's worth of events pay homage to the venerable palm tree. Tending the land helps ease a troubled soul and is always welcome. If digging in the dirt becomes a habit, you can show support by becoming a member of the conservancy. It's a serene green space in the center of a hectic city better known for its sun, fun, and surf. And best of all, admission is always free.
A Miami native, Morgan fell into journalism as a reporter/photographer for his Richmond Heights junior-high newspaper. He fell further in when he was paid to write for his college paper. "I needed the money," he recalls. "Journalism also seemed like interesting work you could do without wearing a tie." An endangered combination of newsman and craftsman (with a childhood spent fishing, diving, and generally enjoying South Florida's various ecosystems), the seventeen-year Herald veteran consistently finds ways to manipulate the lexicon and elicit facts in order to turn environmental issues, normally as dull as dirt, into stories worth digging for. With bird's-eye clarity, he explains environmental affairs clearly and credibly. "On this beat, you know that most of what you write matters deeply to somebody," he says. "Figuring out what really counts in the sea of information is the biggest daily challenge."
A Miami native, Morgan fell into journalism as a reporter/photographer for his Richmond Heights junior-high newspaper. He fell further in when he was paid to write for his college paper. "I needed the money," he recalls. "Journalism also seemed like interesting work you could do without wearing a tie." An endangered combination of newsman and craftsman (with a childhood spent fishing, diving, and generally enjoying South Florida's various ecosystems), the seventeen-year Herald veteran consistently finds ways to manipulate the lexicon and elicit facts in order to turn environmental issues, normally as dull as dirt, into stories worth digging for. With bird's-eye clarity, he explains environmental affairs clearly and credibly. "On this beat, you know that most of what you write matters deeply to somebody," he says. "Figuring out what really counts in the sea of information is the biggest daily challenge."
This barrier island is roughly thirteen miles long. With the Atlantic on one side and the Intracoastal Waterway (known here as the Indian River) on the other, it's no more than a mile wide. But the most important measurement is this: It's about 130 miles from Miami -- far enough to escape the Magic City's gravitational pull. And indeed, upon arrival you'll experience a sort of giddy weightlessness. It is, after all, a parallel but refreshingly alien universe. The island's north end is less developed than the south, which means literally miles of sand and dunes and crashing surf and not much else. Hutchinson's northernmost tip actually lies within the city limits of mainland Fort Pierce, and this little offshore enclave is the place to stay. It boasts an authentic, laid-back, beach-town atmosphere; affordable lodging; and casual dining at places like Theo Thudpukker's Raw Bar, Archie's Seabreeze, and Chris's Hurricane Grill. Summer is the recommended season for Miami exiles -- you can simply arrive, look around, pick out a motel, and hit the beach. If you insist on advance planning, the Web offers more information than you'll ever need.
Too many judges race through their calendars, blindly dispensing whatever the better courtroom lawyer defines as justice. Senior U.S. District Judge William Hoeveler prefers to give a damn. A thoughtful, venerable jurist, Hoeveler has dedicated years to salvaging what's left of the Everglades and to making certain your children have clean drinking water when they grow up. Recently the alleged slave-driving, state-controlling, wilderness-destroying sugar barons forced Hoeveler's removal from the major Everglades-pollution case he'd overseen since 1988. The judge, it seems, had the audacity to alert the public to a nasty piece of legislation about to be signed by Gov. Jeb Bush, a new law that would ease the clean-up pressure on those very same sugar barons. (Of course Bush signed it.) Now Hoeveler is holding the gavel over a lawsuit brought by environmentalists intent on reversing a ruling that allows rock miners to gut more than 5000 acres of West Miami-Dade. He won't rush matters, he'll listen carefully to both sides, and as always, he'll do the right thing.
Too many judges race through their calendars, blindly dispensing whatever the better courtroom lawyer defines as justice. Senior U.S. District Judge William Hoeveler prefers to give a damn. A thoughtful, venerable jurist, Hoeveler has dedicated years to salvaging what's left of the Everglades and to making certain your children have clean drinking water when they grow up. Recently the alleged slave-driving, state-controlling, wilderness-destroying sugar barons forced Hoeveler's removal from the major Everglades-pollution case he'd overseen since 1988. The judge, it seems, had the audacity to alert the public to a nasty piece of legislation about to be signed by Gov. Jeb Bush, a new law that would ease the clean-up pressure on those very same sugar barons. (Of course Bush signed it.) Now Hoeveler is holding the gavel over a lawsuit brought by environmentalists intent on reversing a ruling that allows rock miners to gut more than 5000 acres of West Miami-Dade. He won't rush matters, he'll listen carefully to both sides, and as always, he'll do the right thing.
As a coach, he brought "showtime" and championships to the Los Angeles Lakers (with a little help from Magic Johnson and others). He weathered the pressure of the toughest coaching job in the NBA with the Knicks in New York. He almost -- always almost -- took the Miami Heat to the top with talents such as Tim Hardaway and Alonzo Mourning. Defense, defense, defense. Win, win, win. And then the playoffs would come and his former-team-turned-major-nemesis, the Knicks, and another almost. For the 2003-2004 season the wily Riley, president of the Heat organization, fired himself as coach and promoted Stan Van Gundy. With severe personnel changes and a new approach, the team, constantly hindered by injuries and too much unfair officiating, needs just a bit more time and a season sans fractures and sprains to provide fans with showtime once again.
They own restaurants, hotels, a media empire, and the hearts and minds of Cuban Miami. Gloria has recorded 23 albums, sold more than 70 million copies worldwide, and garnered three Grammy Awards. Emilio, the former band manager-turned-mogul, heads his own label, a major recording studio, and has bagged twelve Grammys. Basta!
They own restaurants, hotels, a media empire, and the hearts and minds of Cuban Miami. Gloria has recorded 23 albums, sold more than 70 million copies worldwide, and garnered three Grammy Awards. Emilio, the former band manager-turned-mogul, heads his own label, a major recording studio, and has bagged twelve Grammys. Basta!
There are numerous boats (and even a tall ship) offering an array of cruises out of Bayside's marina. The Queen happens to be a favorite: an open-air upper deck ceilings an enclosed (but heavily windowed) lower deck ("The bar is now open," is heard as the flat-hulled, smooth-riding boat edges past Dodge Island). If you're a local, the 90-minute ride provides the perfect break. Coming back to work with a tan and a chilled-out attitude results from the lazy cruise, but the real joy is soaking up the sun and sucking in the salty air as the tourists point to the houses of Millionaires' Row and ogle the abodes of Star Island, a vista which, to locals, proves that extremely rich people can have really bad taste in landscaping and architecture. In any case, the Queen makes several runs per day, and the cost for adults is $15. Much better for the soul than a three-martini lunch.
Art experts know that the museum, as a socio-cultural institution, was pronounced dead by a group of neo-Dada performance artists during a 1987 visit to the Museum of the Medieval Torture Arts in Toledo, Spain. The word has yet to reach most other cosmopolitan cities, but as curators of MAM can proudly attest, the Magic City is ahead of its time. "Miami remains the only major city in the United States without a world-class art museum," declared the eloquent essay that accompanied MAM's self-referential "Museums for a New Millennium: Concepts, Projects, Buildings" exhibition. A show surreally brought 25 of the most astoundingly designed art museums in the world (Frank Gehry's Guggenheim Museum in Spain, Rem Koolhaas's Center for Art and Media Technology in Germany) to MAM, which, of course, didn't make the list of 25 itself. They all fit inside MAM, thanks to the magic of photography and scale models. In the show's aftermath, however, MAM is eschewing its vanguard status and embracing the traditional, envisioning its own world-class waterfront building in Bicentennial Park. Just remember to never call it a "museum."
According to professional event planners, the Wyndham is the number-one spot in South Florida for high school reunions. Throughout the year, but especially in the late summer months, the place is heavily booked with old school pals getting together and tying one on after ten years (or fifteen or twenty) in the big bad world. Here single women are embarrassingly easy to spot. They usually arrive unescorted and look as hot as they possibly can, especially at ten-year reunions. If you're a clever fox, be ready to strike up a conversation the moment she puts on her name tag. Your lady will be hungry for attention from a good-looking man. After all, she wants to impress her former classmates. If you're lucky, she'll be there for a St. Brendan's reunion. There's nothing quite like a good Miami Catholic girl from Westchester.
According to professional event planners, the Wyndham is the number-one spot in South Florida for high school reunions. Throughout the year, but especially in the late summer months, the place is heavily booked with old school pals getting together and tying one on after ten years (or fifteen or twenty) in the big bad world. Here single women are embarrassingly easy to spot. They usually arrive unescorted and look as hot as they possibly can, especially at ten-year reunions. If you're a clever fox, be ready to strike up a conversation the moment she puts on her name tag. Your lady will be hungry for attention from a good-looking man. After all, she wants to impress her former classmates. If you're lucky, she'll be there for a St. Brendan's reunion. There's nothing quite like a good Miami Catholic girl from Westchester.
Smart, scrappy, and resolute, Lida Rodriguez-Taseff turned out to be exactly the kind of president the ACLU's Miami chapter needed to see it through a tumultuous three years. (Her tenure ended this past March.) A partner at the Duane Morris law firm, she was front and center on a wide range of constitutional conflicts, from defending Cuban exiles' right to protest the Latin Grammys to opposing the repeal of the county's gay-rights ordinance. She has been a vociferous and relentless critic of city officials' handling of protests at the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit last November. She also played a pivotal role in establishing Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel, which is now pursuing allegations of police brutality during those FTAA protests. Rodriguez-Taseff was and remains a role model for all who cherish the freedoms enshrined in the Bill of Rights.
Smart, scrappy, and resolute, Lida Rodriguez-Taseff turned out to be exactly the kind of president the ACLU's Miami chapter needed to see it through a tumultuous three years. (Her tenure ended this past March.) A partner at the Duane Morris law firm, she was front and center on a wide range of constitutional conflicts, from defending Cuban exiles' right to protest the Latin Grammys to opposing the repeal of the county's gay-rights ordinance. She has been a vociferous and relentless critic of city officials' handling of protests at the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit last November. She also played a pivotal role in establishing Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel, which is now pursuing allegations of police brutality during those FTAA protests. Rodriguez-Taseff was and remains a role model for all who cherish the freedoms enshrined in the Bill of Rights.
Their five-tiered, twelve-foot-tall House of Cards, inhabited by humanoid dummies, was a big hit at Miami Art Museum. This artistic duo also deserves credit for a shack they never built. They had planned to construct Casa del Pirata on a wall of the historic La Cabaña fortress using boards they had hoped to find in Cuba. "A sort of romantic monument to individuality and courage, misfortune, and hope," Behar says. "Maybe the house implies a shipwreck, the search for a treasure, or a story of love and betrayal." Maybe a little too pointed for paranoid government curators afraid that a dummy of the dreaded dictator as buccaneer would appear. They nixed the project, citing rules against tampering with the fort's infrastructure. Yeah, right. Meanwhile authorities in Brussels let the Argentine couple play with the façade of the Centre International pour la Ville, l'Architecture et le Paysage. For a work called The Mask, they draped a beautiful rainbow spectrum of 40-foot-long plastic streamers from the roof of the sullen brown brick museum to the sidewalk, forcing people to penetrate the strips to enter the building. R & R's surreal outdoor living room has long been a Design District icon. They're currently plotting to transform Monument Island into The Star of Miami, a huge painting visible from jets landing at MIA. See some of their works at Placemaker Gallery (3852 N. Miami Ave.) in the Design District and you'll see what we mean.
Rumors of South Beach's demise are greatly exaggerated -- at least according to Wire, the Beach weekly published and written mostly by Carl Zablotny, a one-man cheerleading army for the city's enduring charms. Since buying the paper from founder Andrew Delaplaine in 1999, Zablotny has continued its mission of chronicling the city's queer social whirl. Dashing from nightclub event to art happening, profiling local entrepreneurs and visiting celebs, as well as shooting photos of it all, Zablotny takes a refreshingly catholic view of just what constitutes a notable cultural event. It makes for a wacky mix, but Zablotny is at least as political in his outlook as Delaplaine's often over-the-top editorials were. If his impassioned campaign endorsements seem to change wildly depending upon which Beach candidates buy full-page Wire ads, as when a commissioner labeled a nightlife "Nazi" suddenly transformed into a well-meaning civic leader, well, that's part of the fun. After all, as Zablotny himself has wryly quipped in his own pages, "It takes more than a pretty face to make the cover of the Wire ... or does it?" Upton Sinclair he ain't, but for a vivid slice of the Beach life -- high, low, or in drag -- Zablotny delivers week after week.
Truth foretold: One day in the near future there will be no place to park on South Beach that will cost less than cab fare from halfway across Miami-Dade County. But till that day arrives (and it is inevitable) there are still some prime, meter-free parking spots in the lots around Flamingo Park. The park is just a few short blocks from Washington Avenue, where most of the rambunctious nightclubs are located. (When it comes to free parking on South Beach, proximity is a luxury.) You may encounter a few guys in search of sex with complete strangers, but it's relatively safe and regularly patrolled by police. The upside of that: If you're looking to find convenient parking and get gay too, you don't even have to leave the vicinity.
Truth foretold: One day in the near future there will be no place to park on South Beach that will cost less than cab fare from halfway across Miami-Dade County. But till that day arrives (and it is inevitable) there are still some prime, meter-free parking spots in the lots around Flamingo Park. The park is just a few short blocks from Washington Avenue, where most of the rambunctious nightclubs are located. (When it comes to free parking on South Beach, proximity is a luxury.) You may encounter a few guys in search of sex with complete strangers, but it's relatively safe and regularly patrolled by police. The upside of that: If you're looking to find convenient parking and get gay too, you don't even have to leave the vicinity.
Miami New Times staff writer Celeste Fraser Delgado was arrested and jailed last November as she was reporting on the protests associated with the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit. While other reporters were "embedded" with police, Delgado was in handcuffs, charged with the misdemeanors "failure to obey a lawful command" and "resisting arrest without violence," accusations she vehemently denied. After a sleepless night in the slammer, she was released from Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center, but not before local NBC affiliate WTVJ (Channel 6) and the Associated Press had reported on the incident. With the clock ticking on her fifteen minutes, Delgado quickly penned a 2700-word story about her experience. Following its publication ("Jailhouse Crock," November 27, 2003), Newsweek quoted her and PBS documentarians interviewed her, as did the Sun-Sentinel, ABC affiliate WPLG (Channel 10), Univision, and Telemundo. Later she filed a formal complaint with Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel, but by then her time was up.
Miami New Times staff writer Celeste Fraser Delgado was arrested and jailed last November as she was reporting on the protests associated with the Free Trade Area of the Americas summit. While other reporters were "embedded" with police, Delgado was in handcuffs, charged with the misdemeanors "failure to obey a lawful command" and "resisting arrest without violence," accusations she vehemently denied. After a sleepless night in the slammer, she was released from Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center, but not before local NBC affiliate WTVJ (Channel 6) and the Associated Press had reported on the incident. With the clock ticking on her fifteen minutes, Delgado quickly penned a 2700-word story about her experience. Following its publication ("Jailhouse Crock," November 27, 2003), Newsweek quoted her and PBS documentarians interviewed her, as did the Sun-Sentinel, ABC affiliate WPLG (Channel 10), Univision, and Telemundo. Later she filed a formal complaint with Miami's Civilian Investigative Panel, but by then her time was up.
Traditional feminists (but not Camille Paglia's pro-sex sect) will likely be aghast, but our choice features locally based and produced comedic porn "films," weekly episodes showing random women bribed off the street and into a van, then into depravity. This isn't your run-of-the-mill autoerotic stimuli. The site states: "The true story of two guys, a video camera, a big fucking bus, and a lesson on the depths of human debauchery." Each guy comes equipped with an enormous member and a mischievous sense of humor. Questions like, "How do you feel about political ethics in America?" are routinely asked during bonings. Segments featured in the blooper section include episodes where the Bang team misses the targeted girl ("Dude, you just came on my leg!") and a classic wherein a girl's mom calls her cell phone during filming. Of course it's answered, and the mother's voice is actually heard asking for her daughter. "She can't talk" was followed by an obscene description of the slightly perverse activity the girl was involved in at that moment. In case you miss the point, the objective of this Website is not to arouse anything but disgust in what the Bangs see as an "offensively politically correct world."
Launched in 1996 by three Miami brothers-in-law who love to fish and eat la comida Cubana, this is a mouthwatering source of opinions about local Cuban cuisine, from restaurants to recipes. The three guys -- Jorge Castillo, Raúl Musibay, and Glenn Lindgren -- have made several appearances on various Food Network shows and in media articles. But more than a foodish curiosity, the Website is a celebration of Cuban neighborhoods (Little Havana, Hialeah, and others) that offers insights into the differences between the citified Cuban food at Versailles and La Carreta's traditional fare, the advantages of buying produce from street vendors, and, not least, how to party like a Cuban.
It's always threat-level orange when John Timoney opens his mouth. But this inspired utterance, issued while he was on a bike tour of the anti-free-trade protest zone in downtown Miami this past November, rocketed the churlish chief well into the red zone. Perhaps he was drunk from the $8.5 million the Department of Homeland Security allotted the Magic City police force to fend off opponents of the Free Trade Association of the Americas. "You're bad. Fuck you!" he yelled at a young male demonstrator as undercover cops shoved the lad against a car to arrest him. Scrappy Miami Herald reporter Oscar Corral, who was bicycle-embedded with Timoney when he snagged the quote, slammed it into the lead sentence of his story, right where it belonged. Timoney later denied saying "You're bad," insisting that he doesn't talk like that. But he may have blurted the "Fuck you" part, he allowed with a chuckle. The prudish daily softened the f-word to "f---" on the printed page, but that didn't keep this quote from ricocheting into a revealing metaphor of the man Miami pays to keep the peace.
It's always threat-level orange when John Timoney opens his mouth. But this inspired utterance, issued while he was on a bike tour of the anti-free-trade protest zone in downtown Miami this past November, rocketed the churlish chief well into the red zone. Perhaps he was drunk from the $8.5 million the Department of Homeland Security allotted the Magic City police force to fend off opponents of the Free Trade Association of the Americas. "You're bad. Fuck you!" he yelled at a young male demonstrator as undercover cops shoved the lad against a car to arrest him. Scrappy Miami Herald reporter Oscar Corral, who was bicycle-embedded with Timoney when he snagged the quote, slammed it into the lead sentence of his story, right where it belonged. Timoney later denied saying "You're bad," insisting that he doesn't talk like that. But he may have blurted the "Fuck you" part, he allowed with a chuckle. The prudish daily softened the f-word to "f---" on the printed page, but that didn't keep this quote from ricocheting into a revealing metaphor of the man Miami pays to keep the peace.
In November 2000 this former WSVN-TV (Channel 7) correspondent was arrested for aggravated battery. That's the type of reporter he was before becoming a cable-news superstar. The charge resulted from an altercation in which he and another journalist wrangled over a parking space while covering the Bush-Gore election fiasco. Now he sits in the anchor chair on the Fox News Channel from 3:00 to 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 to 8:00 p.m., placing him near the top of the cable-news heap. According to a Website that ranks TV personalities, Smith is more popular, sexier, and talented than Jay Leno, Oprah Winfrey, and Conan O'Brien. No wonder Fox's ratings have skyrocketed. Nowadays he doesn't have to fight over parking spaces. There's one at the Fox studio with his name on it.
In November 2000 this former WSVN-TV (Channel 7) correspondent was arrested for aggravated battery. That's the type of reporter he was before becoming a cable-news superstar. The charge resulted from an altercation in which he and another journalist wrangled over a parking space while covering the Bush-Gore election fiasco. Now he sits in the anchor chair on the Fox News Channel from 3:00 to 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 to 8:00 p.m., placing him near the top of the cable-news heap. According to a Website that ranks TV personalities, Smith is more popular, sexier, and talented than Jay Leno, Oprah Winfrey, and Conan O'Brien. No wonder Fox's ratings have skyrocketed. Nowadays he doesn't have to fight over parking spaces. There's one at the Fox studio with his name on it.
Attention Internet hermits: Being online will no longer be an acceptable excuse for your antisocial behavior -- at least not in Coral Gables. Following the lead of many businesses in many cities, the Coral Gables Business Improvement District along with ADX Technologies and IDS Telecom have installed a free (really!) wireless Internet connection on the Mile. The motive: Visitors tech out for a while, then maybe hang out and drop some green at area restaurants and shops. Brilliant! To take advantage all you'll need is a Wi-Fi, or "wireless fidelity," compatible adapter card or wireless-ready computer or portable. The cloud (another nickname for a Wi-Fi zone) is at the intersection of Ponce and Miracle Mile. Plans are in the works (Adobe mostly) to extend this cloud the entire length of the district. Fast approaching is the day of one super computer (named Hal) hooked to every person's keyboard and mouse. Instructions are available at www.gableshotspot.com.
BEST MILE OF MIAMI
North Miami Avenue between 20th and 36th streets
In this sixteen-block stretch of Miami's Wynwood neighborhood you can see the past and the future simultaneously. Not long ago it was a forlorn and forbidding stretch of warehouses punctuated by abandoned storefronts and the occasional bodega or bar. Today it is the spine of what has come to be known as the Wynwood Art District. First came the artists themselves, who'd fled Miami Beach's inflated prices to set up studios in spacious, affordable, but dilapidated old buildings. Then came gallerists who gambled by opening commercial venues to show the artists' work in an area more menacing than welcoming. Then came the early real estate speculators who saw potential. They were followed by a stampede of speculators who feared they'd be too late. Now the area has a future, though it appears it will be dominated by a single massive development project that will soon break ground. Dubbed Midtown Miami and covering some 56 acres along the east side of North Miami Avenue between 29th and 36th streets, it will be a city unto itself -- 3000 condominiums, 1000 apartments, 100,000 square feet of office space, and 1,000,000 square feet of commercial space. By the time it is completed, the artists undoubtedly will have migrated yet again, urban nomads cursed by their own foresight.
BEST MILE OF MIAMI
North Miami Avenue between 20th and 36th streets
In this sixteen-block stretch of Miami's Wynwood neighborhood you can see the past and the future simultaneously. Not long ago it was a forlorn and forbidding stretch of warehouses punctuated by abandoned storefronts and the occasional bodega or bar. Today it is the spine of what has come to be known as the Wynwood Art District. First came the artists themselves, who'd fled Miami Beach's inflated prices to set up studios in spacious, affordable, but dilapidated old buildings. Then came gallerists who gambled by opening commercial venues to show the artists' work in an area more menacing than welcoming. Then came the early real estate speculators who saw potential. They were followed by a stampede of speculators who feared they'd be too late. Now the area has a future, though it appears it will be dominated by a single massive development project that will soon break ground. Dubbed Midtown Miami and covering some 56 acres along the east side of North Miami Avenue between 29th and 36th streets, it will be a city unto itself -- 3000 condominiums, 1000 apartments, 100,000 square feet of office space, and 1,000,000 square feet of commercial space. By the time it is completed, the artists undoubtedly will have migrated yet again, urban nomads cursed by their own foresight.
In the theater, sometimes everything just falls into place. That was definitely the case with GableStage's masterful presentation of The Goat. Featuring Edward Albee's bitterly funny script, a fine cast, exceptionally effective direction from artistic director Joseph Adler, and an outstanding set design by Rich Simone, this production was a gleeful blend of absurdity, horror, and dry humor that sent audiences' heads spinning.
Mario Diament's tale of five characters in search of one another proved to be a fascinating exploration of chance, fate, irrational obsession, and love at first sight. Delighting audiences at the New Theatre in Coral Gables, the tale involved a seemingly simple string of impromptu encounters and quiet conversations but was really a complex interweaving of characters and ideas that made for intriguing, intellectually challenging theater.
Alvin Malnik and son Shareef haven't been the subjects of a Hollywood film or tell-all book. But they should be. Al, an attorney, garnered notoriety for his long association with legendary Mob financier Meyer Lansky. The New Jersey Casino Control Commission, in denying Al a casino license in 1980, labeled him "a person of unsuitable character and unsuitable reputation [because he] associated with persons engaged in organized criminal activities, and that he himself participated in transactions that were clearly illegitimate and illegal." In some circles, that sort of publicity would be a career-killer, but it only served to make Al's the Forge restaurant (which he purchased in 1968 and lavishly refurbished) a wickedly seductive destination for generations of celebrities -- from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson. (Jacko and 70-year-old Al are best buds.) His wealth wasn't solely the result of the Forge's success. Al has also reaped riches as owner of Title Loans of America, an operation that has been called "legalized loan-sharking" for its practice of lending money at usurious rates to people whose only collateral is their car (hence the "title" in the company name). In 1991 Al handed over the Forge operations to son Mark, who by then had changed his name to Shareef and had satisfied his wild-side urge to race off-shore power boats and Le Mans Series Porches. The younger Malnik profitably reinvented the restaurant as a hip destination for the jet set who, in the early Nineties, began favoring Miami Beach as an international playground. In the process, though, he managed to maintain the Forge's decadent and vaguely illicit ambiance. His good looks and trademark Lothario mustache have made him one of the most recognizable faces on South Beach, and have landed him a few acting roles as well (Just Cause, The Blackout, Coffee and Tobacco). Shareef, once married to Saudi princess Sheika Hoda Al-Fassi, recently split from wife number four. How's that for a father-son team?
Alvin Malnik and son Shareef haven't been the subjects of a Hollywood film or tell-all book. But they should be. Al, an attorney, garnered notoriety for his long association with legendary Mob financier Meyer Lansky. The New Jersey Casino Control Commission, in denying Al a casino license in 1980, labeled him "a person of unsuitable character and unsuitable reputation [because he] associated with persons engaged in organized criminal activities, and that he himself participated in transactions that were clearly illegitimate and illegal." In some circles, that sort of publicity would be a career-killer, but it only served to make Al's the Forge restaurant (which he purchased in 1968 and lavishly refurbished) a wickedly seductive destination for generations of celebrities -- from Frank Sinatra to Michael Jackson. (Jacko and 70-year-old Al are best buds.) His wealth wasn't solely the result of the Forge's success. Al has also reaped riches as owner of Title Loans of America, an operation that has been called "legalized loan-sharking" for its practice of lending money at usurious rates to people whose only collateral is their car (hence the "title" in the company name). In 1991 Al handed over the Forge operations to son Mark, who by then had changed his name to Shareef and had satisfied his wild-side urge to race off-shore power boats and Le Mans Series Porches. The younger Malnik profitably reinvented the restaurant as a hip destination for the jet set who, in the early Nineties, began favoring Miami Beach as an international playground. In the process, though, he managed to maintain the Forge's decadent and vaguely illicit ambiance. His good looks and trademark Lothario mustache have made him one of the most recognizable faces on South Beach, and have landed him a few acting roles as well (Just Cause, The Blackout, Coffee and Tobacco). Shareef, once married to Saudi princess Sheika Hoda Al-Fassi, recently split from wife number four. How's that for a father-son team?
Battered, bruised, but far from beaten, Merrett Stierheim in June will relinquish his position as the superintendent of Miami-Dade County Public Schools. When he took the $210,000 job in 2001, Stierheim set out to do what he does best: reform a public agency plagued by low morale, bureaucratic ineptitude, rampant cronyism, and outright corruption. He has succeeded on some fronts; for example, hiring the district's first inspector general and exposing the blatantly political nature of career advancement. But Stierheim was only able to scratch the surface of the deeply entrenched problems that cripple the nation's fourth-largest school district. In the months preceding his announcement that he would be stepping down, Stierheim found himself under constant attack: The teachers' union bashed him during contract negotiations; he clashed with the state oversight board that controlled tens of millions of dollars in school-construction money; and small-minded, short-sighted board members never stopped harassing him. But even as he prepares to depart, Stierheim's enemies are on their toes. The veteran bureaucrat is contemplating the unthinkable: running for a seat on the school board. "I care about the school district a lot," he says, "but do I really want to do something political when I've been apolitical all my professional life?"
Battered, bruised, but far from beaten, Merrett Stierheim in June will relinquish his position as the superintendent of Miami-Dade County Public Schools. When he took the $210,000 job in 2001, Stierheim set out to do what he does best: reform a public agency plagued by low morale, bureaucratic ineptitude, rampant cronyism, and outright corruption. He has succeeded on some fronts; for example, hiring the district's first inspector general and exposing the blatantly political nature of career advancement. But Stierheim was only able to scratch the surface of the deeply entrenched problems that cripple the nation's fourth-largest school district. In the months preceding his announcement that he would be stepping down, Stierheim found himself under constant attack: The teachers' union bashed him during contract negotiations; he clashed with the state oversight board that controlled tens of millions of dollars in school-construction money; and small-minded, short-sighted board members never stopped harassing him. But even as he prepares to depart, Stierheim's enemies are on their toes. The veteran bureaucrat is contemplating the unthinkable: running for a seat on the school board. "I care about the school district a lot," he says, "but do I really want to do something political when I've been apolitical all my professional life?"
The ebullient, outspoken Adler might seem a complete mismatch with tart, taciturn Edward Albee (author of The Goat or Who Is Sylvia?). Nonetheless Adler's masterful staging of Albee's provocative tragicomedy at GableStage was a perfect meeting of master minds. Adler is well known for his gutsy, go-for-broke style, but his work with The Goat was particularly risky and insightful, put together with such skill that many of his roll-the-dice choices looked as if he were using loaded bones to make point every toss.
Sure, the feng-shui foyer of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel is fabulous, and the Bacardi compound is breathtaking, but county hall, anarchy's atrium, puts the public in public space. Here you can catch Metrorail, the Metromover, link to the bus system, buy El Horoscopo at a news shop, view larger-than-life-size flags from all 50 states, attend and be amused by a Miami-Dade County Commission meeting, munch on a Cinnabon. Though the hegemony of city, county, state, and federal government slouches all around, county hall, with its main gallery launching from the second floor, turns its face to the sky. Floor-to-high-ceiling windows provide a view to the weather on the sides not obscured by the elevated tracks of the Metrorail. The best thing about our government center is its devotion to functionality and lack of pretense -- anyone can go there, no velvet ropes block access, and watching the cycle of the day trundle along is free. And open to the public. In fact, the place is owned by the public.
Sure, the feng-shui foyer of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel is fabulous, and the Bacardi compound is breathtaking, but county hall, anarchy's atrium, puts the public in public space. Here you can catch Metrorail, the Metromover, link to the bus system, buy El Horoscopo at a news shop, view larger-than-life-size flags from all 50 states, attend and be amused by a Miami-Dade County Commission meeting, munch on a Cinnabon. Though the hegemony of city, county, state, and federal government slouches all around, county hall, with its main gallery launching from the second floor, turns its face to the sky. Floor-to-high-ceiling windows provide a view to the weather on the sides not obscured by the elevated tracks of the Metrorail. The best thing about our government center is its devotion to functionality and lack of pretense -- anyone can go there, no velvet ropes block access, and watching the cycle of the day trundle along is free. And open to the public. In fact, the place is owned by the public.
He's big, strong, a double-double rock of muscle and hustle in the center of the Miami Heat's tenacious defense. He has a soft touch on his jumper and adds a dimension of assets that can't be measured by stats. The iron man (with the forgivable iron hands) can even fish fairly well, his favorite off-season hobby. But it's those natty dreads (with a Bob Marley tattoo for emphasis) which remind all that the NBA presses on with a Quaker's sense of individuality. His hairstyle grabs attention the way he grabs rebounds, to the point that the Heat sells Brian Grant dreadlock headbands so that everyone who's six-nine, built like a mountain, and one of the most reliable players in the NBA can be just like him. Sort of.
Clearwood's performance in Stop Kiss as a restless New Yorker who finds herself falling in love with another woman was a significant creative achievement and a highlight not just of the Sol Theatre Project's offerings but of the entire theater season. Clearwood delivered a grounded, honest performance, and had to do so within a mind-boggling, nonlinear narrative, alternating scenes before and after a horrible crime. In so doing, she managed to reveal a fully human heroine -- dazed, confused, hilarious, and heartbreaking.
Built by crazy dreamers who turned swampland into gold, Miami truly is a magic city. Henry Flagler was one of the greatest of our early alchemists. Merely on the sweet scent of a fabled orange blossom sent to him by Julia Tuttle, old Henry built a railroad to nowhere and fathered a unique American city. So it's fitting that the most obvious tribute to him should stand like a phallic beacon on an artificially created island in a dredged-out bay. Monument Island sits midway between Star Island and Rivo Alto Island, which straddles the Venetian Causeway connecting Miami and Miami Beach. While the memorial obelisk itself is fenced in and inaccessible, the island's shoreline is a popular spot for weekend boat parties. Flagler would have approved.
Built by crazy dreamers who turned swampland into gold, Miami truly is a magic city. Henry Flagler was one of the greatest of our early alchemists. Merely on the sweet scent of a fabled orange blossom sent to him by Julia Tuttle, old Henry built a railroad to nowhere and fathered a unique American city. So it's fitting that the most obvious tribute to him should stand like a phallic beacon on an artificially created island in a dredged-out bay. Monument Island sits midway between Star Island and Rivo Alto Island, which straddles the Venetian Causeway connecting Miami and Miami Beach. While the memorial obelisk itself is fenced in and inaccessible, the island's shoreline is a popular spot for weekend boat parties. Flagler would have approved.
Here's a lobbyist pushing age 60 who not only works hard and plays hard, but for years was lucky enough to get away with mixing the two. That is, until Miami cops busted Sisser in Coconut Grove this past September and charged him with possession of crack cocaine and a glass pipe. Thanks to our county's nurturing Drug Court, however, this elder statesman of the local lobbying community got a good deal, though not as nice as the one that earned him four million dollars for persuading school board members to choose a financially troubled company to provide health insurance for school district staff. Nor as nice as the deals he worked out with convicted embezzler and former teachers union boss Pat Tornillo to finance the campaigns of the very school board members who later voted for that juicy insurance contract. The Drug Court judge dropped charges against him on condition he suffer through a 30-day detox program in Arizona, after which he was to urinate for the court twice a week. But at an appearance before the judge in early January, Sisser confessed that his pee wouldn't be clean that week, for he had been playing too hard again. The judge threw the book at him: More detox, but this time 60 days!
Here's a lobbyist pushing age 60 who not only works hard and plays hard, but for years was lucky enough to get away with mixing the two. That is, until Miami cops busted Sisser in Coconut Grove this past September and charged him with possession of crack cocaine and a glass pipe. Thanks to our county's nurturing Drug Court, however, this elder statesman of the local lobbying community got a good deal, though not as nice as the one that earned him four million dollars for persuading school board members to choose a financially troubled company to provide health insurance for school district staff. Nor as nice as the deals he worked out with convicted embezzler and former teachers union boss Pat Tornillo to finance the campaigns of the very school board members who later voted for that juicy insurance contract. The Drug Court judge dropped charges against him on condition he suffer through a 30-day detox program in Arizona, after which he was to urinate for the court twice a week. But at an appearance before the judge in early January, Sisser confessed that his pee wouldn't be clean that week, for he had been playing too hard again. The judge threw the book at him: More detox, but this time 60 days!
The multitalented Moreland has long been a South Florida favorite, but her performance as the boozy, deliciously nasty Miss Hannigan in the Actors' Playhouse version of Annie was a revelation. Moreland's comedic skills are tops, but she also discovered the character's dark, desperate side with disturbing clarity. Moreland didn't just re-create the role, she redefined it.
The renowned Bikel has been a major figure in American theater for so long, it's easy to take him for granted. But stage acting doesn't get any better than his turn in The Chosen at the Coconut Grove Playhouse. As an anguished rabbi, Bikel was both a deeply emotional character and a short course in understatement: What he didn't say and do was as powerful as what he did.
Every view of Miami Beach or downtown Miami is studded with this symbol of that most recurrent theme in Miami's history -- the land boom. In the early years it was all about selling swampland to speculators and suckers. The only difference today is that the sprawl is vertical instead of horizontal. Folks, don't be left behind! Line up here for your chance to buy that shoebox in the sky!
Every view of Miami Beach or downtown Miami is studded with this symbol of that most recurrent theme in Miami's history -- the land boom. In the early years it was all about selling swampland to speculators and suckers. The only difference today is that the sprawl is vertical instead of horizontal. Folks, don't be left behind! Line up here for your chance to buy that shoebox in the sky!
This past New Year's Eve, Engel reserved three of the VIP lounge areas at B.E.D., the restaurant/nightclub on Washington Avenue in South Beach. Engel, a German native, wanted to throw a nice little party for himself and a few friends. But as midnight neared, he apparently couldn't contain his enthusiasm for celebrating. He ordered magnums of Dom Perignon for his guests. His urge to spread cheer didn't stop there. He arranged to send magnums of Dom to all the other lounge areas. Then he ordered up a round of New Year's drinks for everyone at the bar. Engel's midnight munificence set him back roughly $10,000. The high-spirited bon vivant wasn't done yet. Each hour on the hour he sent a new round of champagne magnums circulating through the lounge. Total by night's end: $65,000. A generous man indeed, and equally generous with the B.E.D. staff. To his bill he added a $30,000 tip. With taxes, Benno's big night came to a whopping $96,000. Prosit!
This past New Year's Eve, Engel reserved three of the VIP lounge areas at B.E.D., the restaurant/nightclub on Washington Avenue in South Beach. Engel, a German native, wanted to throw a nice little party for himself and a few friends. But as midnight neared, he apparently couldn't contain his enthusiasm for celebrating. He ordered magnums of Dom Perignon for his guests. His urge to spread cheer didn't stop there. He arranged to send magnums of Dom to all the other lounge areas. Then he ordered up a round of New Year's drinks for everyone at the bar. Engel's midnight munificence set him back roughly $10,000. The high-spirited bon vivant wasn't done yet. Each hour on the hour he sent a new round of champagne magnums circulating through the lounge. Total by night's end: $65,000. A generous man indeed, and equally generous with the B.E.D. staff. To his bill he added a $30,000 tip. With taxes, Benno's big night came to a whopping $96,000. Prosit!
Fortune's Fool opened a year ago at the Caldwell Theatre up in Boca Raton, a bit too late to honor this actor in last year's issue, but the memory of Wade's performance lingers on and now's the time to pay him his props and give him his award. As a supercilious Russian aristocrat, he was a model of acting style and craft, balancing superb comedic timing with sudden, unnerving moments of casual cruelty.
This North Miami company devoted to African-American playwrights and culture has managed to survive a looong time, through thick and thin (mostly thin). Past work has been all over the map in terms of quality, but this season it all came together for the Ensemble. Jerry Maple, Jr., and John Pryor's resourceful directing and an increasingly assured team of talents are backed by solid production and technical support in the company's newly renovated studio space. Each show of the season -- The Piano Lesson, Strands, and now Flyin' West -- has been a significant step up in quality and power. What the "M" stands for must remain a mystery, but we do know what it should stand for: More!
Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Every time you cross this classic causeway you can virtually hear the sound of money dancing back into your pocket. As long as the slow-motion construction continues on a new toll booth (modeled on the original), there will be no charge to use the Venetian Causeway. One of the most beautiful thoroughfares in South Florida, it offers great views of the downtown skyline, Biscayne Bay, waterfront homes dotting the Venetian islands, and the hordes of bikers, bladers, and joggers who constantly are zipping about. Be sure to cram in as many trips as you can before July -- that's when the new toll booth is scheduled to open.
Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Ka-ching. Every time you cross this classic causeway you can virtually hear the sound of money dancing back into your pocket. As long as the slow-motion construction continues on a new toll booth (modeled on the original), there will be no charge to use the Venetian Causeway. One of the most beautiful thoroughfares in South Florida, it offers great views of the downtown skyline, Biscayne Bay, waterfront homes dotting the Venetian islands, and the hordes of bikers, bladers, and joggers who constantly are zipping about. Be sure to cram in as many trips as you can before July -- that's when the new toll booth is scheduled to open.
While the powers that be in this town have pinned all their most delirious PR pipe dreams (and taxpayer dollars) on ill-conceived money pits such as the Performing Arts Center and more arenas than we have teams, it's the small art spaces and their starving inhabitants that are building the real-deal cultural infrastructure of temporal Miami. This Little Havana space, run by Artemis's lovely Susan Caraballo, is one of the city's sensory treasures. Surreal Saturdays, in particular, tend to mix different genres of art, from passive forms like sculpture and photography to performance art such as plays, interactive dance troupes, music, and intriguing social experiments presented as art. PS 742 has also played host to much of the Subtropics Experimental Music Festival, which, rest assured, will never be booked into the PAC.
BEST MARRIAGE PROPOSAL
George Sanchez Calderon's
Midnight Midtown Midway during Art Basel
Miami artist George Sanchez Calderon's contribution to the Art Basel art fair last December was the carnival he installed one night at the Buena Vista rail yard just south of 36th Street in Wynwood. Beneath circus banners and a Ferris wheel, local musicians, poets, and dancers strutted their stuff, along with the future developers of the 56-acre tract, who helped pay for the bash. Hundreds of revelers were lured over from the Design District by the scent of free booze and flirtation. But Midnight Midtown Midway, as Sanchez dubbed the event, was even more layered than that. He had planned a secret little happening within a happening. "The only people who knew were the fireworks guy, the toothless Ferris wheel operator, and my one buddy who was standing next to him," Sanchez recounts. At 11:30 p.m., as the Ferris wheel seat carrying Sanchez and his girlfriend Judy Perez whizzed through the air, he popped the question. "The Ferris wheel was spinning, so she was confused and convoluted, but when she said Yes, I stuck my hand out, signaled to the guy to stop the Ferris wheel on top. And as we were going up to the top, I pressed fast-dial on my cell phone to the fireworks guy. So the moment the Ferris wheel stopped, on the exact apex, the first fireworks went off."
BEST MARRIAGE PROPOSAL
George Sanchez Calderon's
Midnight Midtown Midway during Art Basel
Miami artist George Sanchez Calderon's contribution to the Art Basel art fair last December was the carnival he installed one night at the Buena Vista rail yard just south of 36th Street in Wynwood. Beneath circus banners and a Ferris wheel, local musicians, poets, and dancers strutted their stuff, along with the future developers of the 56-acre tract, who helped pay for the bash. Hundreds of revelers were lured over from the Design District by the scent of free booze and flirtation. But Midnight Midtown Midway, as Sanchez dubbed the event, was even more layered than that. He had planned a secret little happening within a happening. "The only people who knew were the fireworks guy, the toothless Ferris wheel operator, and my one buddy who was standing next to him," Sanchez recounts. At 11:30 p.m., as the Ferris wheel seat carrying Sanchez and his girlfriend Judy Perez whizzed through the air, he popped the question. "The Ferris wheel was spinning, so she was confused and convoluted, but when she said Yes, I stuck my hand out, signaled to the guy to stop the Ferris wheel on top. And as we were going up to the top, I pressed fast-dial on my cell phone to the fireworks guy. So the moment the Ferris wheel stopped, on the exact apex, the first fireworks went off."
When Luis Botifoll passed away last September at the age of 95, he left behind a 44-year legacy of community activism unmatched by any one man -- and that's just the story on this side of the Florida Straits. Twice exiled to the U.S. and a graduate of Tulane University, Botifoll was a lawyer and well-respected newspaper publisher in Havana before fleeing in 1960. He immediately went to work on the problems facing the exile community here in its new "temporary" home. Perhaps his greatest impact was felt not in publishing or law, but in banking. In 1970 he joined Republic National Bank, where, with remarkable foresight, he saw to it that Cuban exiles with impressive credentials but little credit history in Miami received business loans other banks denied them. Within a few short years the community vibrated with new growth; the bank prospered as well. (Lesson: A little well-directed money can go a long way to help people.) Botifoll later turned his attention to building bridges among South Florida's sometimes contentious ethnic groups. He also proved to be a wizard at raising money for many organizations, including United Way and the University of Miami. Age seemed not to slow him down at all. He died a few hours after meeting with Spanish Prime Minister José María Aznar, a session devoted to local community issues, of course. Next year in La Habana, amigo.
When Luis Botifoll passed away last September at the age of 95, he left behind a 44-year legacy of community activism unmatched by any one man -- and that's just the story on this side of the Florida Straits. Twice exiled to the U.S. and a graduate of Tulane University, Botifoll was a lawyer and well-respected newspaper publisher in Havana before fleeing in 1960. He immediately went to work on the problems facing the exile community here in its new "temporary" home. Perhaps his greatest impact was felt not in publishing or law, but in banking. In 1970 he joined Republic National Bank, where, with remarkable foresight, he saw to it that Cuban exiles with impressive credentials but little credit history in Miami received business loans other banks denied them. Within a few short years the community vibrated with new growth; the bank prospered as well. (Lesson: A little well-directed money can go a long way to help people.) Botifoll later turned his attention to building bridges among South Florida's sometimes contentious ethnic groups. He also proved to be a wizard at raising money for many organizations, including United Way and the University of Miami. Age seemed not to slow him down at all. He died a few hours after meeting with Spanish Prime Minister José María Aznar, a session devoted to local community issues, of course. Next year in La Habana, amigo.
In shops along Calle Ocho and Hialeah's Palm Avenue rest bundles of Libre, a Spanish-language newspaper published by disgraced politician Demetrio Perez, Jr. In 2002 the former school board member was removed from office for defrauding two women out of $18,000. The same year, the Miami Herald also exposed how Perez pocketed more than a million dollars in rent payments from public-school funds while he was on the board. Public disgrace is becoming common among journalists, so the sanctimonious Perez naturally launched a newspaper. His weekly publication is a testament to the man's enormous ego and conservative political ideology. Every Wednesday Libre readers are bombarded with communist-bashing propaganda from Perez and decrepit Castro antagonizers such as Armando Perez-Roura and Agustin Tamargo. Perez shamelessly promotes his other business ventures: An advertisement touting Perez's for-profit Lincoln-Martí schools and excerpts from his Citizens Training Handbook are examples. If you buy his worldview, you'll love Libre. If not, read it for laughs, really hearty laughs. You can't lose, even if you're just some illiterate sexist: Thalía or Shakira or some other bodacious Latin bombshell adorns Libre's front page on a weekly basis.
Urban America is part community newspaper, part local-music rag. A recent issue transitioned from an op-ed piece encouraging pay raises for teachers to profiles of Orlando MC Swamburger and SoFla R&B act atripthroughthemind. The writing: ambitious and workmanlike, sparked by an unabashed belief in the power of hip-hop culture. The enthusiasm has proved infectious. Since 2000 the monthly, run by publisher Brother Tony Muhammad and editor-in-chief Aisha Medina, has developed a 50,000-plus readership of mostly young urbanites drawn to topics and personalities rarely found in mainstream media.
BEST PLACE TO PEOPLE-WATCH
Stephen P. Clark Government Center courtyard
It's probably just as well that the government center courtyard isn't extravagantly landscaped and decorated, because it would most certainly be overshadowed by the real-life dramas that unfold there on a daily basis. Its location is a natural magnet. The Metrorail's government center stop is directly above it. Within your field of view is the Miami-Dade Cultural Center, the county courthouse, the central bus terminal, the main public library, and various government buildings. It's hard to imagine a resident or tourist who hasn't at one time or another crossed the courtyard, at least on the way to someplace else. But it's the people with nowhere else to go who make the place so engaging. The benches invite area bums and crazies to sit a spell while being regaled by their own. Relatively quiet Sundays, when the missionaries drop by to sermonize to the apparently drunken flock, might even be the best time. Unlike other people-watching spots, however, you won't just be a spectator here. You'll become part of the entertainment when, without fail, somebody will approach you hoping for "spare" change, some attention, or simply directions how to get out of there quickly.
BEST PLACE TO PEOPLE-WATCH
Stephen P. Clark Government Center courtyard
It's probably just as well that the government center courtyard isn't extravagantly landscaped and decorated, because it would most certainly be overshadowed by the real-life dramas that unfold there on a daily basis. Its location is a natural magnet. The Metrorail's government center stop is directly above it. Within your field of view is the Miami-Dade Cultural Center, the county courthouse, the central bus terminal, the main public library, and various government buildings. It's hard to imagine a resident or tourist who hasn't at one time or another crossed the courtyard, at least on the way to someplace else. But it's the people with nowhere else to go who make the place so engaging. The benches invite area bums and crazies to sit a spell while being regaled by their own. Relatively quiet Sundays, when the missionaries drop by to sermonize to the apparently drunken flock, might even be the best time. Unlike other people-watching spots, however, you won't just be a spectator here. You'll become part of the entertainment when, without fail, somebody will approach you hoping for "spare" change, some attention, or simply directions how to get out of there quickly.
Suicidal bicyclists are nothing new to downtown, South Beach, the Grove, and other auto-clogged communities, but lately there's been a number of them who have tossed out the delightfully revealing bike shorts and tight shirts for three-piece suits and Italian leather shoes. This development might be nothing more than fallout from the metrosexual trend that somehow made it okay for guys to pluck their eyebrows (bleccch). Who cares? It's hot, hot, hot. Now some gearshifting Einstein needs to figure out the mechanics of pedaling around glamorously in evening gowns and cocktail dresses.
BEST POLITICAL COUP
New regime at Miami's Community Redevelopment Agency
In recent years the CRA, created to revitalize long-suffering Overtown, routinely handed out taxpayer money for a plethora of intangible goods and services, often "with no evidence of board approval," as Miami's auditor general Victor Igwe put it not long ago. Like the $4250 a CRA employee received (on top of his salary) to photograph bus benches in the Bahamas. Or the $125,000 former county transit administrator Vernon Clarke was handed to study bus stops for eighteen months. Or the $200,000 per year in consulting fees that went to Richard Judy, ex-director of the county aviation department. (He was fired in 1989 after commissioners learned he'd spent $300,000 without their approval.) In all, some $17 million seemed to have disappeared over a period of years. Finally the FBI, the IRS, and the State Attorney's Office took notice, which concentrated the minds of city commissioners. In December 2002 they ousted executive director Annette Lewis, a protégée of Art Teele and a specialist in invisible-project budgets, pleasant obfuscation, and ignoring public-records requests. Lewis was replaced by former assistant city manager Frank Rollason, who looked around, didn't like what he saw, and began making changes, including firing Judy because he couldn't figure out what the guy was doing for $200,000 per year. This past January commissioners voted to create an independent oversight board for the CRA and to rotate the troubled agency's chairman, stripping Teele of the title he'd held and the fiefdom he'd controlled for six years.
BEST POLITICAL COUP
New regime at Miami's Community Redevelopment Agency
In recent years the CRA, created to revitalize long-suffering Overtown, routinely handed out taxpayer money for a plethora of intangible goods and services, often "with no evidence of board approval," as Miami's auditor general Victor Igwe put it not long ago. Like the $4250 a CRA employee received (on top of his salary) to photograph bus benches in the Bahamas. Or the $125,000 former county transit administrator Vernon Clarke was handed to study bus stops for eighteen months. Or the $200,000 per year in consulting fees that went to Richard Judy, ex-director of the county aviation department. (He was fired in 1989 after commissioners learned he'd spent $300,000 without their approval.) In all, some $17 million seemed to have disappeared over a period of years. Finally the FBI, the IRS, and the State Attorney's Office took notice, which concentrated the minds of city commissioners. In December 2002 they ousted executive director Annette Lewis, a protégée of Art Teele and a specialist in invisible-project budgets, pleasant obfuscation, and ignoring public-records requests. Lewis was replaced by former assistant city manager Frank Rollason, who looked around, didn't like what he saw, and began making changes, including firing Judy because he couldn't figure out what the guy was doing for $200,000 per year. This past January commissioners voted to create an independent oversight board for the CRA and to rotate the troubled agency's chairman, stripping Teele of the title he'd held and the fiefdom he'd controlled for six years.
Much competition hangs when it comes to this award. We're happy about that. Upstart gallery Rocket Projects in Wynwood comes to mind, with its community art activism and edgy programming. Then there's Fredric Snitzer Gallery, the darling of Art Basel with the strongest collection in town. And who can forget the Moore Space's stellar exhibitions by artists like Jim Lambie. Meanwhile, lost in the fanfare of big parties and large art crowds elsewhere, Casas Riegner has slowly established itself as a gallery willing to take risks while representing consistently strong and compelling work. From abstract artists like Eugenio Espinoza and Danilo Dueñas to installation pieces with slim commercial hope, the gallery also offers video, photography, and mixed media pieces that, like all the work here, never fail to challenge.
Not just a single charity, Hands on Miami is more like 70 charities in one. Since 1993 this extensive community-service network has been making it easy for busy city dwellers to do the right thing. Want to deliver care packages to AIDS patients? Build a house for a cash-strapped family? Read to kids in need? Hands On Miami will help you find the service opportunity that fits your hectic schedule. Last year, the organization claims, Hands On Miami volunteers logged more than 53,000 service hours. Once each year Hands On Miami Day brings together as many as 3000 volunteers for a full day of good work and good cheer. Nearly every week Hands On Miami holds an orientation meeting to introduce would-be volunteers to a variety of initiatives across town. Go to the Website to find out how Hands On Miami can help you help others.
Not just a single charity, Hands on Miami is more like 70 charities in one. Since 1993 this extensive community-service network has been making it easy for busy city dwellers to do the right thing. Want to deliver care packages to AIDS patients? Build a house for a cash-strapped family? Read to kids in need? Hands On Miami will help you find the service opportunity that fits your hectic schedule. Last year, the organization claims, Hands On Miami volunteers logged more than 53,000 service hours. Once each year Hands On Miami Day brings together as many as 3000 volunteers for a full day of good work and good cheer. Nearly every week Hands On Miami holds an orientation meeting to introduce would-be volunteers to a variety of initiatives across town. Go to the Website to find out how Hands On Miami can help you help others.
Located west of Biscayne Boulevard immediately north of Miami Shores, this is a big city and a small town rolled into one. Incorporated in 1933, the tiny municipality -- less than a square mile in area -- is close enough to Miami's urban core to allow for easy access to downtown or the beaches. But by remaining steadfastly residential (there are no commercial structures at all in Biscayne Park) and avoiding urban-style development, the area has retained its neighborhood aesthetic. Oaks fill the spacious medians and shade the streets. Ten full-time police officers help maintain a pedestrian-friendly environment by strictly enforcing speed limits. With fewer than 3500 residents, the community has an intimate feeling about it, which allows resident to keep a close eye on their mayor, village council, and police department. Mayor Ted Walker brags of the seventeen parks dotting the tree-lined streets (some are basically very large medians, but they're big enough for picnics and contribute to the community's lush greenery). Homes -- mostly built in the Fifties on 75-by-135-foot lots -- range from $200,000 to about $450,000.
Located west of Biscayne Boulevard immediately north of Miami Shores, this is a big city and a small town rolled into one. Incorporated in 1933, the tiny municipality -- less than a square mile in area -- is close enough to Miami's urban core to allow for easy access to downtown or the beaches. But by remaining steadfastly residential (there are no commercial structures at all in Biscayne Park) and avoiding urban-style development, the area has retained its neighborhood aesthetic. Oaks fill the spacious medians and shade the streets. Ten full-time police officers help maintain a pedestrian-friendly environment by strictly enforcing speed limits. With fewer than 3500 residents, the community has an intimate feeling about it, which allows resident to keep a close eye on their mayor, village council, and police department. Mayor Ted Walker brags of the seventeen parks dotting the tree-lined streets (some are basically very large medians, but they're big enough for picnics and contribute to the community's lush greenery). Homes -- mostly built in the Fifties on 75-by-135-foot lots -- range from $200,000 to about $450,000.
The Tom Hanks megahit movie Big connected with audiences thanks to the actor's uncannily guileless portrayal of youthful joy. Listening to Boog Sciambi broadcast Florida Marlins games on WQAM-AM (560), including the team's unlikely ascent to a World Series championship this past season, brought that same feeling to mind. Sciambi, an old-school announcer with an eager-to-please voice, sounded so damn glad to be there it was impossible not to be infected with his enthusiasm. The opportunity for Sciambi to broadcast high-profile games must have been a big chance for career enhancement, but what made listening to him such a joy was that, underneath the announcer, you could hear the kid whose dreams were coming true.
During the Fifties and early Sixties, the nightlife of Overtown made today's South Beach seem tame. Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, and many more superstars played the Knight Beat, the Harlem Square, and other clubs for appreciative locals and visiting celebrities. The main man on the scene -- running clubs and promoting shows -- was a dapper chap with curly hair and charm to spare. He was Clyde "Glass" Killens, famous for carrying around a mystery mug -- contents unknown. At his death this past February 2, the 95-year-old cancer victim still lived at NW Second Avenue and Eleventh Street, in the heart of O-Town. Resting in a magnificent black-and-silver Milso coffin with white lining and an arrangement of white flowers at the foot, Killens looked half his age. Numerous family members, friends, and well-known figures gathered on February 10 at Greater Bethel AME Church to hear a two-hour eulogy by Rev. Marvelle Cheevers. Afterward the hearse and family limos made a last drive past Killens's long-time residence. The previous night's wake had drawn such crowds that police had to close nearby intersections as hundreds of mourners paid their respects and then celebrated this hero of entertainment with a street carnival and concert. A big party. Glass Killens wouldn't have had it any other way.
During the Fifties and early Sixties, the nightlife of Overtown made today's South Beach seem tame. Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, and many more superstars played the Knight Beat, the Harlem Square, and other clubs for appreciative locals and visiting celebrities. The main man on the scene -- running clubs and promoting shows -- was a dapper chap with curly hair and charm to spare. He was Clyde "Glass" Killens, famous for carrying around a mystery mug -- contents unknown. At his death this past February 2, the 95-year-old cancer victim still lived at NW Second Avenue and Eleventh Street, in the heart of O-Town. Resting in a magnificent black-and-silver Milso coffin with white lining and an arrangement of white flowers at the foot, Killens looked half his age. Numerous family members, friends, and well-known figures gathered on February 10 at Greater Bethel AME Church to hear a two-hour eulogy by Rev. Marvelle Cheevers. Afterward the hearse and family limos made a last drive past Killens's long-time residence. The previous night's wake had drawn such crowds that police had to close nearby intersections as hundreds of mourners paid their respects and then celebrated this hero of entertainment with a street carnival and concert. A big party. Glass Killens wouldn't have had it any other way.
It was supposed to change the way people felt about urban transportation. A personal hovercraft destined to spearhead the brave new world of tomorrow? Maybe not. When the Segway Human Transporter was revealed to the public, the collective disappointment put a damper on the lofty dreams of creator Dean Kamen. To which he answered at Segway's first public demo, "So sue me." No. The world's first "self-balancing personal transportation device" did find a niche on the less grand avenue of carting tourists around urban centers. Add to that folks who don't mind looking like dorky computer geeks in public. The machine is a tempting joy ride into the world of advanced robotics. Indeed, the smooth ride and maneuverability in tight spots is big fun despite the dirty looks from pedestrians and bicyclists. In fact those dirty looks are the best advertisement for SHTs and their promise of a new and better tomorrow.
Faux sculpture (manatee, porpoise, et cetera) mailboxes have become a trend, but this is not that. The owners of this nice house have created an oceanic panorama of a mailbox, a swirl of fish and covellite, teal, aquamarine background that rises above trendiness and achieves the status of art. The mailbox-mural alone has probably increased property values 25 percent in this quiet backstreet neighborhood, where it tastefully provides an inanimate vista as wondrous and beautiful as those seen when actually diving or snorkeling. The artistic endeavor deserves applause, but please don't screw up what should be an example for all homeowners by bothering the residents. When in the South Miami area, drive by slowly, take in the view, ponder the wonders of the sea, and quietly move on. Just like a snook feeding along the shoals.
In the October 16, 2003, edition of this weekly chronicle of Miami business and governmental action (essential reading for anyone interested in public affairs), an article appeared with this headline: "County close to acquiring Homestead land, official says." The land in question was the former Homestead Air Force Base. The official was assistant county manager Bill Johnson. The issue was a lawsuit brought by Homestead Air Base Developers, Inc., a private corporation owned by a group of politically connected businessmen. For years the company has been known by its acronym, HABDI (pronounced hab-dee). In the article, reporter Shannon Pettypiece goofed by calling it Homestead Air Force Base Development Initiative. A mistake, yes, but not worthy of recognition. This award is bestowed for what Pettypiece thought she heard Johnson say about HABDI: "The county won't be taking title until the happy litigation is resolved."
In the October 16, 2003, edition of this weekly chronicle of Miami business and governmental action (essential reading for anyone interested in public affairs), an article appeared with this headline: "County close to acquiring Homestead land, official says." The land in question was the former Homestead Air Force Base. The official was assistant county manager Bill Johnson. The issue was a lawsuit brought by Homestead Air Base Developers, Inc., a private corporation owned by a group of politically connected businessmen. For years the company has been known by its acronym, HABDI (pronounced hab-dee). In the article, reporter Shannon Pettypiece goofed by calling it Homestead Air Force Base Development Initiative. A mistake, yes, but not worthy of recognition. This award is bestowed for what Pettypiece thought she heard Johnson say about HABDI: "The county won't be taking title until the happy litigation is resolved."
The People's Transportation Plan (PTP) was grandly designed to solve Miami's upcoming date with permanent gridlock. The shiny lure that voters went for was the promise that a half-penny sales tax would buy them an expanded and improved mass-transit system. Now they're told the tax was in reality designed to win matching state and federal funds, not to actually build a new system -- never mind the ballot language. According to a county study, absent these outside funds (and none of them are guaranteed), the PTP could literally bankrupt the transportation system. In addition, county commissioners are maneuvering to strip powers from the PTP's mandated watchdog group, the Citizens' Independent Transportation Trust. If county officials bit off more than they could chew with the PTP, perhaps they should consider the South Beach diet before asking taxpayers for more dough to cover their gluttony.
The People's Transportation Plan (PTP) was grandly designed to solve Miami's upcoming date with permanent gridlock. The shiny lure that voters went for was the promise that a half-penny sales tax would buy them an expanded and improved mass-transit system. Now they're told the tax was in reality designed to win matching state and federal funds, not to actually build a new system -- never mind the ballot language. According to a county study, absent these outside funds (and none of them are guaranteed), the PTP could literally bankrupt the transportation system. In addition, county commissioners are maneuvering to strip powers from the PTP's mandated watchdog group, the Citizens' Independent Transportation Trust. If county officials bit off more than they could chew with the PTP, perhaps they should consider the South Beach diet before asking taxpayers for more dough to cover their gluttony.
In late winter/early spring, South Florida is blessed with a flowering tree so magnificent that residents and tourists alike stand in awe of its beauty. Then why is it that almost no one knows what it's called? Is it because for most of the year, this quiet tree's most distinguishing features are a deeply furrowed trunk and asymmetrical crown? Or could it be that the "oohs" and "aahs" from residents and tourists alike drown out the name whenever it's uttered? Yeah, that must be it. If you can hear this, look for the tree that appears to be covered in a cloud of bright yellow butterflies. By then the Tabebuia caraiba's long, oval, grayish-green leaves will have fallen off to reveal yellow clusters of trumpet-shaped flowers. Be careful of these beautiful blossoms: Once they are on the ground, they are as slippery as the banana peels they resemble.
Houston's understands that business types out for a three-martini lunch are not going to leave the comforts of the executive washroom at the office for just any old port-a-potty. That's why Houston's has taken steps to ensure that a trip to its throne will leave customers feeling like royalty. A long hallway separates the WC from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the restaurant. The full-length windows facing Miracle Mile add a nice touch of scenery along the way. Customers open the door and are greeted by chic stainless-steel sinks and wastebaskets. Guys will rejoice over the fans just above each urinal that blow a sweet breeze downward. But for men and women alike, it's the attention to detail that makes these restrooms restful. The Houston's management style might best be described as fussy. (Some would say totalitarian.) So it won't come as a surprise that the black-clad servers are required to inspect the bathrooms every 30 minutes. They have a checklist of items that must be in place. The double rolls of toilet paper, for example, must display a "cascading" effect. In other words, the flap must be pulled from the top, not the bottom. Also servers are required to count the hand towels by the sink. If they have fallen below the 35 mark, they must be replenished to exactly that amount -- flap facing down, of course.
Houston's understands that business types out for a three-martini lunch are not going to leave the comforts of the executive washroom at the office for just any old port-a-potty. That's why Houston's has taken steps to ensure that a trip to its throne will leave customers feeling like royalty. A long hallway separates the WC from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the restaurant. The full-length windows facing Miracle Mile add a nice touch of scenery along the way. Customers open the door and are greeted by chic stainless-steel sinks and wastebaskets. Guys will rejoice over the fans just above each urinal that blow a sweet breeze downward. But for men and women alike, it's the attention to detail that makes these restrooms restful. The Houston's management style might best be described as fussy. (Some would say totalitarian.) So it won't come as a surprise that the black-clad servers are required to inspect the bathrooms every 30 minutes. They have a checklist of items that must be in place. The double rolls of toilet paper, for example, must display a "cascading" effect. In other words, the flap must be pulled from the top, not the bottom. Also servers are required to count the hand towels by the sink. If they have fallen below the 35 mark, they must be replenished to exactly that amount -- flap facing down, of course.
Naysayers were quick to bitch about putting ten million bucks into fixing up a nearly forgotten raceway in deep South Miami-Dade, but when the new version of the Homestead Miami Speedway opened this past autumn, it had its first sold-out race in nine years. The new variable-degree banking system increased the amount of banking and speed in the turns, and also allowed for three cars to drive side-by-side, which makes for exciting racing even if nobody crashes. This state-of-the-art system is thought to be the wave of the future, and with an estimated $120 million pumped into the Homestead area during NASCAR weekends, it's certainly paid off.
The Lotto and Indian gaming gobble the gambling pie in South Florida, leaving the pari-mutuels crumbs. Gulfstream, located next to Aventura at the county line, belies this paradigm by continuing to present high-class racing, comfortable seating, diverse concessions, and other diversions within a still-lovely venue. That was most obvious at the beginning of 2004, when 21,000 turned out for this season's opening day. A mind-numbing, heart-pumping reunion of punk supergroup Blondie provided an inventive, charming, "Atomic" sonic blast matching in quality the group's August 4, 1979, show at Sunrise Musical Theatre. The band drew thousands of rockers who wouldn't know a saddle from a sawbuck. Meanwhile an ace, eleven-race card ended with three handicap (meaning better horses must carry more weight to even the odds), $100,000-guaranteed stakes races, including the Mr. Prospector Handicap (named for the horse who set the six-furlong-course record in 1973), which showcased Cajun Beat -- among the best four-year-olds in the nation -- and close challenger Gygistar. The exhilarating music and thrilling races made one wish every day were opening day.
You can't help but notice Miami's newest mixed-use skyscraper rising from the Brickell Avenue concrete jungle. The Espirito Santo Plaza, designed by Kohn Pedersen Fox Associates, boasts 36 stories of office and retail space, restaurants, an 11-story atrium, a hotel, and private residences. Theoretically you could move in and never leave. But then you'd miss the experience of basking in your home's understated elegance. A graceful parabola gently guides the eyes upward and, at certain angles and times of day, creates an optical illusion: Is it concave or convex? The parabola is an architectural reference to the St. Louis Arch and serves as a symbolic welcome to Miami, gateway to Latin America. It is also a geometrically perfect wave coursing across the front of the building. In fact throughout the plaza, moving water creates a unified aesthetic theme. The tower's quiet, clean lines are welcome in a city that too often feels the need to shout in order to be noticed.
You can't help but notice Miami's newest mixed-use skyscraper rising from the Brickell Avenue concrete jungle. The Espirito Santo Plaza, designed by Kohn Pedersen Fox Associates, boasts 36 stories of office and retail space, restaurants, an 11-story atrium, a hotel, and private residences. Theoretically you could move in and never leave. But then you'd miss the experience of basking in your home's understated elegance. A graceful parabola gently guides the eyes upward and, at certain angles and times of day, creates an optical illusion: Is it concave or convex? The parabola is an architectural reference to the St. Louis Arch and serves as a symbolic welcome to Miami, gateway to Latin America. It is also a geometrically perfect wave coursing across the front of the building. In fact throughout the plaza, moving water creates a unified aesthetic theme. The tower's quiet, clean lines are welcome in a city that too often feels the need to shout in order to be noticed.
Take it from Adora, the hardest-working drag queen in Miami, the legendary Tiffany is the original transgender bomb. When looking for a special guest star for the final Adora and Ivana Noche Latina show at the Cactus Bar and Grill, the only choice was Ms. Arieagus. "She's fantastic," Adora says. "She's super nice, a legend, and unbelievably professional." Arieagus, born in Alabama, began her career performing at Pensacola's Red Garter in the early Seventies. She toured the state and much of the world. With some 30 years experience she has more than 40 titles under her skirt, including Miss Continental USA and Miss Universe. She called it quits in South Beach in the late 1990s and moved to Fort Lauderdale. "I was getting too many parking tickets," Arieagus explains, exuding Southern charm. Adora brought her out of retirement at the recent memorial tribute to South Beach diva Sexcilia, who died in January. At the final Noche Latina she sealed the deal with powerful singing and a silver cocktail dress that wouldn't quit. Now 50, Arieagus makes rare appearances on the nightclub circuit. She spends most of her time working as an HIV case manager for Center One as well as helping raise funds for the Kiwanis, the American Cancer Society, and various HIV-related organizations. Her next step? The White House.
BEST SIGN OF THE TIMES
Walgreens at the historic Firestone building
The City of Miami's hapless Historic and Environmental Preservation Board actually managed to save a building once. It was back in 2001. The structure was the 75-year-old Firestone building at SW First Street and Twelfth Avenue in Little Havana. But as part of the deal, the guardians of the city's architectural flame decided to let Walgreens tamper with Miami's oldest sign, an 84-foot-long, 36-foot-tall, neon rooftop beauty that spelled out F-i-r-e-s-t-o-n-e. Walgreens recently opened shop inside the old service station, where generations of Miamians flocked for toys, bikes, and appliances, as well as tires and gas. The famous old sign now reads, W-a-l-g-r-e-e-n-s. The chain drugstore, however, did agree to use five of the original letters: two e's, an r, an s, and an n. Those letters, of course, spell sneer, which is about all that hardcore preservationists can do in this town.
BEST SIGN OF THE TIMES
Walgreens at the historic Firestone building
The City of Miami's hapless Historic and Environmental Preservation Board actually managed to save a building once. It was back in 2001. The structure was the 75-year-old Firestone building at SW First Street and Twelfth Avenue in Little Havana. But as part of the deal, the guardians of the city's architectural flame decided to let Walgreens tamper with Miami's oldest sign, an 84-foot-long, 36-foot-tall, neon rooftop beauty that spelled out F-i-r-e-s-t-o-n-e. Walgreens recently opened shop inside the old service station, where generations of Miamians flocked for toys, bikes, and appliances, as well as tires and gas. The famous old sign now reads, W-a-l-g-r-e-e-n-s. The chain drugstore, however, did agree to use five of the original letters: two e's, an r, an s, and an n. Those letters, of course, spell sneer, which is about all that hardcore preservationists can do in this town.
In Miami you don't ponder the now-mythical life of Che Guevara so much as argue about it. The legendary Argentine guerrilla's name is cursed, cried over, or simply shuddered at for the loss it represents to so many Cuban exiles. In fact Menéndez's own father, who fled the island in 1960, was as wary as anyone else while paging through Loving Che, asking sourly, "Why did you have to print so many pictures of that son of a bitch?" As Menéndez's title suggests, her novel is an attempt to grapple with those emotions, with that revolutionary moment's enduring appeal to new generations. Forget dry historical accounts: Menéndez conjures up a sweaty love affair involving the protagonist against the backdrop of Havana's 1959 convulsions. Menéndez crafts passages that cement her as one of our city's finest voices of the Cuban experience, one whose ability to create lyricism out of pain is rare.
Hell hath no fury like a reformed dolphin trainer. Anyone who has dealt with Russ Rector knows that all too well. From 1968 to 1975 he worked and performed with the creatures at Fort Lauderdale's Ocean World. Today he is president of the Dolphin Freedom Foundation, which he founded in 1992 as a platform from which he could launch relentless attacks against those who do what he once did: hold dolphins captive, or otherwise endanger them. In 1990 he clung to a buoy off the Dry Tortugas to disrupt a U.S. Navy test of underwater explosives he believed could harm the area's wild dolphins. In 1993 he and other activists made a very public stink when Aruba proposed to build a tourist swim-with-the-dolphins facility. In 1994 he was arrested for trespassing at North Key Largo's private Ocean Reef Club, where he was denied access to check on the welfare of three captive dolphins held by the club. In July 1995 he set his sights on the aging Miami Seaquarium, which keeps dolphins and a killer whale named Lolita. Acting on a tip from employees, he videotaped what appeared to be serious structural problems with the main performing stadium. His protests to county, state, and federal agencies went nowhere. For several years in the mid-Nineties he noisily argued that Lolita's holding tank was too small, again to no avail. But last year the 55-year-old sea-mammal advocate connected. Brandishing another videotape and a safety expert's report, commissioned by his foundation, Rector documented scores of electrical code violations at the Seaquarium. This time Miami-Dade County officials responded, slapping the attraction with nearly 140 violations. Cost for repairs: roughly a half-million dollars. Last month he was at it again. A new report by the safety expert alleged more violations, including inadequate emergency exits for Seaquarium visitors. Is he obsessed? Yes. Is he overbearing? Yes. Is he a hero? Certainly not to Arthur Hertz, CEO of Coral Gables-based Wometco, which owns and operates the Seaquarium. But to many other people, here and elsewhere, the answer is yes. He's a hero.
Hell hath no fury like a reformed dolphin trainer. Anyone who has dealt with Russ Rector knows that all too well. From 1968 to 1975 he worked and performed with the creatures at Fort Lauderdale's Ocean World. Today he is president of the Dolphin Freedom Foundation, which he founded in 1992 as a platform from which he could launch relentless attacks against those who do what he once did: hold dolphins captive, or otherwise endanger them. In 1990 he clung to a buoy off the Dry Tortugas to disrupt a U.S. Navy test of underwater explosives he believed could harm the area's wild dolphins. In 1993 he and other activists made a very public stink when Aruba proposed to build a tourist swim-with-the-dolphins facility. In 1994 he was arrested for trespassing at North Key Largo's private Ocean Reef Club, where he was denied access to check on the welfare of three captive dolphins held by the club. In July 1995 he set his sights on the aging Miami Seaquarium, which keeps dolphins and a killer whale named Lolita. Acting on a tip from employees, he videotaped what appeared to be serious structural problems with the main performing stadium. His protests to county, state, and federal agencies went nowhere. For several years in the mid-Nineties he noisily argued that Lolita's holding tank was too small, again to no avail. But last year the 55-year-old sea-mammal advocate connected. Brandishing another videotape and a safety expert's report, commissioned by his foundation, Rector documented scores of electrical code violations at the Seaquarium. This time Miami-Dade County officials responded, slapping the attraction with nearly 140 violations. Cost for repairs: roughly a half-million dollars. Last month he was at it again. A new report by the safety expert alleged more violations, including inadequate emergency exits for Seaquarium visitors. Is he obsessed? Yes. Is he overbearing? Yes. Is he a hero? Certainly not to Arthur Hertz, CEO of Coral Gables-based Wometco, which owns and operates the Seaquarium. But to many other people, here and elsewhere, the answer is yes. He's a hero.
Original designs by internationally acclaimed artist Antoni Miralda, world-famous architect William Lane, renowned Pop artist Kenny Scharf. Split-level, wrap-around decks. Beachfront water views, good security, quiet at night. Walk to Wet Willy's, Mac's Club Deuce, dumpsters full of fresh restaurant leftovers. Among the most livable, colorful, whimsical shelters on the planet. $0/month. For more information call the City of Miami Beach's Office of Homeless Coordination at 305-604-4663, Miami-Dade County's Homeless Assistance Program at 305-636-6368, or the trilingual (English, Spanish, Kreyol) homeless helpline at 877-994-HELP.
Original designs by internationally acclaimed artist Antoni Miralda, world-famous architect William Lane, renowned Pop artist Kenny Scharf. Split-level, wrap-around decks. Beachfront water views, good security, quiet at night. Walk to Wet Willy's, Mac's Club Deuce, dumpsters full of fresh restaurant leftovers. Among the most livable, colorful, whimsical shelters on the planet. $0/month. For more information call the City of Miami Beach's Office of Homeless Coordination at 305-604-4663, Miami-Dade County's Homeless Assistance Program at 305-636-6368, or the trilingual (English, Spanish, Kreyol) homeless helpline at 877-994-HELP.
BEST LEISURE ACTIVITY OTHER THAN CLUBS OR MOVIES
Surfing South Beach
For the first time since the Sixties, and maybe ever, there's a thriving surfing community in South Beach. On most winter mornings, up to 400 rowdy surfers litter the ocean, straddling variations of long and short boards. No, our beaches haven't suddenly developed the kind of overhead breaks enjoyed by surfers on the West Coast, or even north of Palm Beach where Atlantic swells make it to shore without being intercepted by reefs and islands. But a growing number of local wavers have discovered that from fall through the beginning of spring, when South Beach receives consistent doses of swells, barreling peaks accompany the incoming tides, big enough for carving. The best known local surfer, Ron Keindl, a former lifeguard, often helps keep order, separating "kooks" from the more experienced riders who might slam into them. "Don't go down there thinking you're going to be the man," he cautions. There are rules, he adds, and "a definite pecking order."
If shelling out 26.7 million taxpayer dollars to buy the tiny spit of land on which the Miami Circle sits doesn't quite qualify as a boondoggle, maybe this does: The ancient site has been reburied. Discovered in 1998 and dubbed Miami's Stonehenge, the mysterious Indian artifact ignited the public imagination and attracted international attention. Six years after its purchase, however, an alphabet-soup of local, state, and federal agencies has accomplished virtually nothing. Experts warned that the exposed Circle was being threatened by erosion, so last fall it was quietly covered with gravel, sand, and promises that a few more years of paperwork would result in the park everyone was promised. Hey, the site lay there unnoticed for at least 1000 years, so what's the rush, right?
If shelling out 26.7 million taxpayer dollars to buy the tiny spit of land on which the Miami Circle sits doesn't quite qualify as a boondoggle, maybe this does: The ancient site has been reburied. Discovered in 1998 and dubbed Miami's Stonehenge, the mysterious Indian artifact ignited the public imagination and attracted international attention. Six years after its purchase, however, an alphabet-soup of local, state, and federal agencies has accomplished virtually nothing. Experts warned that the exposed Circle was being threatened by erosion, so last fall it was quietly covered with gravel, sand, and promises that a few more years of paperwork would result in the park everyone was promised. Hey, the site lay there unnoticed for at least 1000 years, so what's the rush, right?
Tucked between the disorderly conducts on various afternoon Spanish-language courtroom programs, Telemundo has been airing a remarkable set of antifungal medication advertisements. Yes, remarkable antifungal medication advertisements. The first one, for Hongosan (hongo is Spanish for fungus or mushroom), ran a few months ago. The subtle charms were difficult to discern at first, but slowly one could feel the pain of the man-on-the-street who suffered from "un mal olor, una picazón excesiva." Certainly the plaintive cries of the pretty spokeswoman begging the viewer to no longer suffer the torment of hongos demanded further attention. Oh yeah, there's also an angry battalion of mushrooms and a cartoon superhero in red tights in the spot. Then Hongomex began running antifungal medication ads. A Mexican cartoon character suffers from hongos all over the place. His hongos resemble Scrubbing Bubbles. They grow even angrier than the aforementioned mushrooms. As the fungus fighters compete, viewers are treated to an infectiously catchy song and a fiesta during which a cured man dances with and leers at a tall redhead. Freedom from fungus turns into sexist stereotyping. Where's the cure for that?
On a recent afternoon, a Miami-Dade County bureaucrat spotted Mario Artecona having lunch and said, "Well, if it isn't the revolutionary." Artecona responded with a chuckle: "That's what people start calling you when you take on the county commission." Not many ordinary citizens would have the opportunity (or the guts) to appear before the thirteen commissioners who lord over county government and tell them they are doing a piss-poor job of managing the area's primary economic engine, Miami International Airport. Artecona did just that. For years MIA has been the fiefdom of commissioners and their lobbyists, who've gorged themselves on fat airport contracts. The resulting business climate has become so noxious that even a company like Disney can't get in without knowing a friend of a friend of a commissioner. Earlier this year, when the commission refused to let voters decide whether to create an independent airport authority that would oversee MIA, Artecona, executive director of the Miami Business Forum, threw down the gauntlet: He vowed to circumvent the politicians and launch a petition drive that would place the issue on this November's ballot. That made him Public Enemy #1 in the eyes of the county commission. In our eyes, it made him Miami-Dade's best citizen.
On a recent afternoon, a Miami-Dade County bureaucrat spotted Mario Artecona having lunch and said, "Well, if it isn't the revolutionary." Artecona responded with a chuckle: "That's what people start calling you when you take on the county commission." Not many ordinary citizens would have the opportunity (or the guts) to appear before the thirteen commissioners who lord over county government and tell them they are doing a piss-poor job of managing the area's primary economic engine, Miami International Airport. Artecona did just that. For years MIA has been the fiefdom of commissioners and their lobbyists, who've gorged themselves on fat airport contracts. The resulting business climate has become so noxious that even a company like Disney can't get in without knowing a friend of a friend of a commissioner. Earlier this year, when the commission refused to let voters decide whether to create an independent airport authority that would oversee MIA, Artecona, executive director of the Miami Business Forum, threw down the gauntlet: He vowed to circumvent the politicians and launch a petition drive that would place the issue on this November's ballot. That made him Public Enemy #1 in the eyes of the county commission. In our eyes, it made him Miami-Dade's best citizen.
You and your pals just completed your own version of Amsterdam's famous Cannabis Cup reefer contest by filling up bong bowls with White Widow and Northern Lights and maybe some Haze. Packing a couple of green leaf, Dutch Master blunts filled with Afghani. Rolling up some Summer Breeze, Bubblegum, and other hydro hybrids that leave all involved seriously stoned but lively upped thanks to North American pot's high quality. (Crappy weed tends to make you tired.) But you aren't smoking crap, and ripification has been achieved. Now what? Since 1971 Richard Bradwell has owned and operated the Neighborhood Fish Farm. Open from 10:00 to 6:00, his back yard features 137 concrete ponds filled with more than 200 species of tropical fish that wait to mesmerize red-eyed stankers like you. Fish from Africa, Indonesia, China, and Japan can be bought or fed or simply stared at for way too long. It's outdoors, it's free, there are always a couple of lawn chairs for a sit. Rock music blares. Sushi jokes are slurred. You can buy a 79-cent guppy or blow $500 on an exotic species that enjoys eating fruit monkeys and birds. You might want to ponder that sort of investment after the buzz wears off.
The caustic Miami Herald columnist (and New Times alumnus) has been relentless in his pursuit of adults responsible for the injustices suffered by South Florida's discarded children. When authorities at all levels were ducking for cover following the pitiful and needless death of juvenile jail inmate Omar Paisley (who slowly, painfully succumbed to a ruptured appendix), DeFede wrote column after column demanding that someone pay for the boy's untimely demise. Finally the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office convened a grand jury that eventually indicted two nurses. More heads have rolled since then. DeFede also assailed the U.S. government's cavalier attitude toward Haitian children, telling individual stories of Haitian kids stuck in immigration limbo, detained in hotel rooms, separated from family, and with little hope of receiving political asylum.
The caustic Miami Herald columnist (and New Times alumnus) has been relentless in his pursuit of adults responsible for the injustices suffered by South Florida's discarded children. When authorities at all levels were ducking for cover following the pitiful and needless death of juvenile jail inmate Omar Paisley (who slowly, painfully succumbed to a ruptured appendix), DeFede wrote column after column demanding that someone pay for the boy's untimely demise. Finally the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office convened a grand jury that eventually indicted two nurses. More heads have rolled since then. DeFede also assailed the U.S. government's cavalier attitude toward Haitian children, telling individual stories of Haitian kids stuck in immigration limbo, detained in hotel rooms, separated from family, and with little hope of receiving political asylum.
Filling the oxfords of late local broadcast legend Ann Bishop of WPLG-TV was a challenge accepted by Kristi Krueger, who has proved herself up to the job at 5:00, 6:00, and 11:00 p.m. Maybe her eleven-year tenure as a health reporter helped her become sufficiently inured to calmly deal with Miami's demoralizing daily news cycle, which brims with shootings, child-abuse cases, and bloody hit-and-run tales. Maybe her good humor and refusal to take herself too seriously have allowed her to endure smug Dwight Lauderdale's condescending remarks aimed at her (on the air) all these years. Maybe her class and composure have prevented her from falling apart even as she was allegedly being stalked by a soccer mom. Whatever the special combination of qualities that Miami's best anchor needs, Krueger has. For that we say, "Brava!"
BEST CHEAP THRILL
Thursday-night faith healing
Bible Way Prayer Mission
When the preacher begins laying his hands on foreheads, the energy in this storefront church surges. Thursday night is divine drama, eons beyond must-see TV. From below the pulpit a drummer keeps a lively beat and an organist accents the preacher's righteous words from an old Casio. The pews are full of women who, with gusto, shout the devil down. Soon you're shouting with them, clapping and dancing as the spirit takes hold. Now the preacher is moving about, laying hands on worshippers and speaking in tongues. High blood sugar is neutralized, a bloody nose is fixed, a path to the Lord is cleared, and ladies tumble to the ground. Everyone is welcome, no velvet ropes, no social hierarchy whatsoever. It's strictly come as you are. The spirit is infectious and the thrill ride goes on till late. Plus there's never a cover charge, though a modest donation is always welcome. The only real cost is that of not saving your sorry soul.
BEST CHEAP THRILL
Thursday-night faith healing
Bible Way Prayer Mission
When the preacher begins laying his hands on foreheads, the energy in this storefront church surges. Thursday night is divine drama, eons beyond must-see TV. From below the pulpit a drummer keeps a lively beat and an organist accents the preacher's righteous words from an old Casio. The pews are full of women who, with gusto, shout the devil down. Soon you're shouting with them, clapping and dancing as the spirit takes hold. Now the preacher is moving about, laying hands on worshippers and speaking in tongues. High blood sugar is neutralized, a bloody nose is fixed, a path to the Lord is cleared, and ladies tumble to the ground. Everyone is welcome, no velvet ropes, no social hierarchy whatsoever. It's strictly come as you are. The spirit is infectious and the thrill ride goes on till late. Plus there's never a cover charge, though a modest donation is always welcome. The only real cost is that of not saving your sorry soul.
It's no coincidence that the benches at Domino Park (as this landmark is known) face toward Cuba. The old Cuban men from the surrounding neighborhood of Little Havana know the reason, and value it. As each takes a turn sitting on the benches playing dominoes (or fichas), they are reminded that though they sit in the middle of Miami, they will never turn their backs on La Patria. The park, named for a Cuban revolutionary of the late Nineteenth Century, is the hub of eastern Little Havana. People of all ages meet to play chess, throw down some bones, and sip coladas while smoking (Dominican) Monte Cristos to the tunes of El Sol radio. First-generation Cuban immigrants won't live forever, so the next time you have out-of-town visitors, take them down to Domino Park. Sit and talk with an old Cuban about the way it was. Have a cigar and some café, ponder the possibilities ... wait, who needs out-of-town visitors?
BEST CRIMINAL CONVICTION IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS
Willie and Sal trial jurors
Gloria Alba and Maria del Carmen Peñalver were in their midtwenties when they sat on the jury that acquitted Willie Falcon and Sal Magluta in February 1996. Falcon and Magluta had been charged with importing 75 tons of cocaine, worth some two billion dollars. Assistant U.S. Attorney Pat Sullivan, who prosecuted the case with colleague Chris Clarke, knew something wasn't right about that acquittal, which not only set free the two biggest drug dealers in Miami's history, but which cost taxpayers millions of dollars and U.S. Attorney Kendall Coffey his job. Sullivan was right about something not being right, a fact affirmed this past January by U.S. District Judge Paul Huck, who sentenced Alba and Peñalver to five years in prison for accepting bribes to spring Willie and Sal. Peñalver finally admitted to taking $20,000 from jury foreman Miguel Moya, who is now doing seventeen and a half years in prison. Alba was convicted of raking in some $260,000 in bribes. Her husband got nearly five years for participating in the scheme. Meanwhile, Falcon is serving 20 years for money laundering and Magluta was sentenced to 205 years on a host of charges related to the fixed jury. It was a happy ending for Sullivan's prosecutorial nightmare.
BEST CRIMINAL CONVICTION IN THE PAST TWELVE MONTHS
Willie and Sal trial jurors
Gloria Alba and Maria del Carmen Peñalver were in their midtwenties when they sat on the jury that acquitted Willie Falcon and Sal Magluta in February 1996. Falcon and Magluta had been charged with importing 75 tons of cocaine, worth some two billion dollars. Assistant U.S. Attorney Pat Sullivan, who prosecuted the case with colleague Chris Clarke, knew something wasn't right about that acquittal, which not only set free the two biggest drug dealers in Miami's history, but which cost taxpayers millions of dollars and U.S. Attorney Kendall Coffey his job. Sullivan was right about something not being right, a fact affirmed this past January by U.S. District Judge Paul Huck, who sentenced Alba and Peñalver to five years in prison for accepting bribes to spring Willie and Sal. Peñalver finally admitted to taking $20,000 from jury foreman Miguel Moya, who is now doing seventeen and a half years in prison. Alba was convicted of raking in some $260,000 in bribes. Her husband got nearly five years for participating in the scheme. Meanwhile, Falcon is serving 20 years for money laundering and Magluta was sentenced to 205 years on a host of charges related to the fixed jury. It was a happy ending for Sullivan's prosecutorial nightmare.
During the overheated, slightly premature media frenzy that accompanied the fall of Saddam, CBS affiliate WFOR journalist and cameraman Mike Kirsch was our man in Iraq. As an embedded reporter with the British Army, he reported on the invasion of Basra, winning a 2003 Suncoast Emmy for his efforts. His past wartime adventures include sojourns in Bosnia (where he was attacked by ten Serbian police officers) and Afghanistan. "Mike," marvels his bosses at CBS in a press release, "has a reputation for living his stories." "Surviving" might be a better description.
Miami's Only Daily has piranha-ed its writing and editing staff into a skeleton for the sake of profit margin. Still with the likes of Raul Rubiera, Peter Andrew Bosch, and others out shooting photographs, the pictures remain first rate. But with his stylish black-rim eyeglasses, raspy voice, and bandanna covering his baby dreads, Carl Juste is more than just another pretty photojournalist. From the war in Afghanistan (where he spent four months) to the recent revolt in Haiti, from the vapid (South Beach models strutting) to the brutal (back-alley junkies shooting heroin), Juste's first draft of history is strong enough to endure as art. He's that good. The Herald doesn't deserve him.
Miami's Only Daily has piranha-ed its writing and editing staff into a skeleton for the sake of profit margin. Still with the likes of Raul Rubiera, Peter Andrew Bosch, and others out shooting photographs, the pictures remain first rate. But with his stylish black-rim eyeglasses, raspy voice, and bandanna covering his baby dreads, Carl Juste is more than just another pretty photojournalist. From the war in Afghanistan (where he spent four months) to the recent revolt in Haiti, from the vapid (South Beach models strutting) to the brutal (back-alley junkies shooting heroin), Juste's first draft of history is strong enough to endure as art. He's that good. The Herald doesn't deserve him.
BEST TV STATION
Miami-Dade County Cable Television Access Project
You won't find localized renditions of The Sopranos or Law & Order on Cable TAP, but you will be inundated with half-hour vignettes about the people and organizations that make this subtropical, multiethnic frying pan their home. A droning commissioner maybe, a cultural lightweight for sure, maybe even a Wayne's World-level egofest. But other times -- most of the time actually -- the station broadcasts way cool shows, often for specific audiences, a much nobler use of the airwaves than lowest-common-denominator commercial TV, which would air executions and sell ads for dirty bombs if they could get away with it. The public-access channel provides time slots for nonprofit groups, government agencies, and educational institutions. These organizations create programs (Haitian Forum, Pasos A La Libertad, Pedacito de Puerto Rico, Ways of Israel) that deliver specific messages to area viewers. Lacking the boring interruptions of conventional TV advertising, TAP makes room for innovative public-service announcements, including a spot that encourages adults to support afterschool programs and another to remind coach potatoes to take care of their colons. Wow, a TV station that can literally save your ass.
BEST PARTY OF THE YEAR
Official Latin Grammys afterparty
September 3, 2003
Forget the show itself. The party afterward was a lot better. Organized by Ocean Drive magazine, it featured an estimated half-million dollars' worth of fake boobs and legions of filthy-rich old men. And of course every Latin pop star imaginable was there, from Miami's patron saints Emilio and Gloria to Grammy winners Juanes, Thalía, David Bisbal, and the sex symbol himself, bon-bon-shaking Ricky Martin. But only in America (which last we heard still included Miami) can international Latin pop stars stride through an event that's supposedly in their honor yet go virtually unrecognized by camera crews starstruck at the sight of blond brainiac Paris Hilton. She hogged all the attention when she arrived hand-in-hand with gal pal Ingrid Casares and a gaggle of glitterati. The truest sign of a big-time bash, though, was the fact that only a few of the thousands who snagged a coveted pass left before 3:00 a.m. Apparently Latin stars, like most people, feel that a Miami gig isn't complete until the Spam Allstars have performed.
BEST PARTY OF THE YEAR
Official Latin Grammys afterparty
September 3, 2003
Forget the show itself. The party afterward was a lot better. Organized by Ocean Drive magazine, it featured an estimated half-million dollars' worth of fake boobs and legions of filthy-rich old men. And of course every Latin pop star imaginable was there, from Miami's patron saints Emilio and Gloria to Grammy winners Juanes, Thalía, David Bisbal, and the sex symbol himself, bon-bon-shaking Ricky Martin. But only in America (which last we heard still included Miami) can international Latin pop stars stride through an event that's supposedly in their honor yet go virtually unrecognized by camera crews starstruck at the sight of blond brainiac Paris Hilton. She hogged all the attention when she arrived hand-in-hand with gal pal Ingrid Casares and a gaggle of glitterati. The truest sign of a big-time bash, though, was the fact that only a few of the thousands who snagged a coveted pass left before 3:00 a.m. Apparently Latin stars, like most people, feel that a Miami gig isn't complete until the Spam Allstars have performed.
The feverish world of dance music is populated by numerous and fluid subgenres, from the schaffel of Superpitcher to the dark new beat of the Lords of Acid, and each school has its fanatics and detractors. True, you may not hear Carlos D. spin the Deep Forest remix of "A Forest" unless you un-ass your Lazyboy and head down to Revolver, but for avoiding Rush during rush hour, general car-bopping, or any cruise you choose, props must be given to WPYM, colloquially known as Party 93.1. The dance format cleared the dials of classical music when WTMI-FM fell short and the PYMsters stepped up. The umpteenth dance channel in town has moved forward with a pragmatic lack of sentiment for the long-dead baton gang, sponsoring meet-a-celebrity-DJ contests and shouting down its closest competitor, WPOW-FM (96.5), with a series of robotically shrill ads. Plus, as any carbon-based unit who has lived in a market lacking a dance-music station will tell you, simply having the smoking hip-shakers of 93.1 on the air moves the cultural needle from the now of hip-hop to the future of synthesizers. Even listeners who aren't hanging by their bustier laces for the debut of the instrumental version of "As the Rush Comes" can enjoy the bass, and will occasionally hear a more esoteric old-school set featuring the likes of Ten City or CeCe Peniston. A guest set by the Interpol guys may well be on the horizon.
Mario Artecona makes an initial impression as the sort of unassuming nice guy who would stop during rush hour to help you change a flat; the type of fellow who would track you down to your house to return a lost wallet, a rememberer of first names and birthdays. But Artecona is also clearly sharp and articulate, so maybe it's not so surprising that this person so privately decent is also the perfect public citizen. Artecona, executive director of the Miami Business Forum, took it upon himself to found a political action committee to challenge the Miami-Dade County Commission's shell-game dominance over the area's biggest economic engine, the airport. Artecona wants a public referendum on the creation of an independent airport authority. As he has been successful thus far in both petitioning and inverting the political power pyramid, the referendum is likely to appear on November's ballot.
Best Local Landmark
DinnerKey
It got its name in the Thirties when people began bringing box dinners there to watch the seaplanes fly in and out. The current Miami City Commission building was the old Pan American seaplane terminal. It really helped Miami secure its place in aviation and as a gateway to the islands and South America.
Best Sanctuary From the Fast Track
Well, my track isn't really all that fast, but when I want to completely unplug, I head to Miami Beach. I've got beach in my blood. I really enjoy sitting on the sand, butchering Elvis Costello or They Might Be Giants songs on my acoustic. We tend to take the beach for granted here. Usually we park ourselves just north of the Eden Roc. We've tried the beaches down by South Beach, but I personally exceed the maximum body fat requirement necessary to go south of Fifth Street.
Best Month
August
Okay, this is the one where everyone will think I'm crazy, but I LOVE August. Everyone and their grandmother is out of town; the beaches, stores, and restaurants are hassle-free; golf courses are cheap; you can tell who the REAL Marlins fans are; and people are just too hot and tired to be rude.
Best Not-So-Cheap Thrill
Quick seating at Joe's
I know, it's shallow and petty, but we're talking culinary institution here. I've been fostering a relationship with Dennis and Anthony for years. There is a guilty pleasure in walking past the mob scene and getting a table (don't hate the player, hate the game). Cliché or not, Joe's Stone Crab is one of the finest meals to be had in this town. I think one of the street tests of power in this town is how fast you can get a table at Joe's. I'm far from being one of those waltz-in guys, but each season gets better.
Best Cheap Thrill
Catching a set of the Spam Allstars around town is always fun. Free at Jazid on Wednesday nights, cheap at I/O on Thursdays. Another great cheap thrill is the Gulfstream Park concert series. For five bucks, you can catch the "They're still around?" band circuit. Very high camp factor.
Best Reason to Live in Miami
I think it has to be the pace of this place. Miami is a mile-a-minute living theater. Just when you think that things are settling down, something inevitably happens to push the limits. Whether it's Elian, a Haitian freighter, the Miami Circle, public corruption, a botched election, you name it, there is always something that makes us take a step back, but then usually leads to three steps forward.
Seth Kaplan has a whole lot of elfin magic going on, and we mean that in the sincerest form of Lord of the Rings-loving way. The energetic, garrulous, adorably bus-taking spokesman for the Miami-Dade County Elections Department speaks with the clear ring of truth when it comes to one of Florida's most painful subjects -- voting -- and is ever-available to answer questions from the press and the public alike.
Kaplan can actually discuss almost any subject with verve, wit, and an infomaniac's breadth of perspective, and becomes confounded only by superlatives to use regarding his beloved Florida Marlins. Kaplan was there for the first pitch of the very first game back in 1993, and continues to follow the Fish through ticker-tape parades and annoying personnel dramas.
Though the county's elections department has moved from downtown Miami to Doral, where, Kaplan says, he sometimes takes his life in his hands to cross eight lanes of traffic for some Dunkin' Donuts, he is especially beloved by the staff of this newspaper for his years of public-transportation patronage.
Best Sanctuary From the Fast Track
The parks of Key Biscayne
Bill Baggs State Park and Crandon Park -- because I can bike there from where I live. With our geography, you can see a great sunrise from plenty of places in Miami-Dade. Baggs is one of a smaller number of places where you can watch a great sunset. And considering how close you are to downtown, you feel remarkably far away.
Best Month
December
That's when most people in this country are beginning to face several months of living indoors, while things are just getting good in Miami.
Best Not-So-Cheap Thrill
Great seats at a Marlins game
Aside from mountains, Major League Baseball was once one of the only things missing in Miami. For a fan like me, just getting the team was great. The championship in 1997 was even better. But now ... I mean, this is the most exciting -- and most genuine -- thing I've ever seen in professional sports. In an era when too many athletes bring shame to their teams and sports, we have a team about whom we can tell little kids: "Watch how these guys play. Listen to the things they say." And there's nothing like watching it all up close.
Best Cheap Thrill
Riding the public bus
Yes, I know, it's supposed to be just a way to get around town. But sometimes, you get a lot more than that. I recently purchased a car after the Elections Department moved out west from downtown, but I had spent the previous three years without a car, relying almost exclusively on public transportation. I could -- and should -- write a book about my experiences. I did a lot of reading while someone else was driving the bus -- this limousine for the masses -- but sometimes I would just look out the window and take in the flavor of the Miami-Dade neighborhoods that so many folks never see while they're bypassing it all on the highway. Yes, the places I saw were interesting, but the people were the best part. Here I am, getting my heart warmed and feeling better about humanity, all for $1.25, while everyone else is cutting each other off and honking at each other in their cars outside.
Best Reason to Live in Miami
It's the same reason as the worst reason to live in Miami: the craziness. I know there are cleaner cities and wealthier cities, cities with healthier economies and better job markets.... But there aren't many more interesting cities -- cities with more character and characters -- than Miami.
Seth Kaplan has a whole lot of elfin magic going on, and we mean that in the sincerest form of Lord of the Rings-loving way. The energetic, garrulous, adorably bus-taking spokesman for the Miami-Dade County Elections Department speaks with the clear ring of truth when it comes to one of Florida's most painful subjects -- voting -- and is ever-available to answer questions from the press and the public alike.
Kaplan can actually discuss almost any subject with verve, wit, and an infomaniac's breadth of perspective, and becomes confounded only by superlatives to use regarding his beloved Florida Marlins. Kaplan was there for the first pitch of the very first game back in 1993, and continues to follow the Fish through ticker-tape parades and annoying personnel dramas.
Though the county's elections department has moved from downtown Miami to Doral, where, Kaplan says, he sometimes takes his life in his hands to cross eight lanes of traffic for some Dunkin' Donuts, he is especially beloved by the staff of this newspaper for his years of public-transportation patronage.
Best Sanctuary From the Fast Track
The parks of Key Biscayne
Bill Baggs State Park and Crandon Park -- because I can bike there from where I live. With our geography, you can see a great sunrise from plenty of places in Miami-Dade. Baggs is one of a smaller number of places where you can watch a great sunset. And considering how close you are to downtown, you feel remarkably far away.
Best Month
December
That's when most people in this country are beginning to face several months of living indoors, while things are just getting good in Miami.
Best Not-So-Cheap Thrill
Great seats at a Marlins game
Aside from mountains, Major League Baseball was once one of the only things missing in Miami. For a fan like me, just getting the team was great. The championship in 1997 was even better. But now ... I mean, this is the most exciting -- and most genuine -- thing I've ever seen in professional sports. In an era when too many athletes bring shame to their teams and sports, we have a team about whom we can tell little kids: "Watch how these guys play. Listen to the things they say." And there's nothing like watching it all up close.
Best Cheap Thrill
Riding the public bus
Yes, I know, it's supposed to be just a way to get around town. But sometimes, you get a lot more than that. I recently purchased a car after the Elections Department moved out west from downtown, but I had spent the previous three years without a car, relying almost exclusively on public transportation. I could -- and should -- write a book about my experiences. I did a lot of reading while someone else was driving the bus -- this limousine for the masses -- but sometimes I would just look out the window and take in the flavor of the Miami-Dade neighborhoods that so many folks never see while they're bypassing it all on the highway. Yes, the places I saw were interesting, but the people were the best part. Here I am, getting my heart warmed and feeling better about humanity, all for $1.25, while everyone else is cutting each other off and honking at each other in their cars outside.
Best Reason to Live in Miami
It's the same reason as the worst reason to live in Miami: the craziness. I know there are cleaner cities and wealthier cities, cities with healthier economies and better job markets.... But there aren't many more interesting cities -- cities with more character and characters -- than Miami.
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