Best Of Miami® 2006 Winners
People & Places
James "Jimbo" Luznar opened his joint on Virginia Key, Jimbo's, a half-century ago. And there's no better place on the water to take a toot.
What is your greatest triumph?
We used to be where the Herald building is, but then they said our boats would have to go. So we looked at Snapper Creek, Mart’ Park, then we ended up on Virginia Key. It stunk sometimes, and there were mosquitoes, snakes, coons, opossums, and iguanas. It cost us a lot of money to be there, but we stayed. They've been trying to get me out of there for a long time, but now everyone all over the world knows Jimbo.
Born in Homestead, Kevin Wynn is the producer and cohost of Downtown Dade, a TV talk show that covers the arts and culture and airs on the county's government access channel. He is also the coprogrammer, with Barron Sherer, of Cinema Vortex, a nonprofit organization devoted to screening unusual, significant, and neglected film and video works. And he's the creator of Public Domain Playhouse, a continuing series of screenings he curates with Sherer.
What is your greatest triumph?
My greatest triumph? I don’t do “triumph.” I’ve never had one. I can’t tell you how it feels to triumph, or what it looks, tastes or smells like. I wouldn’t know “triumph” if some guy ran over me with a TR4.
There are several safe, clean places where we can let Fido run off-leash in Miami-Dade. Coconut Grove has several dog-friendly parks; the Beach has some nice locations; there's a spot on Virginia Key where dogs can swim and sunbathe; but of all the canine treats in my Miami, the mac daddy of all dog parks is in Aventura. Two years ago the city, which is burgeoning with young dog-owning families, built the expansive new Veterans Park. The $600,000 two-acre expanse has a wonderful, well-kept, welcoming space. There are pooper-scooper dispensers throughout the space. There are doggy water fountains and doggy showers. And the most endearing detail: red fire hydrants. All of this greatness, of course, comes at a price: You have to live in Aventura, and show proof of residence, to gain access. It's almost reason enough to move there.
It is a dark time for Miami-Dade County's executive mayor. The evil lords on the county commission annihilated Carlos Alvarez's bold offensive to strip them of some bribe-making abilities. Then the Galactic Empire displayed the true power of the Dark Side when it crushed Alvarez in the Boundary Wars. Beaten but resolute, the good mayor fled to the outer rim of the county's suburban wasteland to regroup and complete his training. Upon his return, Alvarez successfully destroyed the Imperials' diabolical device: The Public Silencer. In time, this Obi-wan of the Swamp may finally bring balance to the county.
Come one, come all, to the "Read to Farley" sessions at the children's section of the North Miami Beach Library, the second and fourth Tuesdays of every month at 4:00 p.m. This is no ordinary dog. This shaggy mop o' unconditional love once suffered from crippling agoraphobia, owing to early abuse. But his patient handler, Margo Berman, a professor at Florida International University, worked tirelessly, training him to overcome his fears and earn his Therapy Dog badge. Now Farley helps shy children who have trouble reading aloud. Once the youngsters sit down with Farley on the colorful rugs, they don't want to stop reading him stories because he is a great listener, mispronunciations be damned!
When Charles Burkett ran for Surfside mayor in 2004, he was up against a group of candidates endorsed (and some say handpicked) by Paul Novack, the town's outgoing mayor of twelve years and most powerful political force. The Novack-endorsed slate labeled Burkett, a property owner who restores and resells homes (and manages the money in his massive family trust funds), as a developer and won the close election. Burkett ran again in 2006, and this time he was up against a full-scale smear campaign -- opposition loyalists distributed copies of a paternity suit filed against Burkett to local media and Surfside residents, and termed his ally and commission candidate Howard Weinberg a pornographer; they pointed out that Weinberg (an attorney) represented a triple-X Website in an anti-spamming lawsuit. It's worth noting that the media campaign was waged by both parties, although Burkett, a slick operator by all accounts, tended to let his allies and surrogates distribute paperwork detailing the Novack crew's alleged campaign finance violations. Despite the lost election, the paternity suit and an admitted campaign finance flub, Burkett won in March. "I think people can see through the name-calling," Burkett said. "They're trying to label me a developer, but my campaign platform calls for stricter development controls. Not that I'm calling anyone a liar."
Renting Vizcaya for a weekend evening may cost $10,000 ($7500 for a weeknight), but a properly bacchanalian affair should at least have traces of ancient Rome, if only in the form of a few well-placed Neo-Italian cherubs. Though one can only imagine the grandeur with which James Deering entertained in the early Twenties, parties at Vizcaya -- corporate sponsors and unfortunate cover bands notwithstanding -- transport the reveler to an ethereal Xanadu. When populated by a fashionable and enthusiastic Miami crowd and watered down with icy cocktails, the mansion -- with its view of the bay and ornate courtyards surrounded by labyrinthine gardens -- inspires a sense of mystery, beauty, and fun.
When Arthur Teele, the powerful but beleaguered commissioner of Miami's mostly black District 5, committed suicide in the lobby of the Miami Herald July 27, 2005, Mayor Manny Diaz lost his most daunting opponent. Among other beefs with his honor was Teele's opposition to the mixed-use Crosswinds development in Overtown, a multimillion-dollar project that Diaz's administration endorsed but Teele characterized as horrific gentrification. When District 5 went up for grabs this past November, many expected Teele friend and anti-Diaz gadfly Rev. Richard Dunn to pick up where the U.S. Army Ranger left off. But after City Manager Joe Arriola and others campaigned against Teele, former Diaz aide Michelle Spence-Jones won the seat, ensuring the district's reversal from anti-Diaz HQ to another vote for the mayor.
Any activity is better when you're intoxicated -- bowling, dancing, shooting pool, flicking your lighter at a Bon Jovi concert -- but the ultimate nightcap is pancakes. Serious drinkers know that after a good night of partying, you need to begin warding off the next day's hangover with a stack of alcohol-absorbing pancakes. The original buttermilk, the "healthy" grain-and-nut ones, chocolate chip ... it's all good. The fact that your one funky-smelling friend always complains about the outrageous prices at this establishment makes the excursion even better: "Damn! I didn't know I was going to have to dip into my retirement account for a Belgian waffle!" he whines as the rest of you fight over the butter pecan syrup. Besides the pancakes, there is always an interesting crowd -- both employees and patrons -- during the third shift at IHOP, which enhances the atmosphere. And no one will care if you're acting a little nutty as long as you're not being an ass.
Best Political Miscalculation
The seven-million-dollar fire fee settlement
Miami Mayor Manny Diaz and City Manager Joe Arriola cut a sweetheart deal with their buddy and prominent local attorney Hank Adorno and his seven clients. They thought Miami taxpayers wouldn't notice. They were so wrong. Manny and Joe found themselves in the middle of the biggest scandal to hit Miami City Hall since Cesar Odio ran Dinner Key. And they certainly underestimated the public outrage that the fire fee debacle would generate in the Magic City. Chants of "Joe must go!" resonated throughout the subtropics. But Manny held on to his extroverted chief administrator, even though portions of Circuit Judge Peter Lopez's ruling nullifying the seven-million-dollar settlement stated that "all parties directly involved in settlement negotiations" knew they were trying to bamboozle the taxpayers. So now Manny has lost his golden-boy glimmer, while Arriola, who has announced his retirement, seems to have lost his mind.
So he has the chops, the looks and most of all the voice and the presence. And, while no single performance ever could exhaust the possibilities of any Shakespearean role, Euriamis Losada's Romeo was a triumph: impulsive, young and sexy, but also in precociously masterful command of the heavenly music that is Shakespeare's language. This Romeo's banter with Nicholas Richberg's fine Mercutio alone would have been reason to cheer: clever dialogue that was at once of its time and timeless, made to titillate and entertain with its sensual possibilities even as one could not help admiring the craft of play and players alike. There was also more than a touch in Losada's performance that is too rare among young American actors, a disarming desire to conspire with the audience in making the play work, to play to them with no apologies, to shatter all barriers between the performance and its witnesses. Losada's final scene in Rafael de Acha's Romeo and Juliet had New Theatre audiences in tears. His complex Bassanio in The Merchant of Venice, incidentally, proved that his Romeo was no one-time fluke. Here is a young actor to watch.
For nearly a quarter-century Raul Martinez personified the City of Hialeah. La Ciudad que Progresa elected this giant-of-a-man mayor in 1981 after a one-term stint on the city council. A charming and combative hombre with bulldog jowls, Martinez proved that even a criminal conviction (eventually overturned by an appeals court) couldn't stop him from being re-elected. Last year, though, Hialeah's grand wizard decided it was time to retreat behind the curtain and relinquish the throne to protégé and City Council President Julio Robaina, who beat former state Sen. Roberto Casas in the 2005 election. But we're sure the don of Hialeah is only a phone call away when Robaina needs a little ayudita.
Yeah, he's annoying. Yeah, his Miami Herald columns are often infuriatingly inconsistent, self-contradictory, and smug. But LeBatard, who hosts the 4:00 to 7:00 p.m. slot on WAXY 790 AM, helms the most entertaining talk-radio show in town. Part of the reason is that it's only half a sports talk show. LeBatard and straightman Jon "Stugotz" Weiner (the station's general manager) nab the best sports guests of any local show (at one point Terrell Owens had a weekly spot, and LeBatard often interviews national stars), but they also spend a good deal of time on delightful nonsense. LeBatard regularly asks guests to call in and name athletes whose names sound most like butlers (Broncos back-up QB Bradlee Van Pelt? PGA star Davis Love III?). He also tends to gab with sports-related guests about pop culture more than sports. For instance, Marlins president David Samson rated movies during a weekly segment on LeBatard's show, until the team imploded and Samson stopped calling in. Regulars include Trick Daddy, Canes and Cowboys standout Michael Irvin, MADtv comedian and spot-on John Madden impersonator Frank Caliendo, and LeBatard's Herald buddy Greg Cote, who appears on the show mainly to sing poorly but earnestly about sports. Guests over the past year have included writer Malcolm Gladwell, former pro wrestler George "The Animal" Steele, and bad mofo Chuck Norris. Most frequently addressed topics include Chewbacca, Santería, and, again, Chuck Norris.
Questions like "Where do I register to vote?" and "What day should I put my trash out?" used to be weighty philosophical dilemmas, mulled over at great length by bureaucrats behind Plexiglas windows. Determining the address of the closest hurricane shelter entailed a Faustian journey into the bowels of voicemail networks. Learning which phone number to call in a police nonemergency involved a magnifying glass, a high-wattage light bulb, and an hours-long commitment to the phone book's blue pages. But then, in September 2005, Miami-Dade County officially launched its 311 call center. Now dial just three numbers, and the answering party -- one of 86 who man the phones at an 11,000-square-foot facility -- will surprise you with a cheery "How can I provide you with excellent service?" The center expects to receive an estimated 2.5 million calls in its first year of operation, and a quick review of the yammering to date seems to indicate that Miami-Dade residents' priorities are clean, safe neighborhoods. The Top 5 service requests/complaints? So: Stop sign down? Rabid dog in the driveway? The answer is three numbers away. No hold music, no voicemail, and helpful people. Your first question may very well be "Am I in Miami?"
In 1979 Harry and Darlene Kelton were living temporarily inside a houseboat docked at the county-owned Pelican Harbor Marina on the John F. Kennedy Causeway. One day the Keltons took in an injured pelican that was paddling by their floating home. One thing led to another, and the couple spent the final 23 years of their 48-year marriage tending to more than 6000 feathered patients. Unfortunately Darlene Kelton passed away in 2003, but her husband continues their legacy. The Keltons' original seabird station was a makeshift shed, and their first aviary was nothing more than old wood posts with chainlink fencing. In 1992 the seabird station moved into its current facility, which consists of a single-story building with two offices, a treatment center, and holding pens. The outdoor area is now a series of holding pens that allow wounded waterfowl to recuperate before they are released into the wild. Of course, some guests, such as the ones with only one wing, are permanent. The station's population is dominated by the native brown pelican, but other fine creatures such as herons and gannets also find their way to Pelican Harbor. On a recent visit, a northern gannet -- a majestic pearl-white bird with black wingtips and a large gray pointed beak -- argues with a feisty pelican for a space on a wood post. This year Harry Kelton and seabird station executive director Wendy Fox hope to begin fundraising for an upgrade to the existing building, possibly adding a second story. "That's going to take a few hundred thousand dollars," Fox says. "So we have some serious work to do." The station operates solely on public donations, struggling along each year on a budget of $87,000. Pelican Harbor also welcomes volunteers unafraid of encountering a little bird poo and handling bloody gutted bait fish. It is open seven days a week from 8:00 a.m. to noon and from 2:00 to 5:00 p.m.
It's not perfect, but it turns down the volume without squelching the vital tourist machine. Here's how it works: Once a code officer confirms a noise complaint, the culprit receives a written warning -- and has fifteen minutes to turn down the sound. Businesses receive three written warnings per year. (Vociferous voters got that knocked down from six at a contentious March meeting.) After that, fines ramp up. They begin paltry -- $250 for the first violation, and businesses can receive only one per day as long as they quiet down after a warning. But the new ordinance, approved March 11, takes away exceptions for special events -- like holiday weekends or Art Basel. So on the whole, the Beach should be a bit quieter for those who choose to live near the craziness.
Weaving a quirky collage of video, photography, installations, performance art, curated film series, and cinema-inspired live theater, this cozy film house continues drawing the culturati and curious like a magnet. Just last year, as part of its "Great Directors" series, the cinematheque delivered gems by Jean-Luc Godard, Wong Kar-Wai, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Gus Van Sant, and David Lynch in addition to unspooling the work of local indie auteurs in the eye-opening "Featured Independent" series. Other crowd favorites included the interactive Peepshow, based on Guy Maddin's Cowards Bend the Knee, debuting during Art Basel; an exhibit of David Lynch's photography; and Rosalind Schneider's site-specific installation, WAVES, which brought the curtain down as part of the closing-night festivities for Art Miami. Other popular offerings included "Politics on Film," "Views from the uNderground," "Café con Cinema," and "Judaica on Film," plus sidebars to festivals such as the Fort Lauderdale Film Festival, Brazilian Film Festival, and Miami Gay & Lesbian Film Festival. With no signs of slowing down or resting on its laurels, the Miami Beach Cinematheque is a soothing celluloid lover's oasis in our Milk Dud-and-multiplex desert.
Steve Hagen's advocacy on behalf of an array of causes can be best summed up as an attempt to make sure Miami's development explosion benefits residents as much as developers. The 57-year-old Belle Meade resident embodies the two most important qualities of a gadfly: He is persistent, and he is annoying. Hagen, a Miamian for 22 years, attends more public meetings than most reporters, and he e-mails notes to everyone in every organization he belongs to and then some. He starts new organizations, such as Save Bicentennial Park from Massive Museums and, most recently, Citizens Against Everything Bad. He has been the most visible member of other groups (Miami Neighborhoods United, for instance). He also champions causes that range from Miami's paucity of parkland to its surplus of billboards. When City Manager Joe Arriola, a frequent Hagen target, publicly berated the activist, Hagen sent out mass e-mails detailing the experience. Not since Russ Rector's heyday of attacking the Seaquarium has this town had such a pesky advocate. "I think through sheer repetition, some of what I've been saying has gotten through," he says. "I hear people at public meetings, saying, 'Miami is at the bottom of the list for parks, and we need to do something about that.' I like to think that I helped spread that message."
Think of blockbuster exhibits. Think of provocative community-oriented programs that integrate film, literature, music, and performance with the visual arts. Think Miami Art Central. Since opening its doors in 2004, the nonprofit has blazed an impressive swath across our cultural landscape, showcasing heavyweight names and pulling in crowds with stimulating presentations of lectures, screenings, workshops, publications, and roundtable discussions. The William Kentridge exhibition -- featuring the South African artist's drawings, sculptures, and live-action films, spilling over most of the museum's 20,000-square-foot exhibition space -- was the undisputed best-of-season knockout. This bonanza's undercard weighed in with an African film festival and interesting talks about contemporary art in South Africa by curator and scholar Okwui Enwezor. Add to the mix "The Last Picture Show: Artists Using Photography (1960-1982)," one of the tightest photography surveys ever to see the daylight in these parts; the subtle "Ruth Vollmer & Gego: Thinking the Line"; and the comprehensive "Irreducible Contemporary Short Form Video," and one sees why the big-swinging institution has climbed with pizzazz to the top of the cultural ranks. Think Miami Art Central and you'll find yourself thinking of one of the most exciting cultural forums around here today. Admission is $5 for adults, $3 for seniors, free for children under twelve and students with valid ID. Free admission Sundays. Hours: Tuesday through Sunday noon to 7:00 p.m.
Reverend Thompson has been preaching from the pulpit here since 1974, and in 32 years has put the "community" in the church's name in both word and deed. He began by encouraging blacks, Hispanics, and the homeless to join a congregation of what one current parishioner calls "a very well-gloved ladies-who-lunch crowd." Thompson threw himself, and his congregation, into community works -- hosting regular hot meals for the homeless, cleaning up Lincoln Road before it became Lincoln Road, and raising money for students who wanted to further their education but couldn't afford it. A fluent Spanish-speaker from his time preaching in Puerto Rico, he reached out to the Hispanic community during South Beach's grittier cocaine cowboy years, and he has steadfastly created public interfaith dialogues with leaders from Jewish and Muslim communities. The reverend does not adhere to any rigid doctrinaire teachings, believing "God is still speaking" and that the messages in the Bible are still evolving. To that end, he welcomes gays and lesbians to the church, and he preaches against the kind of fire-and-brimstone morality that drives so many people away from their childhood pews. The beautiful white stucco church and its visionary pastor prove, even smack-dab in the middle of South Beach, that some things -- depth, commitment, and community building -- are not only possible but also eternal.
The Overtown Youth Center basketball court makes any ordinary hoopster hungry. There's something about this particular hardwood. Maybe it's the context. This freshly painted, recently polished, carefully maintained, full-size indoor gem is located in one of the slummiest, most dilapidated parts of Miami. Or maybe it's because you're not allowed to play here. The court is part of the Overtown Youth Center, an after-school program that was spurred by a multimillion-dollar donation from philanthropist Marty Margulies. It belongs to the program and is the centerpiece of a youth basketball league. Still, adults and community organizations can apply to use it. If looking at the Youth Center court gets you hot for some hoopin', simply take the short walk over to the Gibson Park courts. They aren't the field of dreams, but they'll satisfy your hoop dreams.
In a city where there are as many public-relations people as flashy, high-rise condos, one man stands out above the event-promoting pack. His name is Charlie Cinnamon. He's been a well-established fixture for more than 40 years. He's responsible for some of Miami's finest and longest-running cultural events. And through it all, he's remained as spicy-sweet as his name would suggest. Without Cinnamon, there would be no Coconut Grove Arts Festival. The Miami Beach Festival of the Arts probably wouldn't have become the nationally known event it is today. And local theater would be lost. Cinnamon's efforts haven't gone unnoticed. In 1983 he was honored with the Carbonell Award for Outstanding Achievement in the Arts by the South Florida Entertainment Writers Association. In 1984 the City of Miami Beach Fine Arts Board named him Man of the Year. In 1985 the PROPS Women of Show Business created the inaugural Charles Cinnamon Award, which is given out annually by the National Foundation for Advancement in the Arts. This past March 25, 2006, Cinnamon was awarded the Playhouse Lifetime Community Achievement Award for his decades-long work in promoting the Magic City and its various cultural institutions. The award was presented by none other than suspenders-sporting CNN talk show host Larry King. Although he regularly deals with high-power celebrities, including Liza Minnelli, Mikhail Baryshnikov, Gloria Estefan, and Princess Caroline of Monaco, Cinnamon remains a man of the people who would rather enjoy lunch alfresco on Lincoln Road than spend time sucking up to name-dropping wannabes. Other self-described PR superstars and celebrity sycophants should learn from Charlie. He's lasted this long for a reason. Quite simply, he's tops.
Visit Crandon Beach on a gusty day and, for a $5 parking fee, here's what you'll find: kite surfers swooping and twirling in the distance and sandpipers dozing on one leg just offshore. The placid, lagoonlike waters make Crandon a perfect spot for swimming or wading. And its near-empty beaches are a welcome retreat from Miami Beach favorites. Besides, no other local waterfront spot can rival Crandon's velvety white sand and plentiful amenities -- among them meandering promenades, ample picnic areas, shaded pavilions, outdoor showers, and concession stands. For those with children, there's the Family Amusement Center with its antique carousel, roller rink, and sandy playground. You can also rent cabanas, complete with private restrooms and showers, for $20 per day or $200 per month. These small, mostly concrete spaces are better suited to storing lounge chairs and surfboards than lingering over mojitos. But who really needs a roof when there's so much sand to ply? And once you've had your fill of beach, you can sample some of Crandon Park's other offerings, such as fine restaurants, tennis courts, and a championship eighteen-hole golf course.
Born in Miami during a mainland visit by his Bahamian parents, this great American actor came to the Magic City as a fifteen-year-old in 1942 and remained in the United States after that. At first he had a really rough time, experiencing racism and difficulty in getting a job, which inspired his civil rights activism as an adult. Poitier joined the U.S. Army at age eighteen and while on leave auditioned impulsively for a Broadway production of Lysistrata. He got the part, and within a decade had copped the Oscar for his performance in 1963's Lilies of the Field, the first black to win in a leading role. Poitier maintained activity onstage, onscreen, and in the burgeoning civil rights movement. Roles in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967), as the suitor of a white woman (and by extension her uptight family), and To Sir, with Love (1967), as a teacher and inspiration to a bunch of teen hoodlums, were landmarks of their time. Today those films are still eminently watchable, in large part owing to Poitier's elegant elocution and reserved manner. And don't even get us started on They Call Me Mr. Tibbs.
Best Book by a Local Author
Finding Mañana: A Memoir of a Cuban Exodus by Mirta Ojito
In 1980 more than 125,000 Cubans fled the iron fist of Fidel Castro in what would become known as the Mariel Boatlift. Mirta Ojito was born in Cuba and lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Havana for sixteen years until her family joined the exodus to the United States. Ojito's family made it to Florida together, but many others were not as fortunate. Finding Mañana paints a bleak picture of the postmodern Cuba where self-expression was a crime and religion was rejected. But not all is despair and tribulation. As Ojito puts it: "We left the way one leaves a cherished but impossible love: our hearts heavy with regret but beating with great hope.''
Let us now have a moment of silence for Don Carter's, the little bowling alley that could, and did, for 30 years. The Kendall branch opened in 1976, when most of the overcrowded suburb was but a gleam in an ambitious developer's eye, and it sadly has gone the way of most Miami businesses that possess any glimmer of authentic retro chic. Shuttered. Kaput. Finis. If you're the kind of "athlete" who owns your own bowling ball and shoes, you'll have to head out to the annoying brightness of Bird Bowl (9275 SW 40 St., Miami; 305-221-1221, www.birdbowl.com) or even farther to the Homestead Bowling Center (111 S. Homestead Blvd., Homestead; 305-246-1333). Hipsters can enjoy Lucky Strike Lanes (1691 Michigan Ave., Miami Beach; 305-532-0307, www.bowlluckystrike.com). Just know that no self-respecting bowling alley serves coconut shrimp and hummus, dudes. Progress has marched on, but the memories remain. Don Carter's felt like the real deal -- musty, dark, and funky. The ambiance could be described as inadvertent kitsch (and isn't that really the best kind?), with cheesy track lighting, garish patterns in the carpet, and a distinct lack of contemporary chic flourishes. And the deals couldn't be beat. On Monday nights, visitors were able to pay $10 for the Bowl Your Brains Out deal: all-you-could-roll plus music, raffles, and Lightning Strikes, a stonerific explosion of special effects, lights, lasers, and fog. Ah, the good old days. Rumors of the location's imminent closing swirled for months. This past October, the following statement was posted on the company's Website: "While we are saddened to see this great establishment close, we will be open through October 2005." The date came and went, and the year came to a close. Two other dates were publicized as being the last call, but Don Carter representatives finally confirmed the tragic truth. The Kendall area landmark went out with a whimper, not with the promised celebration and hubbub. Sorry, boys, no more balls will roll down those familiar wooden lanes. Eventually the familiar gray building will be razed and maybe rebuilt into some bullshit chain store. Sentimental fans will lament, zip up their bowling bags, and then make the trek up to the remaining Don Carter locations in Tamarac and Davie.
This past December, when Chuck Zink quietly entered a nursing home after a major stroke, native South Floridians spread the news that our good friend was dying. To call The Skipper Chuck Show popular would be an understatement. From 1957 to 1979, every youngster in town wanted to appear on it. The production seemed a cheery reprieve from the often scary and confusing world that adults inhabited -- when Zink bravely ordered desegregation, it became a bellwether. No right-minded kid could forget the cheery Popeye's Playhouse at the end of a maze of dark hallways in that giant box where WTVJ shot the show. During his long career, Zink was also an announcer for The Jackie Gleason Show and the Miss Universe Pageant. His day jobs included weatherman and radio personality, and he earned a bronze star for bravery during World War II, but it was as host of a seemingly simple kiddie show that he made a lasting and positive impression on the world. When he passed away this past January, fans found it easy to lift their hands in the Skipper's trademark three-fingered gesture and wish Zink "peace, love, and happiness" one last time.
Route 8A, Miami-Dade Transit's exotic Third-World express through the heart of Little Havana, is an experience unrivaled in our public transportation system and dirt cheap at a buck-fifty. Many joke that for norteamericanos this rickety trip down Calle Ocho is like weathering the Florida Straits on a raft; it'll take you to another country, no passport required. Expect to find yourself immersed in spirited teeth-gnashing forums making mincemeat of Fidel Castro and Hugo Chávez. And if you don't speak Spanish, don't worry -- neither does the bus driver who appears in a zone all his own. Chances are a civic-minded translator will likely come to your rescue. You might also find yourself serenaded by a harmonica player belting out woeful tango standards and passing around a hat. Or you could run into a route regular canoodling with a life-size rag doll. The aging dandy is a street performer who dances with the dummy as part of his shtick, and hecklers yell at him to pay an extra fare as he slinks gracefully down the aisle with his tattered toe-tapping inamorata. Catch the infectious whiff of patriotism exuded by the geezer sporting the "Support Our Troops in Iraq" baseball cap with an American flag duct-taped to the brim. When the lady with the guava-tinge teeth waves her Lotto ticket at a man and denounces him an "infiltrator" before he tucks tail and hops off at the next stop, score one for back-yard democracy. Be wary of the guy waving the rusty garden rake -- it could poke out an eye. When you exit at Domino Park for some local color, don't miss the banner bearing an American bald eagle. It boasts, "Welcome to your Homeland Defense Neighborhood," in English.
Development is the enemy of Florida, and Steve Rosen is an enemy of development. He came to public attention when snipers were headed to Miami International Airport to slaughter 300 jackrabbits living there. Instead of carnage, Rosen, who clearly is more intelligent than anyone who has anything to do with running the airport, simply paid to have the bunnies wrangled and relocated. Now Rosen is going to court to stop developers statewide from burying alive gopher tortoises, creatures that are nearing a place on the list of threatened species after a 70 percent decline in population since 1910. Developers simply pave over the animals, causing them to slowly suffocate. Florida grants permits to kill the reptiles. Wal-Mart, for one example, built on top of five tortoises, causing Rosen to rhetorically question whether the retail giant couldn't afford to have relocated such a small number of the shelled creatures. After Rosen filed suit, he was quoted as saying, "This is going to be blood and guts. I'm going after them.''
Let the thrill-seekers roar around in cigarette boats, oblivious to everything but speed and spray. For those who want to see Miami by water but appreciate a glimpse of shy animals and birds as well, the key is to travel slowly and quietly. Miami-Dade County's Eco-Adventure programs offer some fifteen different opportunities to see Miami by canoe. Paddle through shady canals on the Coral Gables waterway tour. Appreciate the moon over Miami on a nighttime canoe trip around the Deering Estate. Watch the sun set over Black Point or Crandon Park. Prices range from $15 to $45 -- the most expensive are trips that require transportation by van, like that down Turner River in the Everglades. The tours are lead by experienced naturalist-guides and are rated according to ability.
Giant scaly creatures from darkest Africa invade Miami! Fierce serpents plunder the Everglades, breeding and eating, eating and breeding, and then ... they slither into the city itself! Creepy crawlers lurk at every turn! Wildlife gone into their gaping maws! Pets perish to the ravenous reptiles! Children -- beware! What this place needs is a new superhero. And here he is, Python Pete, a beagle assigned to snake-sniffing duty at Everglades National Park. Over the years, irresponsible wannabe herpetologists (an idiotic group known as "herpies") have purchased small, young pythons, a particularly docile species. A two- to three-foot-long python survives on a mouse meal every week or two. And they grow. Soon they need to dine on rats, then rabbits ... and by the time they're five or six feet and have outgrown their original cages, the snakes become too much for their keepers, who simply release them in the Everglades. There the snakes have flourished, particularly in the southwestern sector, near Everglades City. Except for swamp dwellers and reptile collectors, nobody seemed to care much until recently, when large pythons were found in urban situations, munching on someone's cat and doing battle with an alligator. Taking a cue from customs workers in Guam, where Jack Russell terriers nose through cargo to find brown tree snakes, the National Park Service folks enlisted the aid of Petey, a ten-month-old beagle who is being trained by owner and wildlife technician Lori Oberhofer to be a "first responder." Oberhofer worked on the Guam project and believes young Pete can learn to locate pythons "and then bark." In the decade preceding 2003, 53 of the big snakes were captured by NPS officials. In 2004 they caught 61. If little Petey becomes successful, alligators and kitty cats will rest easy. Of course there is one fear: Nosey beagle consumed by giant serpent!
There's just something chillingly alluring about a cemetery located in the heart of the ghetto. Miami City Cemetery is an especially wicked treat. It is the final resting place for famous city pioneers such as Julia Tuttle, William Burdine, and Miami's first mayor, John Reilly. The eleven-acre site was purchased by the city in 1897 from William and Mary Brickell for $750. Today, if you want to bury a loved one in the cemetery, you must own a family plot in which a relative of the deceased has been interred for at least ten years. That's because with 9000 occupied gravesites, the cemetery is full. And this being Miami, the cemetery has been at the center of its own little controversy -- like the time back in 2001 when cemetery workers were misplacing bones and forgetting to rebury the remains of poor dead saps. On Halloween, historian Paul George, to celebrate his birthday, takes you on a guided tour of this legendary boneyard. As he lurks from plot to plot, George relays tales about the mysterious deaths of the inhabitants. To learn more about George's cemetery tour, call the Historical Museum of Southern Florida at 305-375-1621.
Catherine Keener is associated with her indelible indie film roles as promiscuous, icy, neurotic urbanites settled firmly in New York City (or Los Angeles in the case of her most recent film, Friends with Money). It is shockingly pleasant to realize she not only is a native of Miami but also attended our city's estimable private Catholic school system. Indeed Keener is a graduate of Archbishop Coleman F. Carroll High School, which was named number one in the nation by the National Association of Roman Catholic Archdioceses in "Catholic Identity." Keener, who at age 46 seems just to be becoming a beauty, got her break in films with one line in the 1986 Demi Moore-Rob Lowe vehicle About Last Night .... After fooling around with small roles in big pictures, Keener hit her stride in 1995 at age 35 with prominent roles in art films. Living in Oblivion, directed by Tom DiCillo, and Walking and Talking, by Nicole Holofcener, gave Keener juicy, Manhattan-indie parts in which she inhabited characters who were by turns self-involved, vulnerable, caustic, and ultimately tough. In 1998, as the icy, bisexual, manipulative Terri in Neil LaBute's horrifying tragedy of yuppie manners, Your Friends and Neighbors, she cheats on her husband (played by Ben Stiller) with Nastassja Kinski and verbally emasculates Aaron Eckhart's misogynistic jock character. She does all of this without ever quite wiping the half-dreamy, half-bored look from her light blue eyes. Keener is an unconventional beauty, with uneven features and mousy, usually flat, brown hair. But in 2005 she landed back-to-back glamorous leading-lady-type roles, as the object of Steve Carell's dopey affection in The 40-Year-Old Virgin and as Harper Lee in Capote, for which she received an Academy Award nomination. Keener's emergence as a star who twinkled before shining speaks to her patience and discipline, which maybe has something to do with that Catholic school education.
Memory brings its own surprises. Lauren Feldman's performance as the central character of A Bad Friend seemed at first just one fine jewel among many in a solid ensemble generously directed by the formidable Joseph Adler at GableStage. Jules Feiffer's play, not perfect but perfectly timed, goes beyond Old Left nostalgia to warn us all about the dangers of letting today's radical right play on people's fears and hatreds, redefining patriotism as blind evangelical zeal. The message is wise, even necessary, as we live through the most corrupt presidency since Richard Nixon's. For reasons both dramatic and political, Adler's GableStage did a brave and lovely thing in giving this play its local premiere. But it is the ineffably melancholy image of the delicate Feldman as Rose, a vulnerable young girl caught in the maelstrom of her family's and her country's ideological turmoil, that is still resounding long after the curtain's fall. To come on not particularly strong and yet make an indelible impression -- that is a gift.
The Miami Herald columnist is best known for penning holier-than-thou tomes. She recently wrote about the perils lottery winners face when they accumulate sudden wealth. Other days she takes readers on mundane journeys through her life as a doting, caring mother frustrated by the FCAT and the anxieties of sending Junior off to college. Alas, we're still waiting for Ana to tap deeply into her ink-stained heart and give us her moralistic take on her recent pecadillo in federal court. This past January, U.S. Magistrate Judge Stephen Brown ordered Veciana-Suarez to serve eighteen months of probation, pay a $5000 fine, and serve 60 hours of community service after she was convicted on a contempt-of-court charge. During jury selection for a 2003 federal civil trial, she failed to disclose her father's criminal history. At the sentencing, Judge Brown highlighted Veciana-Suarez's columns focusing on values such as honesty, trust, and integrity as one of the reasons for the relatively harsh sentence.
Do you want to know what it really takes to become a cop? If you live or work on Miami Beach, you can enroll in a twelve-week crash course and find out what the real CSI unit does (graphic crime scene photos included!), learn tactical and pursuit driving maneuvers that could save your life (pulling three 360s on a slick course is awesome!), experience the adrenaline of searching for a suspect in a darkened building (and shoot them with paint pellets!), and meet the K-9 unit (bark!). You can schedule a ride-along and spend a midnight shift on patrol (more doughnuts and coffee, please!). They will even provide you with dinner before each class (excellent!). The CPA, a free course offered three times a year, just completed its 28th cycle, and counts more than 500 citizens as graduates. Recent graduate Jyrki Auvinen, front office manager of The Hotel of South Beach, signed up for the class because he works and lives on the Beach. "I wanted to have a better understanding of how our local police department operates," says Auvinen. "The course was not only very informative, but the officers who organized it made it also interesting and fun. I even ended up volunteering to be shot a few times with a simulation gun! Yes, it hurts." Once you complete the twelve-week course, you receive a certificate and a pin, and alumni are awarded with additional classes (get your concealed-weapons permit or spend a day with the medical examiner!), a holiday party, and an invitation to join the CPA board. You will meet some very cool cops who love what they do, and you will certainly have a new respect for those who put their lives on the line every day they step out on the street in that blue uniform. "Now that I have completed the course," Auvinen adds, "I not only have a better understanding of the work that these fine people do, but I also better understand how my actions -- or inactions -- can affect the outcome of a situation where they might be called upon."
Amanda has been a staple of Miami's counterculture fest, the King Mango Strut, for more than two decades. Whether it was as an absentee voter for Raul Martinez, carrying a "Never Too Dead to Vote" sign; a pedophile priest; or a cocaine flamingo, Force has brought much of the spunk that has made this parade so refreshing year after year. In 2005 the 54-year-old Force resurrected a particularly powerful yet irreverent bit. Dressed in a feather boa and a hoop skirt, she occasionally flashed the crowd, picking up her hem to reveal an Osama bin Laden dummy between her legs. A boy in a purple pimp costume trailed behind Force with a sign that stated, "I still know where Osama is hiding." Three years into the Iraq war, Force's commentary was both a sobering reminder of nationalistic failings and a damn funny gag.
It's difficult to believe fifteen years have slipped by since Brook Dorsch hung his shingle over a drug store on the corner of Coral Way and Cuban Memorial Boulevard and rolled the dice on running an art space out of his tiny second-floor crib. One of the first DIY alternative joints at a time when the stodgy Gables scene reigned supreme, Dorsch shook Miami up with edgy offerings that introduced talented young locals to the public, clearing his living room of furniture and running a bar out of the hall between his kitchen and bathroom for his early openings. The risk-taker was also among the first to plant a flag in Wynwood in 2000 and has never looked back since opening his capacious digs. With more than 100 exhibits under his belt, Dorsch has gone from an early underground newbie to a cultural graybeard who's all about building community. From exhibits featuring stable stalwarts like Ralph Provisero, Kyle Trowbridge, Carolina Salazar, William Keddell, and Claudia Scalise; to hosting the stellar Sub-tropics Music Festival and concerts showcasing Arthur Doyle, Awesome New Republic, Iron and Wine, and Pong; to opening its doors for hurricane and tsunami relief benefits, the Dorsch Gallery has evolved into a rare local treasure that continues to shine by keeping it real.
Living in a city fueled by flagrant materialism, conspicuous consumption, and a reputation for social if not outright physical violence has made cowards of us all. If you talk back to the cop who pulls you over for your skin color rather than your flickering taillight, you risk a beatdown. Speak up about the craven capitalism of your corporation, and you'll find yourself on unemployment with three sketchy roommates in a studio apartment. Yet a spirit of rebellion, one that has haunted Miami for decades, is taking corporeal form. People are overcoming fear and are speaking -- and stepping -- up. Students and janitors at the University of Miami in April staged strikes and sit-ins over low wages and lack of benefits for cleaning crews. During the same month, farm workers and their supporters congregated in Homestead to advocate for rights for illegal immigrants. And that issue brought out a rainbow of flags from different nations for similar actions on May 1. A sometimes strident yet effective brigade of homeowners in Coconut Grove has torpedoed plans for a Home Depot on Bird Avenue through a combination of speaking before the Miami City Commission, leafleting, and plastering fences and walls with "The Grove Says No" signage. Some of these people have all the Benjamins, but many, if not most, are of limited means and risk a great deal by making their minds known. Still, if Silence = Death, a lot fewer people in our town are on the doorstep than in years past.
Best Convention of the Past Year
Spa & Resort/Medical Spa Conference & Expo
Not since Ponce de Leon stumbled upon Saint Augustine have we been so close to discovering the Fountain of Youth. And if one judges a convention by the free stuff collected from vendors in the exhibition hall, this expo cannot be beat. Medical and spa professionals were introduced to the latest lotions, potions, and therapeutic laser and LED light treatments. Shoulders were rubbed with aromatherapy massage oils, feet were soaked in sudsy tubs, and skin was rejuvenated by microdermabrasion treatments -- all so the professionals can provide you with the best possible service. You are, after all, forking over some dough for a luxurious afternoon at the spa, and even bigger bucks are being spent on treatments to correct our damaged and aging skin. While some visitors complained about it being "like a million degrees outside" during this mid-September conference, attendees were treated to frozen margaritas and strawberry daiquiris as a calypso cover band provided musical entertainment at a late-afternoon cocktail reception. Everyone walked away with a parting gift: a giant bag packed with enough candles, body butter, vitamins, mineral salts, makeup, and supersoft socks to last until this year's expo.
Standing vigilant in the heart of Hialeah is one of the county's oldest socialites, a lovely lady who has seen better days and grander parties but still endures proudly despite the ravages of time and neglect. The world-famous Hialeah Race Track opened in 1925 and was an immediate and long-lasting hit with polite society, royalty, and politicians. All of them, along with the two-dollar bettors, enjoyed top racing and beautiful surroundings. The main building was constructed in Masonry vernacular style with classical elements to remind race fans of European tracks. It was not only the place to be seen, but also the place to see the nation's only flock of breeding flamingos. Like Miami, the park was severely damaged by the 1926 hurricane. It was trimmed of a jai-alai fronton, amusement park, and greyhound track. But the horseracing was enough to catapult the track to the head of the pack nationally. It remained on the lips of every bookie until it was finally shuttered in 2001. Despite the occasional chatter about a new use for the park, its eligibility for designation as a national landmark threatens most comers (except perhaps the Miami Marlins). Unfortunately the track seems likely to end its days as a backdrop to weddings and quinceañeras -- a white elephant infested with pink flamingos, but a gorgeous one at that.
Miami Beach is known for its beaches, clubs, tycoons, and fashionistas, but it should also be thought of for ballet. The Beach is home to one of the nation's top ballet companies. Magic City balletomanes got lucky in 1986 when dancer Edward Villella became the troupe's founding artistic director. Under Villella's leadership, the little company has grown into a giant: 47 dancers, more than 70 annual performances in South Florida, a thriving ballet school, and a reputation for innovative dance. Classics such as George Balanchine's The Nutcracker and Giselle are regularly performed. But the Miami City Ballet also performs contemporary works by choreographers like Twyla Tharp and Lynne Taylor-Corbett. Beginning this fall, ballet lovers can enjoy pas de deux in the Miami Performing Arts Center. And one of the nicest things for dance lovers is the theater used for the company's contemporary performances: the Lynn and Louis Wolfson II Theatre, an intimate 200-seat space in Miami Beach where no view is a bad one. Individual ticket prices range from $19.95 to $105.
When the last Burdines sign came down a few months ago, more than just a trademark disappeared from the Miami landscape; a homegrown and nationally admired institution faded into the Magic City sunset. Burdines began as a little outpost selling its wares to railroad workers, soldiers headed to war in Cuba, and a small but ethnically diverse population. Both city and store grew rapidly in the tropical warmth. As Miami became a world-class tourist destination, Burdines grew to cater to visitors as well. By the Thirties, the company began producing its own line of clothing that became the rage in colder climes. Those ice freaks, it seems, wanted a little imported sunshine.
Fort Lauderdale? West Palm Beach? Close enough, but please. Naples? Nice, but too far. Bimini -- great. But if you don't have a speedy 60-foot power boat, fuhgeddaboutit. Miami, unlike a lot of places on the east or west coasts, does not have loads of quick, nearby escapes to the mountains that can be tackled reasonably in a day. But one 90-minute escape from the Magic City is Key Largo. Of course, a trip to Key Largo is warranted because it's a recreator's paradise -- snorkeling at Pennekamp, fishing in the flats, canoeing and kayaking through the maze of mangroves. But the primary reason Key Largo is the our escape du jour is because it's different. Even the passage to Key Largo is semiexotic. Cross Jewfish Creek or Card Sound, enter the murky never-world of the Everglades, and you're away. Once in Key Largo, with its kitschy shell shops, sportfishermen, seafood restaurants, and drink-your-sorrows-away attitude, you're on vacation. A sun-baked day on the water, enhanced by a few stiff drinkies and then wrapped up with a conch fritter at Alabama Jack's, is a true getaway.
The 36-story concave space-egg-meets-Saint Louis Arch shape of this building's façade makes it stand out in a downtown of surprisingly unimaginative buildings. Completed in 2004 by the renowned architecture firm Kohn, Pedersen, and Fox, the Espiritu Santo is an elegant building of fascinating geometry. A sculpted walking bridge brings visitors over curbfront pools to the entry, where a restrained marble entry area leads to a second floor atrium featuring a reflecting pool and a dramatic glass ceiling that seems to float eleven stories above. Although it sustained quite a bit of damage during Hurricane Wilma, the Espiritu Santo should be around for a while, holding its place among the signature buildings of Miami's skyline.
His work has spanned the centuries this season, from assisting Rafael de Acha in the ambitious Shakespeare Project to taking the reins of new plays like Day of Reckoning and Madagascar. He is as fearless as he is generous, making the most of whatever is on the page and letting his actors find their often-surprising best. Martinez watches their back: No one looks bad onstage when this man is in charge, and his choices in everything from the subtlest gestures to the broadest strokes resonate with the feeling of truth.
Although we could never afford to live there, Blue is by far the most beautiful condo to sprout on the Biscayne Corridor. It is a striking addition to Miami's changing skyline, standing tall along Biscayne Bay, right at the foot of the Julia Tuttle Causeway. The seductive curve of the north-facing façade is an arching sail of blue-tinted hurricane-proof glass that marries water to sky. And the clean white lines of its bowed back cradle an elevated garden and yoga terrace, pool deck, and fitness center -- all of which sit upon the cleverly concealed parking garage. Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows provide residents with unobstructed panoramic views of the sparkling waters of the bay and ocean. The architecture and design team responsible for creating this masterpiece include Bernardo Fort Brescia, Laurinda Spear, Sergio Bakas, John Jenkins, Victor H. Rodriguez, William Lai, and Ulises Peinado of Arquitectonica, the same firm that designed the American Airlines Arena, the Miami City Ballet headquarters, and the new U.S. Federal Courthouse.
At five feet eleven inches and 228 pounds, Zach Thomas was an unheralded player from Texas Tech University when the Fins drafted him in 1996. Football pundits thought he was too small to play middle linebacker, a position that requires banging heads with 300-pound offensive linemen on a weekly basis. But that didn't stop former head coach Jimmy Johnson from taking a chance on the human wrecking ball from Pampas, Texas. Entering his ninth season, Thomas has proven himself as one of the toughest hombres to don the uniform of Miami's storied football franchise. For the second year in a row, and for the eighth time in his career, he led the team in tackles (166) this past season despite missing games because of injuries. During a loss to the Cleveland Browns this past November, Thomas recorded five tackles while playing with a separated shoulder. His performance earned him his sixth election to the Pro Bowl.
Tucked away in a patch of urban green is a tangible reminder of Miami's humble roots. Built in 1857, it's the oldest house in Miami-Dade -- a rambling cross between Little House on the Prairie and an Alabama shotgun shack. William Wagner was a white pioneer who settled here as the Seminole wars raged. He built the area's first postcolonial church, ran a mill nearby, married a Creole woman, and watched Miami grow from a malarial outpost to a real town. The house is so charmingly out-of-place you can't help but like it.
When the book about South Beach in the gay Nineties is finally written (and what a story it will be), there most certainly should be a chapter dedicated to the one and only Shelley Novak. The hirsute, zaftig drag queen has been hosting her Shelley Novak Awards for the past eleven years. Eleven years! "And I've been doing drag for fifteen years. I don't think anybody I know has made that kind of commitment to anything! I know marriages that haven't lasted that long," quips the blunt-spoken Bostonian. Her awards ceremony is always ribald and ridiculous, fluffy and fun, with a couple of outrageous musical performances tossed in for flavor. "If anything, it becomes like a Friars Club Roast, but it does get taken very seriously. I try to nominate people who I know will get up onstage and break down in tears," chuckles Novak. Besides hosting South Beach's longest-lasting awards ceremony for drag queens, Shelley takes part in the education of the gay community by hosting her own monthly film-screening series, Shelley Novak's Hollywood. Before she stepped into the dazzling spotlight at crobar to hand out awards this year, Novak stood in the darkness of the Miami Beach Cinematheque, to host a suitably reverent tribute to her recently deceased namesake, Shelley Winters. Winters and Novak shared more than a first name. Both were talented yet overlooked for their more svelte and glamorous counterparts. And it's because of actresses like Shelley Winters -- and her other namesake, Kim Novak -- that Shelley Novak continues to proudly carry a torch for almost-forgotten film stars. "The reason I do Shelley Novak's Hollywood is because there was a generation lost," the adorable, self-depreciating cross-dresser reveals. "When I was a young gay kid in 1985, I had all these older gay guys introducing me to John Waters and David Lynch, and because of AIDS, that generation died. For the kids now, there's nobody to look up to for advice, or to teach them old Hollywood, or camp value, or what books to read," she explains. Novak does her part to keep the drag flame burning, welcoming young queens into the circle while simultaneously recognizing the courage and longevity of old warhorses like Henrietta, who's been dressing up since the Fifties. Always an awarder and almost never an awardee, this playfully modest South Beach institution maybe should just write a book of her own.
During the Twenties, farmers and other locals who made fortunes in the land boom built this verdant, vibrant neighborhood, sparing no expense on architecture. The houses remain -- framed by NE Second Avenue, NW Sixth Avenue/I-95, the Design District, and Little Haiti -- with all of their chimneys, porticos, balustrades, alcoves, wrought-iron fences, cement fences, wrought-iron-and-cement fences, and plenty of other tasteful and fascinating ornamentation. A couple of decades ago, the area became a magnet for immigrants -- some of the larger homes were converted into rooming houses. The future looked dim for historic preservation, but as sometimes happens in such circumstances, the new arrivals rebuilt Buena Vista, creating a neighborhood with the emphasis on neighbor. Trees abound, lawns are mown and hedges trimmed, people ride bikes and kids play outside. East Buena Vista (the portion between North Miami Avenue and NE Second Avenue) tends to be a bit more upscale, but the entire residential respite from the nearby commercial and cultural chaos is remarkably pleasant and peaceful. The folks in Buena Vista clearly have faith in the future, which is the most important thing for any neighborhood.
The venues and themes may change, but the dress code stays the same. "We command the following attire at our fetish events," the masters say on the Website. Rubber. Vinyl. Military uniforms. And, yes, leather: fabulous, skintight, slick, and sexy leather. (There are more attire allowances, but you have to check them out for yourself.) The parties have been a monthly hit for nearly a decade, largely because the rules themselves create the fantasy -- the freedom within boundaries (or bondage). If leather is your thing, enjoy.
Before the Cuban revolution, La Época was a major department store on the island. Although it still occupies a physical location in central Havana (as a dollar store of all things), the brand -- along with much of the essence of Cuba -- made the trip across the straits and settled in downtown Miami on NE Second Avenue. For 40 years, el exilio flocked to the packed store, even after the shopping district lost much of its vibrancy. This past December, though, La Época moved over to the old Walgreen's location on Flagler. Many will remember the 1936 Streamline Moderne structure as the site of a popular cafeteria; however, now the contents of La Época are spread across three of the exquisite building's five floors. The increase in elbow room is certainly welcome, but more important, this underscores that the downtown resurgence isn't a pipe dream.
Just meandering toward Doral's driving range on a sunny South Florida day will put you in the golfing mood. From the flowers to the fountains, the palms swaying and that endless landscape of beautiful Bermuda, it's the perfect setting to start swinging. And speaking of grass, Doral is actually one of the few Miami courses that allow you to practice on the grass. So you can avoid the feeling of carpet under your club and concentrate on firing at the flags.
For a town that prides itself on its architecture, Miami Beach often seems to have lost its way in historic preservation. Demolition-by-neglect appears to be a favorite tactic of property owners, so when the City of Miami Beach promised to renovate the Colony Theater, interested residents and artists emitted a collective sigh of relief. The small 1934 Art Deco structure is demure by Beach standards. It was built for the Paramount chain at the quiet end of Lincoln Road, which probably saved it from the wrecking ball. After renovations in the Seventies, the 465-seat theater became a focal point for performing arts groups as well as films. But it fell into disrepair again until a new fixup was approved in 2002. Unfortunately, as often happens with government contracts, the renovation went way over budget and schedule. Instead of $1.5 million and one year, the project stumbled over obstacles that set the final price tag around $6.5 million and pushed back the opening date three years. The renovations were extensive: The floor was restored and a new three-story wing was added to the backstage area. In order to highlight the exquisite façade, the entrance was shifted to face Lincoln Road, and the lobby was redone, including restoration of murals. The place reopened this past February. Despite the troubles and costs, residents and art lovers are happy to have it back. It's way better than another cookie-cutter condo.
This winter festival concentrates on socially conscious documentaries, the kind of fare that often otherwise goes unseen in the local community. Unlike the better-known Full Frame Festival in Durham, North Carolina, The Florida Room handpicks its films along a theme. This year it was "The State of Our Water." The acclaimed PBS Point of View film Thirst and other films such as Bottle This! and The Miami River told stories about the privatization, pollution, and politics floating around the water issue. In other years, festival themes have tackled identity and diversity, politics and unsung heroes. Cofounder Rhonda Mitrani, who worked in postproduction for Miramax, is also a director whose film Cuba Mia aired on PBS; plus she's a busy video artist and a screenwriter. Cofounder Juan Carlos Zald’var is a New York University-trained director and video installation artist whose work has appeared in galleries and on PBS and the Independent Film Channel. If documentary can help change the world, it's good to have these two workhorses shepherding the way.
On June 1, when Joe Arriola surrenders the illustrious job of Miami city manager, we recommend he try his hand as a media critic. In the January 2006 edition of Miami Monthly magazine, Arriola showed off his screed-writing ability in a column lambasting the Miami Herald's coverage of Hong Kong-based Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts' plan to open a five-star hotel on Watson Island. "How this business deal was spun into the city cavorting [sic] with and giving land to communists is an interesting story -- it's what happens when cheap McCarthyism, lazy reporting, and brainless editorial decisions intermingle," Arriola wrote. He concluded his diatribe against Miami's only daily with the following excerpt: "Despite all its Pulitzer Prize-winning glory, the Herald today seems more reminiscent of a cheap supermarket tabloid lacking the vision and the wherewithal to mature alongside the rest of Miami." We suggest that Miami's only daily hire Arriola, whose mouth is more than big enough to fill the void left by the now dearly departed columnist who once worked at New Times.
Best FM Radio Personality
Prince Markie Dee, The Beat (WMIB, 103.5 FM)
Mark "Prince Markie Dee" Morales has serious street cred. Aficionados of the old school will recognize him as an original member of the Fat Boys, one of the first groups to inject self-deprecating humor into hip-hop. In the Nineties, Markie Dee took off the goofy glasses and racked up some major music-producing credits. Tracks by Shabba Ranks, Destiny's Child, Mariah Carey, and Mary J. Blige stud his overflowing resumé. These days Markie Dee is better known as the prince of 103.5 The Beat, jamming the airwaves from 2:00 to 6:00 p.m. every weekday alongside Mr. Mauricio. And although he sometimes goes back in time and spins tracks from the era when "Wipeout" was in regular rotation on MTV, more often Markie Dee is introducing tracks by Ne-Yo, Nelly, and Dem Franchise Boyz. "I'm a regular jock, you know? Every once in a while we'll play the old-school joints, but I just play what people wanna hear," the erstwhile Fat Boy explains. Markie Dee loves giving the people what they want. Listeners can hear the glee in his voice during the "Fat Four at Four," the giveaway segment of his daily show where he assigns arbitrary weights to the most requested songs. The listener who correctly adds the weights wins cool prizes like concert tickets and CDs. Hearing the notoriously chunky radio jock say "Beyoncé weighs 927 pounds!" is just good fun. Markie Dee concedes that interacting with happily screaming listeners is his favorite part of the job. "I like getting on the phone with fans, getting one on one and communicating with them," he says. Though Markie Dee could be exploiting his instantly recognizable public persona, his experience in the business has left him older and wiser. He spends most of his off-air time doing promotions and charity work on behalf of the station. His future plans include a nationally syndicated old-school show with BET host Big Tigger. He has an Internet show on www.ontoptv.com, and he's finishing up the pilot for a television game show called Pay Your Dues that sounds like a hip-hop combination of Rock & Roll Jeopardy and American Idol. He hopes to have the show picked up by BET or MTV and bring his career full circle. Even without the television exposure that helped make him a star, Markie Dee is known and loved throughout the city. "Everyone pretty much knows who I am. I get recognized a lot, but sometimes I'll be at Chili's ordering some food, and the waitress will be like, "Hey, your voice sounds familiar! Oh, you're Markie Dee! That's what's up!"
Nine years ago Nick D'Annunzio, young and shy, was sitting at a dark table in Shadow Lounge when a group of pretty young ladies walked in. One of them, Tara Solomon, ended up sitting next to him. "She had the most amazing legs, but I didn't want to, you know, say that, so I said, 'I love your shoes.' Then I was like, 'Great, now she thinks I'm gay,'" says D'Annunzio. With similar career ambitions in the public-relations world, they quickly became friends, and Nick tried for months to make a move on Tara, "but she wouldn't give me anything to go on," he says. "So finally I was like, I'm just gonna ignore her. So I'm at this party for Ocean Drive and she's there, and I'm ignoring her the whole time. Finally I feel this tap on my back, and I was like, Now I got her...." D'Annunzio and Solomon's romance was quickly mixed with business when they were asked to do PR work for Wet Seal, a women's clothing store that then had about 500 locations worldwide. "We didn't even have an office at the time," D'Annunzio says, so together they formed TARA, Ink, which now represents companies like Cadillac, Guess Jeans, and T-Mobile. "Working together actually brings us closer. We never, ever fight when it comes to work; her strengths are my weaknesses." D'Annunzio and Solomon have been engaged for two and a half years. They say they plan to marry soon, when they're less busy.
Last summer, when the Miami Herald dropped columnist Jim DeFede (thanks to a few inches of magnetic tape), readers and journalists across the nation called for his reinstatement. Fortunately for DeFede, also a former New Times writer, the pleading went unanswered. His fans and colleagues didn't know it at the time, but the big guy's voice would soon begin bellowing from TV speakers. Although still a little shaky in the new media, DeFede now has a regular gig called "The DeFede Report" for WFOR-TV CBS 4, where Miamians can continue to hear his entertaining viewpoints.
In a city where the cost of a gym membership can surpass the cost of a monthly car payment, it can be difficult to believe that a free exercise class could actually be better than one of those pricey South Beach celebrity workouts. But Yoga in the Park has them all beat for three exquisite reasons: First of all, location. The class takes place on an elevated stage between the lapping ocean at Bayfront Park and the tall downtown buildings, which makes for a unique contrast of inspiring imagery during the invigorating Ashtanga session. The class takes place every Monday evening between 6:00 and 7:15, so add the soothing effect of the sun setting overhead and the gigantic, cool-looking fountain that faces the pavilion, and it suddenly becomes apparent that no high-end yoga studio in town could match this place for sheer ambiance, regardless of how well polished its wooden floors might be. Second, the instructor. He's a hottie named Augustin, and he's got ridiculously toned arms and a penchant for flowing white linen pants. Augustin's voice is soothing, and he takes the time to help newbies achieve the perfect position. His class zings along at a stimulating pace and then stretches out into a profound relaxation period, when he talks the students through a cool-down visualization exercise. At the end of the class, everyone gathers around like fans at a rock concert to personally thank him for the healing experience. And finally, it's free. All you need to do is bring a yoga mat, water, and a towel, and sign a waiver. Need we say more?
An endlessly laudable organization, FIAC was founded in 1996 by ten attorneys and activists concerned about cuts in funding to immigrant advocacy. Their budget was $400,000. Ten years later, they have 40 employees and a $2.4 million budget. Their tireless work on behalf of all immigrants, from Haitian asylum-seekers to migrant farm workers, is desperately needed in South Florida. FIAC attorneys, led by executive director Cheryl Little, are at the forefront of immigrant issues -- ranging from poor conditions at detention centers to the burgeoning human trafficking industry.
In 1992 the first choice in the NBA draft was Shaquille O'Neal. The second was Alonzo Mourning, and a rivalry, sometimes bitter, developed between the two centers. Last year Shaq and Zo became partners in the Miami Heat's ongoing quest for an NBA championship. In between exists enough triumph, adversity, and drama to fill a book (or ten). In any case, Zo's the man because of the intricacies of pro hoops, a team game in which back-up players are often as important as starters. And the drama. After coming to Miami in 1995 and delivering top-quality play for years, Mourning, who had been diagnosed with focal glomerulosclerosis, missed the entire 2002-2003 season because of what the media called his "career-ending" kidney illness. But Zo came back, played for New Jersey and Toronto, and was re-signed as a free agent by the Heat on March 1, 2005. The Heat then made its most promising run for NBA supremacy, losing by only six points in Game 7 of the Eastern Conference finals. With Shaq suffering an injury earlier in those playoffs (he returned for the finals), the Heat might not have made it as far as they did without Zo, who stepped in and filled Shaq's enormous shoes. And that's the key now, as the Heat has gone all-out (a number of trades, Pat Riley returning as coach) to finally go all the way. With Shaq being prone to minor injuries and missing free throws, it is Alonzo Mourning who could make the difference between supremacy and second place.
On most Fridays between 3:00 and 9:00 p.m., Boulevard Liquors cashes checks for hundreds of the lunch-bucket schmos and sundry perhaps-less-than-documented worker ants who are doing the scut work of reshaping Miami's condo-a-skyline. Intrepid streetwalkers have caught on to the potentially captive audience and staked out a bus bench nestled between the store and the nearby Pronto market. Those stuck in traffic can often catch the quick-buck hustlers jockeying for position and wagging their stuff. Some of the shameless tarts have taken to bringing along a pet dog; they apparently believe a canine will throw off Miami's finest while they mow threw their grimy, hayseed Johns like reapers in a wheat field. The sordid ritual is part street theater, part cockfight, and highly entertaining. Best of all, it's a free and soothing balm for those on the verge of rush-hour road rage.
Clocking in at just under six months, the 2005 hurricane season will long be remembered not only for its ferocity but also for its length. With such a large segment of the year under the threat of canceled vacations and impromptu sandbagging, it pays to have up-to-date information at your fingertips, and there's no better place for immediate gratification than the Internet. Skeetobite Weather is a graphically attractive site that tracks storms from beginning to end. The Website presents the same computer models the weathermen use, so you can play your own in-house forecaster. (Hint: The GFDL model did well last season.) However, the wind-field feature is the most useful element on the chart. This staggered bull's-eye refocuses attention from the storm's center to the entire area that might be affected by dangerous winds.
He's got that University of Miami swagger, as the New York Times pointed out a few games into the Hurricanes' season last year. Granted, the team lost two games after that story, but Phillips never failed to impress. Only a freshman, the Carol City native in the #1 jersey bears the look of a classic Cane: He's fast, he's there on every play, and he's always up for a little pre-kickoff freestyle booty-shaking to get the adrenaline pumping. The Canes may not have won a national championship this time around, but the safety played every game -- every tackle -- like a winner.
Take a vacation without leaving town, but don't leave home without your wallet (or before requesting a higher limit on your credit cards). Experience a weekend of relaxing in hotel paradise and think of it as a meager sampling of the life of a celebrity. Walking into the lobby of The Setai, you are immediately transported to a tranquil plane of harmony. Good Chi flows from the teak wood and the antique bricks transported from Shanghai. The design of the hotel, described as "Art Deco Fusion," melds the architectural standard of classic South Beach -- it is, after all, a replica of the historic Dempsey Vanderbilt Hotel -- with soothing elements of Asian flair. Talismans adorn the walls to ward off evil spirits, so you will experience nothing but positive energy throughout your relaxing weekend stay. You will sleep on luxurious Dux beds with Irish linen sheets, watch your cable shows on flat-screen LCD or plasma televisions sets with Bose surround-sound, and make your morning java jolt with a Lavazza espresso maker. If you forget your bathing suit, simply go to the gift shop and buy one of the very cool Blue Glue bikinis ($120 each). (You decide you want both the purple one with the cute cutouts and the one with green iridescent sequins, so you splurge. You're on vacation, right?) After a hard afternoon of chilling by one of the three pools, you can return to your suite for a soak in your big tub or a scrub under the shower, which is equipped with Acqua di Parma products. Enjoy delicious Asian cuisine or comfort foods prepared before your eyes from The Restaurant or Sushi Bar (about $240) and a Zen-like, mind-altering spa treatment including shiatsu massage and aromatherapy oils, followed by a Jacuzzi soak ($450 per couple). Although weekend packages normally start at $3900, May 1 marks the off-season, which means deep discounts for locals. Two nights will set you back only $1220, which brings the total to $1890 (before the two bathing suits are tacked on to your bill). The effect it will have on your demeanor is priceless.
Imagine you run a business, and the local government suddenly tells you it will begin to offer to the public the same service you already sell -- for free. You'd come up with a plan to stop it, wouldn't you? That's the position Atlantic Broadband found itself in a few months ago when the City of Miami Beach moved in on the firm's turf as an Internet service provider. First the company implied "public safety" would suffer (as if all the city's perverts and con artists were just waiting to log on for free). Then came the chest-thumping that included a challenge under a state law that forbids cities from charging for Internet access or selling advertising. But hey, there's no evidence the city will do either. You know what, Atlantic Broadband? Please don't do us any more favors. Thanks.
HBO Latino honored the most diverse Hispanic community in the United States this year when it devoted two episodes of the program Habla to Miami. The show, a series of vignettes about the idiosyncrasies of being Hispanic in the United States, struck a perfect balance by highlighting the sexy, sensual side of Latin culture without making Hispanics into the bimbos/macho men stereotypical of so many telenovelas. The Tower Theater on Calle Ocho thundered with laughter during a special screening of the program this past fall, but most impressive was how the program helped Hispanics in Miami -- be they from Cuba, Argentina, or Mexico -- celebrate their national differences and their cultural similarities. Puerto Rican native and Miami resident Oscar Hernandez said during the program that he had to go to the Midwest to appreciate these ties. There he came across one other Hispanic -- a Salvadoran with whom he thought he had little in common. "When you're in a place that's neutral and everybody's speaking English, suddenly that person is your brother. At that point you're nothing but a little exclamation point amongst a lot of periods!" He explained. Habla viewers were given an opportunity to appreciate that concept without leaving the comfort of their own Florida rooms.
Those of us with Bacchanalian tendencies have been there: After a night of imbibing, you haul your carcass out of bed and into the shower, expecting hangover pangs to hit as soon as the fog clears. Instead, as the bilious fumes rise from your gut, a different sensation arises and you realize you're still drunk. Wondering if such a thing is possible, you begin reviewing the previous evening's events and realize that, sure enough, you stopped drinking only three hours ago. Which is when most of us call in sick. Or start slurping coffee madly. What we don't do -- what no one should ever do -- is immediately get behind the wheel. Of an airplane. But this is exactly what two drunken jackasses who worked for America West attempted to do about five hours after running up a $122 bar tab in Coconut Grove. Luckily airport workers alerted security guards that pilot Thomas Cloyd and first officer Christopher Hughes reeked of liquor as they passed through security checkpoints. The cops stopped the plane and removed the pair from the cockpit, after which they both failed Breathalyzer tests. Defense lawyers argued the two men weren't guilty of operating the plane while drunk because they never made it into the air. They were convicted June 8, 2005. In July a judge sentenced 47-year-old Cloyd, of Peoria, Arizona, to five years in prison. Hughes, age 44, of Leander, Texas, received two-and-a-half years. Everyone who's ever been an airplane passenger should send a thank-you card to Circuit Judge David Young, who handed down the stiff sentences.
"This is my statement/Sometimes cartoons make me cry/I am an artist." Say what? Some people have a difficult time folding their noggins around Rodriguez's approach to making art. Like his inscrutable haiku, his works can seem like those cookie fortunes that leave you scratching your head and pondering the content for days. The New World Art School grad has been stymieing the public since he bolted out of the gate with his first solo show, "A Pre-Career Retrospective," featuring drawings, paintings, and objects from his childhood. Rodriguez also once had himself followed by a private eye and then exhibited the investigator's documentation. For an early solo at the Fredric Snitzer Gallery, which reps him, he packed the space with furniture he crafted and then hired a feng shui master to arrange it. During his solo show at Snitzer's during Art Basel 2004, he filled the gallery with conceptual odes to failed relationships, including a pair of mannequins on the verge of duking it out (now in the permanent collection of the Museum of Contemporary Art), and capped off the evening with a mariachi band he taught to sing punk-rock tunes. A squadron of international collectors and curators swarmed the event like bees to a honeycomb. The Kemper Museum of Art, the Rubell Family Collection, and the Rosa and Carlos de la Cruz Collection are among those that scooped up his stuff. Some of his recent work includes a neon reminder that the grim reaper is always knocking at the door, and a series of photographs in which he appears as a bearded Castro-like revolutionary in one panel, sports a Pancho Villa handlebar mustache in another, and wears Hitler lip lint in the last, milking beaucoup mileage out of his chin fur. Perhaps the pan of chocolate chip cookies he frosted with his name and phone number while fishing for a date with a girl he didn't know, and then subsequently photographed and titled "You're Just a Friend I Haven't Met," best captures his appeal. We can't think of anyone else in town with the chutzpah to pawn cookies off as art. But you know what? Bert did and ended up with the girl.
The architectural and sartorial tastes of wealthy Miamians sometimes make you think that maybe this socialism thing wasn't such a bad idea. Armani, BMW, Hummer. What about the Gap, VW, and Ford? But there are instances where rich people do good things. The greatest hit of George Merrick -- the Europhile developer of Coral Gables -- is the 276-room pink monster, the Biltmore. Built in 1924, the Romanesque hotel is almost shockingly grand -- it's crowned by a 315-foot replica of Seville's Cathedral Giralda Tower. The lobby is lined with Herculean pillars, and then, of course, there's the largest swimming pool you've ever seen at a hotel. In sum, if you have a jones for a moment of decadence and a taste of the late Roman Empire, try this beacon of opulence. Rooms start at $150 during the low season. But even if you can't stay here or pay for a round of golf, you can still have a drink in the Biltmore Bar or hit a bucket of balls at the driving range.
Best Local History Book
The Swamp: The Everglades, Florida, and the Politics of Paradise by Michael Grunwald
A recent poll found that more than 70 percent of registered voters in Miami-Dade County oppose expanding the urban development boundary westward for development. While increased traffic, water shortages, and environmental protection were all good reasons to protest suburban expansion, perhaps there's a sense of cultural responsibility as well. Grunwald, a reporter for the Washington Post, shows us that stewardship is a relatively new attitude toward the River of Grass. He traces the history of the Everglades' destruction from when Spanish invaders sacked the Calusa Indians to the diminution of its annual floods through canals and levees in the Sixties. He posits that the $7.8 billion Everglades revival bill, signed in 2000, might not live up to its promise of reversing 50 years of harm. Most of all, his account of past blunders testifies to the need for protective vigilance today. (Simon & Schuster, $27)
Best Display of Immaturity by the Privileged
Spite wall at the Fontainebleau Hotel
Ever wonder why Miami Beach's Eden Roc Hotel enjoys such a lovely view of a practically blank wall on its southern flank? Back in 1955, when owner Morris Lansburgh asked noted architect Morris Lapidus to design the Eden Roc, Lapidus answered with a hotel grander than his previous triumph, the Fontainebleau next door. This displeased hotelier Ben Novack, who wanted his Fontainebleau to be the most extravagant and exquisite resort on the Beach, so Novack retaliated by building the Fontainebleau's boxy addition, which ruined not only the Eden Roc's view but also poolside sunbathing. Both the Eden Roc and Fontainebleau are scheduled for extensive renovations, but it was recently announced that one of the world's priciest "walls of spite" would stay.
So he's not actually a local sports coach since stepping down December 12. But since Über-coach and Heat team president Pat Riley took (back) the reins from Van Gundy, the Armani-clad Hall of Famer's unspectacular showing has proven exactly how good his successor/predecessor really was. Riley broke up a team that was within a game of reaching the finals last year, signing and trading for a couple of score-first offensive players and veteran point guard Gary Payton over the off-season. The result has been a Heat team that scores about a point less per game than it did last year. Van Gundy had the singularly one-dimensional Damon Jones (a three-point specialist who is perhaps the worst defender in the league) playing unexpectedly great ball and scoring only a point less last year than his replacement, high-price Jason Williams, scores this year. Eddie Jones, who scored and provided the team's best perimeter defense last year, had almost exactly the same number of points per game last season as scoring machine Antoine Walker (brought in after Jones was traded) scores this year. Not that the team is bad -- they're headed for the playoffs, with the second-best record in the Eastern Conference. But they have shown none of the pass-first team basketball that characterized Van Gundy's two-year tenure, including a stint before he stepped down this season, when he had the Heat, sans Shaq (sidelined with a long-term injury), playing .500 ball.
There's this thing that's been invented. It's called "blogging." All the kids do it. Seriously, though, online journaling is so four years ago, kind of like Oakland Raiders jackets and Nike pool shoes. Stay away. But the Internet -- the Internet is good. Virtually all the world's knowledge is contained online. When it comes to life in Mia-muh, though, you don't need to be Googling your neighbor to see if he's really listed on Latinamericancupid.com. The basis of needing to know, is, well, needing to know. And what you need to know is stuff like: Is the entire interstate system closed because a part of a crane might fall onto a downtown street? Did the Marlins finally break the tie and win in the 27th inning last night? Who has Suge Knight shot at the Red Room now? And, most important, when will the damn electricity/cable/phone be turned back on in the aftermath of this week's hurricane? NBC 6, the television station, did heroic work in 2005 in the aftermaths of hurricanes Katrina and Wilma; the station took over the FM and AM radio frequencies of several stations, including public channel WLRN, to keep people up to date about the havoc wrought by the storms, and bore the dismaying news about utility restoration. Online, the NBC affiliate, which is based in Miramar and is a hub for the network's national news video feeds, truly excels. During regular times, the site give updates with almost supernatural frequency about the critical quotidian details of Miami urban life, including gas prices, thunderstorm movement via the station's excellent multiview Doppler and vector radar systems, traffic tieups, and the occasional kook barricading himself in a Metrorail station. The site also has a scroll of world news courtesy of its partnership with MSNBC, and does a superb job of gathering sports stats from every team imaginable, all the way down through high school intramurals. There's also a pleasant smattering of the nut tales that keep surfers coming back, such as the recent headliner "Viewers React to Paula Abdul's Odd Behavior."
There's no doubt Miami is a party city. You don't have to look hard to find debauchery and loud music any night of the week. But every year the beginning of spring brings more than flowers and showers. The parties become uncontrollable, the banging beats are ubiquitous, and out-of-towners almost outnumber locals. This week is also known to electronic music lovers as Winter Music Conference. Alcohol, music, and people penetrate nearly every crevice from the Beach to downtown, from big commercial clubs to hidden dives and lounges. Even retail stores partake in the festivities. Joe "Budious" Gray (half the Aquabooty team) explains, "Music conference is when Miami as a whole is finally on our tip." That tip is a huge party driven by the love of music. It's so massive that clubs reach their maximum capacity before the night's climax, á la DJ Harvey and Miguel Migs at Pawn Shop. As if the partying going on during the official conference week weren't enough, dozens of pre- and post-WMC shindigs keep heads bobbing for a few extra days. This year's conference was marked by two musical monstrosities: Global Gathering and Ultra. Both concerts featured a bevy of DJs while splitting genre borders with rock performances by the likes of Rob Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, and the Killers. And let's not forget the other music fests such as M3 and Remix Hotel, all taking place during Conference (with a capital C). Nothing else in Miami compares to WMC's eclectic blend of music and top-name artists. Think Sasha and Digweed, Frankie Knuckles, James Holden, Little Louie Vega, Richie Hawtin, and countless others. As a result, these thousands of DJs -- national, international, and local -- energized Miami and its people into a sweet and unforgettable insomnia for more than a week. No worries, though, there are 55 weeks left over to recover.
She clutches the Emmy and the Peabody, thanks to her enlightening, engaging writings about some of America's most powerful leaders. Take her variegated look at the Gipper in Reagan: An American Story, a documentary that first aired on The American Experience. Or her powerful, moving piece about Ike, also for The American Experience, which preceded the recent crowd of Eisenhower-inspired articles and films (such as this year's documentary Why We Fight). The Miami writer/documentary filmmaker also received a nomination this year from the prestigious Writers Guild of America for her documentary Fidel Castro, which aired last summer on PBS. Bosch was born in Cuba, fled with her family when she was fifteen years old, and moved to New Jersey, where she excelled. She skipped her senior year of high school to enter Rutgers University and then received a Ph.D. from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. While working on her dissertation in Central America, she discovered her passion for writing documentaries. "I fell in love with the discipline of writing for the ear, of getting the information in there without losing the flow," she says. Bosch's work is unflinching, grand in scope, and deep in reporting. It marries innate talent with great passion and focus. Bosch is editing her latest documentary, a look at yellow fever. It will undoubtedly carry its own fever-pitch buzz.
You can find fancier and cleaner, but you won't find a restroom with more character than those on the third floor of the county courthouse. They retain much of their circa-1928 charm, with antique plumbing fixtures, stone stall dividers, and softly worn wooden stall doors. Cool geometric floor tiles and a great view of downtown make for a delightful potty stop.
Cabrera-lovers have constructed an Internet site that carries this disclaimer: "Everyone in this group is considered Miguel's number one fan. Please do not argue over it!" The group could include any pro baseball loon in South Florida -- those who watched Cabrera rotate positions with ease during the Marlins' 2003 World Series run, as well as those who will watch him perform as the best player on a lousy team in 2006. Stat freaks adore him. He was third in the majors in batting average in 2005. The youngest ever to have back-to-back 30-home-run seasons (Albert Pujols, a future Hall of Famer, was 80 days older). The fourth-youngest to have a 30-homer, 100-RBI season (behind Mel Ott, Al Kaline, and Ted Williams, HOFers all), and the youngest to do all of this while scoring 100 runs. All fine and good, but he wouldn't be here if the kids didn't love him too. Now 23 years old, Cabrera looks just old enough to drive the SUV that youngsters follow like a rolling caramel apple.
"For the first time ever, homeowners will be able to get rid of their bulky items and trash any day of the week!" read the enthusiastic flyer that announced the opening of the City of Miami Mini-Dump last year. In other words: Stop dumping your crap in the vacant lot across the street, yo. Let's clean this bitch up. Now household garbage, your daughter's broken stroller, those palm fronds you finally dragged from the roof, the rusty washing machine in the garage, the wood scraps from your cabinet-making project, and your old tires (up to four, no rims) have a home outside your own. The minidump is open Monday to Sunday from 7:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Wear your miniskirt in solidarity and bring proof of residency. Everything in its place.
Miami is a city of immigrants, including the leafy kind. Early pioneers David and Marian Fairchild planted and grew many exotic plants, but it's a Madagascar native that has given Miami so much local color. The royal poinciana is a large, lovely tree that turns fiery red in early summer. Its blossoms are so intoxicating that for the past 68 years, Miamians have honored the royal poinciana with its own festival. Highlights include a trolley tour, luncheon, and a peek at the Fairchilds' historical home, the Kampong. It ends with the crowning of the Poinciana Queen. This year's fiesta falls on June 11.
In the Eighties, the TV show Miami Vice rocked America like a hurricane. The highly successful cop drama made the Magic City seem, well, magical -- more colorful, cool, exotic, and sexy than any other city in the nation. All the men were wearing T-shirts paired with pastel jackets and artfully cultivated five-o'clock shadows. Fast-forward to 2006. Everything Eighties is back with a bang, and Hollywood is convinced that rehashing classic TV shows into star-powered movies is a great idea. Prime time for a Miami Vice remake, baby. Now that Don Johnson's face has taken a decidedly Melanie Griffith turn, and Philip Michael Thomas is busy ... well, not really -- this time around, the role of Tubbs will be played by former In Living Color sketch-comedian-turned-Oscar-winning-Ray-Charles-impersonator Jamie Foxx. And the actor who plays Crockett requires the kind of sex appeal that will make ladies and gay guys squirm in their padded cinema seats ... a pretty boy with a nasty attitude and a cavalier attitude toward onscreen nudity. Oooh yeah, Colin Farrell. Perfect. Michael Mann picked the perfect pair for his cinematic adaptation. F-squared took South Beach by storm, ripping through the nightclub scene like nobody's business. Foxx made himself an onstage fixture at the hottest clubs, and released Unpredictable, a cameo-studded album so unabashedly horny that R. Kelly himself would nod in approval. Farrell wasn't far behind. Miami's vice got him so sprung that the lusty Irishman landed himself in rehab. One needs look no further than his controversial sex tape with former Playboy Bunny Nicole Narain to get an inkling of the kind of fun he must have been up to when the cameras stopped rolling. Miami Vice fever took over the city. The filming of car chase scenes shut down major roadways. Celebrity-sycophant cops were hired as expert extras. Hurricane after hurricane stalled film production, but at the end of it all, we're sure the movie version of the cop show that made our town famous won't disappoint. Even if the onscreen chemistry and clichéd buddy-cop plot flop miserably, we know curious locals will boost the box-office numbers for this soon-to-be-released summer popcorn flick. We just can't wait to see our glitzy, gritty city on the big screen in all of its sweaty, coke-snorting, Ferrari-driving glory, large enough for the world to see.
Best Fifteen Minutes of Fame
Tiffany Richardson from America's Next Top Model
Tiffany Richardson, a single mother from Opa-locka, was plucked, tattoos and all, from an applicant pool of hundreds of thousands of hopeful girls vying for a spot on the UPN hit series America's Next Top Model. The show's host and creator, supermodel Tyra Banks, took a special interest in Tiffany because she related to the young woman's connections to the street and struggles to better herself. Yet Tiffany's smart mouth ired her sponsor to the point where, in one of the most shocking elimination rounds in reality-television history, Tyra screamed Tiffany off the stage, berating the sobbing Floridian for her bad attitude and lack of appreciation. For a while after the episode aired in April 2005, Tiffany enjoyed some increased local attention. "I would go to Burger King or McDonald's and people would be, like, 'I know you!'" she observed at the time. Now, though, the glow is gone from ANTM -- even as 8th & Ocean has claimed its place in the pantheon of reality model telecasting. Contacted recently by phone, Tiffany couldn't talk for long. After describing how she had made up with Tyra, she was distracted by the need to attend to some cooking. "Get away from that! That grease will pop you!" she exclaimed to an unseen kitchen interloper before hanging up. And then Tiffany was gone.
The passionate moviegoer loves Robocop and La Dolce Vita with equal fervor, and expects the best movie theater in Miami to embrace such extremes as well. From Wong Kar Wai to Werner Herzog to Woody Allen to Wesley Snipes, Regal South Beach shows explosive, CGI-heavy blockbusters and subtitled, intellectual gems. Sure, a few films stick around for only a week. Sometimes screenings are limited to midafternoons and sparse, geriatric audiences. But what matters is that the movies can be seen: with stadium seating, surround sound, and a big screen; with discounts for students, seniors, and matinees; with audiences whose demographic diversity and myriad reactions prove once again that Miami is the greatest anthropology project ever.
There's a paradox in the fact the smartest critic at Miami's only daily covers television. An accomplished journalist, Garvin has settled into this comfy gig, but he rests neither on his laurels nor his couch. His takes on TV echo elements of phenomenology, economics, news, and social commentary. Sample: "[The writer-director] is apparently trying to establish the ever-shifting nature of reality, but all she really proves is that a network that gives a lot of money to a director incapable of holding a thought in her head for longer than two minutes will wind up with a picture that has to be dumped on Saturday night, the television equivalent of Death Row. So maybe reality is mutable...." He's also a master of the quip. From the same review: "I've seen more sparks on reruns of The Dating Game." Everyone watches television. Some also read about it. Few write about it -- this well.
Miami and air flight are both children of the Twentieth Century. With Chalk's arguably being the world's oldest airline, and Glenn Curtiss (the Henry Ford of aviation) using his wealth to develop Miami Springs, Opa-locka, and Hialeah, one could say their histories are inextricably linked. At Wings Over Miami, which is housed at the Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport, you'll enjoy a generous sampling of vintage airplanes, like AT6s and Stearman PT-17s, many in flying condition (but don't get any ideas). The not-for-profit museum also hosts air shows several times a year, as well as other events. If the kids resist the history lesson, you can always bribe them with a model airplane from the extensive selection in the gift shop. Admission ranges from $5.95 to $9.95.
J.T. Rogers is a major new American talent, and his Madagascar is a ravishing new play. It is witty and literate, serious yet also seriously entertaining, a daring nonlinear tale that crisscrosses time with Proustian ease, a poignant sonata of grief that proved immensely moving in its Florida premiere at the New Theatre, directed by Ricky. J Martinez with dramatic talent. The plot of this devastating little masterpiece is simple: Someone has disappeared, perhaps forever, possibly to some exotic place like Madagascar. This mysterious premise generates many more questions than it answers, about memory and loss, about human resilience -- and about theater itself. The Florida premiere at the New Theatre had everything: the spectacle of a young playwright's work allowed to blossom to full splendor; a directorial tour de force; superb acting by the trio of Kathryn Lee Johnston, Angie Radosh, and Bill Schwartz; and the constant surprise of a perfect chamber piece carrying monumental emotional echoes. This one stays with you. A playwright needs a safe place to go from page to stage, and this is the place in South Florida to get the news from the frontiers of American drama. Intimate, intense, and consistently, immensely enjoyable, New Theatre is true to its mission of discovery at a time when too many companies around the country shy away from new plays. Does everything work? Of course not. But the thrill is in the search, and the actors and directors in this little powerhouse in the Gables at their best make a persuasive case for nurturing dramatic talent. The search paid off in Madagascar. And it's probably no accident that New Theatre is also the place to rediscover the genius of Shakespeare as summer rolls around.
Sure it's a schlep for most of us slaving away downtown, but with this park's more than a hundred impressive examples of modern sculpture by some of the world's top artists, mostly from Marty Margulies's collection of large-scale works on long-term loan to Florida International University, we can't think of a better reason to play hooky and head west. Pack a brown-bag lunch and bring a blanket to loaf on the campus's rolling lawns while checking out one of the largest outdoor sculpture parks in the nation. A visit practically ensures you'll leave with a skull crammed with a primer on modern art history to impress your boss and friends back at the office the next day, or maybe even help you weasel your way into a gig at a local gallery or museum when you get canned. Check out works by artists such as Jean Dubuffet, Mark di Suvero, Richard Serra, Willem de Kooning, Michael Heizer, Sol Lewitt, and Isamu Noguchi, and don't forget to visit the Frost Art Museum while you're there, now that you've risked landing your ass in a sling for a dose of culture.
It isn't easy to be a hockey fan in South Florida. This is a football state and most people don't get the appeal of the fast-paced, graceful violence of professional hockey. (And last year's strike didn't help much either.) Besides, the Panthers aren't vying to take Lord Stanley from the 2004 champs -- and cross-state rivals -- the Tampa Bay Lightning. But for the fans who sweat it out in wool jerseys and pound on the glass, you know what a steal it is for the Panthers to secure Olli Jokinen for another four years. He's the only Feline ranked in the NHL's Top 20 scorers (actually he's the only one in the Top 60) and has had the honor of being named the NHL's offensive player of the week. Jokinen also scored big during the Winter Olympics in Turin and helped his native Finland bring home the silver medal. This season has been a career-best for the Finn, and now it's up to the 27-year-old captain to rally this litter of kittens and bring another championship to a state that never sees frozen ponds outside of a climate-controlled rink.
Whether you like Joe Arriola or loathe him, you have to concede one thing: The guy is a fire-breathing quote machine. He doesn't mince words. Of all the bombastic can-you-believe-he-said-it moments, our favorite is this gem, told to Herald columnist Ana Menendez. Our soon-to-retire city manager was recalling an encounter he had with Miami activist Steve Hagen: "Fuck you is what I said. Go fuck yourself. I don't give a shit. I'm not going to answer your questions. Get the hell out of my sight."
The SunPost covers four districts, but it began in South Beach and still covers the Miami Beach beat best. The fact that it now distributes 48,000 weekly copies from Coral Gables to Aventura is evidence of its recent growth and the improved quality of its journalism. Under the editorial direction of Erik Bojnansky, the paper has in the past year or two hired former New Times staffers such as Robin Shear, now managing editor, and columnists Rebecca Wakefield and Celeste Fraser Delgado. (As much as some readers may have liked the goofy club gossip of "Cubby," you have to admit the current roster of writers is significantly more professional than that of a year or so ago.) With two full-time staff writers, the Post covers everything from serious local news to politics to movies and dining. Its editorials can be fiery, its letters section the most extemporaneous around. The latter might not be all that professional, but it sure is fun -- as is much of this tabloid success story.
Not the average freebie broadsheet cluttering the counter at your local cafeteria, El Clarin shines by eschewing printing news or opinion and cutting straight to business. The huckster happy rag features a dense tangle of sales pitches shilling everything from $70 divorces to pain-free abortions (offering a ten percent discount with an attached coupon) to cheap car insurance and a dentist who makes home visits, guaranteeing to fix that busted grill for just $49.99. The design-challenged pub's cover usually boasts a leering riot of Miami's ambulance-chasing yokels, including the occasional celebrity such Ana Maria Polo, the mugging arbiter of Spanish television's Caso Cerrado. Need a high-power santero, palero, or voodoo priest to reconnect you with a lost loved one or hurl a hex at the judge in a pending court case? Madame Karla, Tata Tatandi, and Papa Raul Don Petro offer reasonable investments in supernatural intervention. Seeking entertainment for your next office party? Try contacting Mariachi Tequila 2000. Bummed by contracting trifles? Pages of handymen are just a phone call away from building that glamorous add-on to your dream home minus the permit hassles. You can also find a private dick to track down a cheating spouse if that love potion fizzles, or call the Boing Boing escort service to help mop up the heartache during the rebound.
Romina Nabhen exudes the enthusiasm of a marketing newcomer, owing to her lack of cynicism, utter wholesomeness, and genuine friendliness. Not only is the 25-year-old an accomplished and independent public relations achiever, but also she's a Magic City native. Almost. "I'm from Miami even though I was born in Argentina!" she exclaims with believable verve. Nabhen quietly reps for Coral Gables wine bar and shop D'Vino, Miami restaurant Centro, and several other boutique eateries, plus she's the Florida face of Tiffany & Co. She never forgets a name or a face and always introduces her husband, Julian.
Matheson Hammock Park offers many options for couples, families, and friends looking for a picnic destination. Most notable is the two-story coral pavilion standing tall and dignified amid the green foliage like a misplaced artifact from Atlantis. The first floor is equipped with tables and a grill for comfortable midday munching. The roof offers plenty of leg-room, with an exalted view of the lake and surrounding flora. If you prefer a more earthly experience, spread that red-checkered blanket under the shady boughs of lofty trees or absorb some rays in the patch of grass in front of the pond. Sip some juice or burn off the calories from that sandwich as you stroll along the sun-sheltered nature trails. If the abundance of coral structures and Biscayne Bay breeze leave you longing for a bit of Tritonesque revelry, a calm man-made atoll pool can fulfill your saltwater longing without giving you a postlunch cramp.
Barron Sherer and Kevin Wynn can typically be found in a dark room, leaning toward a flickering screen and intently watching moving images of the past. They are cocurators of Cinema Vortex, a nonprofit organization dedicated to collecting and screening Florida's old movies. At The Wolfsonian-FIU they run the Public Domain Playhouse series, which uses old advertisements, news reels, home videos, and propaganda flicks to illustrate provocative points. The two men spend a great deal of time in the Louis Wolfson II Florida Moving Image Archive in the dungeonlike basement of the main branch of the Miami-Dade Public Library. The temperature-controlled space is filled with dusty reels, black wax platters, and elaborate screening machines. There's also footage from closed-down companies, home movies, and fragile, magnetic-tape memories. Their dedication to preserving the past is admirable, to say the least. "What we find goes back to this old-timey thing when film had to be physically driven through a projector. There's a certain evocation of a simpler -- quote, unquote -- happier time. Which of course, wasn't that happy," Wynn laughs. The stash in the library's basement reveals a time before reality television and music videos, an era when people didn't know how to act in front of a camera. Sherer and Wynn get to see the past that has been whitewashed from the selective American memory, when people of color were seen onscreen only in a domestic capacity. Back in those days, films circulated without restraint. They were screened in classrooms, conference rooms, or clubs, and then they were discarded and forgotten. Old reels capturing important moments in history would turn up in someone's basement or attic. The treasure hunt for films has just about ended, Wynn laments. We are living in litigious times, and companies nowadays would rather lock up their employee training videos and commercials in a vault than let them fly free, to be readapted, cut, and edited into art. "Twenty years from now, the pool of film video that is in the public domain is quite likely to be the same pool we have now, because material produced more recently just isn't going to show up," Wynn warns. Together these two provide an opportunity to look into the past, using celluloid recollections to reveal contemporary truths.
Gentlemen, please take note: A classy lady wants to be taken to a classy place on the first date; she wants a handsome man who can offer intelligent conversation in an elegant atmosphere; and a perfect cocktail will add just the right lubricant to relax the nerves and loosen the inhibitions. While a dinner may be too formal for a first date, you can never go wrong with drinks at a swanky hotel. Escorting your lady through the billowing curtains of the Delano's vast lobby is an excellent way to make a great first impression. The Delano is quintessential South Beach, a veritable playground to the stars, and whether you decide to sit at the Rose Bar or under the palms alongside the infinity pool, you will have the perfect backdrop while getting to know your possible new mate. With plenty of people to watch and celebrities to spot, the Delano offers enough diversions in case your date is a dud, but if it's going really well, you can get cozy on a settee in the lobby or sneak out the back for a romantic stroll on the beach.
Escape the heat and embrace your inner Russian triple-axel champ: Chill out at this enormous twin-rink arena. Don't know how to skate? No problem. This is where falling on your ass is not only okay but also desirable. Where else can you make your date laugh uproariously while still eliciting her compassion? Maybe she'll even make a fuss over your boo-boo. You can flail about, or you can take a private lesson together, which also ensures some physical contact. The best part here is the price -- six bucks if you come on a Wednesday afternoon or Thursday evening -- so you'll have enough left over for a nice dinner after you've worked up an appetite. Check the Website for public skate times.
Best Skyline-Gazing Spot
Under the MacArthur Causeway on Watson Island
It's one thing to glance at downtown's twinkling lights while you're moving along with a stream of commuter traffic at 60 mph. It's another thing altogether to park down by the bay, cut the engine, and check out the skyline in all of its glory. The best viewing spot is a gravel lot under the MacArthur Causeway on Watson Island. Just pull off at the exit for Parrot Jungle and follow the road around to the water. You might have to share it with a couple canoodling in a Cadillac, but you'll get an unobstructed sight line across Biscayne Bay to the business district's crystal canyons, with the illuminated Port of Miami bridge in the foreground.
A long enough stretch for a serious power walk (about four miles) and close enough to the water for a romantic stroll, this stretch is a favorite of locals and tourists alike. Originally built in the Eighties and renovated in 1996, the boardwalk wends behind the fabulous beach hotels, providing views of sparkling pools and oiled sunbathers on one side and the powerful pull of the Atlantic on the other. On any given Saturday you'll find yourself next to serious joggers, darkly cloaked families on a stroll after shul, and couples relishing a romantic vacation. It is also a popular spot for professional photo shoots, so don't be surprised if you see nubile teenagers posing with surfboards or silicone melons heaving out of Brazilian bikinis as spray-tanned beauties strike a curious pose in the sea oats. Covered benches spotted along the path provide a reprieve from the midday rays or a cozy nook for a little sunset lovin', and public parking lots are located near both the north and south ends.
Best High School Mascot
Ronald W. Reagan/Doral Senior High School Bison
While some Miami-area high schools have nonnative mascots like bulls and Vikings, Ronald W. Reagan/Doral Senior High School, set to open this fall, has gone far afield for its: the bison. Hunted nearly to extinction during America's frontier days, the bison has since made a comeback, roaming Western plains and, apparently, a Miami high school. The Ronald Reagan Bison will wear green, blue, and gold.
What lures cycling fanatics to make the long, arduous trek to Cutler Bay? We understand diehard road-bikers thrive at the prospect of settling into the saddle for a six-hour century or powering into headwinds so strong they make flat roads seem like the slopes of Alpe d'Huez. But doing so around most parts of Miami also means trying to avoid a collision with a vehicle whose driver refuses to share the road. And it's difficult to yell back, "Why don't you get off the road, you stupid a*!<\"
Best Historic Designation
The Number 1 Pallbearers Association of America Building
Back during the Depression, when nobody had anything and African Americans had even less, members of the local black community formed the International Association of Pallbearers. As members found themselves in need, the group provided funeral and other services that, because of racism and segregation, were difficult to obtain. Chapters existed throughout Florida, but the main lodge and activity were here in Miami. Local lore even has it that Martin Luther King Jr. spoke at the former lodge house. Because of the historical importance of this unique organization, and the architectural significance of the 1947 Art Moderne structure, the Miami Historic and Environmental Preservation Board voted to protect the edifice.
Best Place to Bird-Watch
Castellow Hammock Preserve and Nature Center
Although exotic white ibis and great blue herons seem almost as common as pigeons on some city streets, other birds still prefer that you expend a little energy in order to spy on them. At Castellow Hammock you can spot painted buntings, black-chinned hummingbirds, and other avians that shy away from human neighborhoods. The park also boasts excellent examples of endangered pine rockland and tropical hardwood hammocks, which no doubt draw the feathered friends there. The State of Florida recently honored the park by including it in the newly founded Great Florida Birding Trail. Hint: Ask them about guided owl walks.
The Raleigh was designed in 1940 by Lawrence Murray Dixon, a New York architect who moved to Miami Beach in 1928; he also designed The Victor Hotel (1937), The Marlin (1939), The Tides Hotel (1936), The Senator (1939), and The Ritz Plaza Hotel (1940). The Raleigh began the way most of the Decos did, attracting rich, young celebrities like Esther Williams, a Forties bombshell and Olympic swimmer who would practice in The Raleigh's swimming pool, which was named "the most beautiful pool in the state of Florida," with good reason, by Life magazine. Its popularity steadily declined until the early Nineties, when it began a spirited revival, but then quickly dropped off the cool map once again, this time sinking into total obscurity. In 2002, for $25 million, André Balazs, boyfriend of Uma Thurman and owner of the hippest hotels in the nation, took the property off the hands of its desperate owner, Ken Zarrilli. Balazs refreshed it and made it hip again. What Balazs and The Raleigh sell are not rooms or cocktails so much as the idea that anyone can walk off Collins Avenue and step into a world of luxury. Here you can down a $12 drink on a bed next to a pool that has been pictured in the New York Times and Vanity Fair. Who knows? Matt Damon might stroll right by. The Raleigh's Sunday Soiree is the main attraction, where every Sunday from 1:00 p.m. to midnight in the Oasis (a closed-in beach area in the very back of the hotel) DJs, dancers, club kids, businessmen, and celebrities hang out by the fire or get drunk and end up in the pool. The $20 cover charge and pricey drinks might seem a little steep, but hey, that's part of the life, bitch.
"Um, we need to talk." Oy, you've been putting this off for months, but it has to be done. You are a Sagittarius and he's a Taurus, so you should have known this would have never worked out. But you stuck in there because he's cute and smart and he loves your pets as if they were his own. You really thought this maudlin experimental musician could have been the one, until he began complaining about your fun-loving, free-spirited attitude -- yes, the same attitude he fell in love with three years ago -- and now you realize the bull loves the same old routine while you are ready to fly off to Myanmar at a moment's notice. There is no use delaying the inevitable -- it must be done so you can both move on -- you just don't want to do it at your place or his (too many memories, too easy to backslide into the bedroom, too complicated). Just tell him to meet you at Noir Bar. You can have a drink, and the annoying techno remix version of "Mr. Brightside" bumping from the crackling sound system will add a bit of irony to the incident. The view is obstructed, the bartenders are a little clingy, and the martinis are a bit too dry -- kind of like your soon-to-be ex. Beer may never leave him, but you certainly will, so you might as well do it in a place that you would prefer not to go back to.
Best Parking in Miami Beach
Tenth Street between Alton Road and West Avenue
This spacious garage is usually almost empty, which means you can park your Bentley without risking door dings -- even when other lots are overflowing. It's also cheap (a buck an hour), clean, well lit, and conveniently located. You can catch the S and W bus lines nearby on Alton Road, and the 25-cent South Beach Local on West Avenue. This means easy access to all the Beach hot spots. Not that there's any need to travel. The stretch of West under the garage is one of the sweetest spots on the Beach. Where else can you get a massage, kosher-vegetarian fare, frozen yogurt, Italian shoes, and a good cult film all on the same block?
Open space and seclusion are two things not often found together in Miami. Power lines, palm trees, buildings, traffic, and other obstructions make it difficult for peace-seekers to find a retreat. Alice Wainwright Park is hidden in an oceanfront lot just north of the Vizcaya mansion. This oasis in the center of Miami's metropolitan madness offers a sweet taste of the simpler pleasures in life. And speaking of simple pleasures, the park's concealed and spacious character makes it a natural choice for kite-flying. The salt-scented breeze is enough to tickle your flying rhombus into an airborne dance while keeping you cool under the notorious South Florida sun. You don't have to worry about honking cars shaking your concentration, electrocution ruining your day, or gnarly branches snagging your kite. The air traffic is limited to a few sparse gulls that don't mind sharing the current with a fellow flying object. Command your kite and the interest of park dwellers by standing at the water's edge or atop the small coral cliff that overlooks hand-holding honeys and a sprawling lawn. As if the vision of clear blue skies weren't awe-inspiring enough, the panoramic view of the ocean and Key Biscayne will beckon your attention and admiration as you reel and guide your stringed wind glider.
Unfortunately too many drivers use the JFK Causeway to simply speed from the mainland to the Beach, never bothering to slow down and sample the treats of this curiously ungentrified island neighborhood. If they bothered to pull over (plenty of free street parking west of Vichy) they would find a modest grouping of midcentury architecture gathered around the Normandy Fountain (1926). Most of the stores are devoted to residential needs -- doctor's offices, laundromats, pet shops, gym, hardware, auto parts, et cetera -- but there is also a diverse assortment of ethnic restaurants, including French, Thai, Greek, Japanese, and Argentine. On Saturdays the Normandy Village Marketplace takes place on Rue Vendome under the fountain; vendors offer vegetables, plants, clothing, and other sundries in an atmosphere of music and arts. Before your visit is over, grab a gelato and wander down Normandy Drive to the bridge that crosses Indian Creek.
If you're the type of person who likes mountains, hills, and the sweet sound of the word topography, then you're bumming in Miami-Dade, where a decent-size speed bump could qualify as a hill. But fret not. Though God, nature, and plate tectonics have failed Miami, civil engineers have not. The first stretch of the Rickenbacker Causeway -- the roughly half-mile between the mainland and Virginia Key -- is where Miami goes vertical. On any day of the week, stud bike riders, triathletes, and (sometimes) Olympic speed skater Jennifer Rodriguez can be found huffing it to the apex, up and down this roughly 30-degree, quarter-mile hump. Although this may not be the Pyrenees, rest assured you will need to use your lower gears. Also once you've summited Mount Miami, the big payoff: The view of downtown -- just to the northwest -- is one of the city's best.
Yes, it says walking path, but this tiny key is the perfect place for a relaxing Sunday-morning jog. It's surrounded by water, so the view is consistently spectacular. The path is paved and dotted with lovely art, such as the massive, sensuous, impressive Tequesta sculpture at the mouth of the Miami River. There's also a free-form sculpture garden a few blocks down and a beautiful view of the Mandarin Oriental. Parts of the path are shaded, so it's comfortable, even in the summertime. Now that's a runner's high.
It's called Windsurfer Beach for a reason -- it's one of the easiest, safest places to windsurf in the nation. The Biscayne Bay water is warm, the winds are reliably swift but not scary, and it's shallow -- only a few feet deep. Just a tenth of a mile past the Rickenbacker toll plaza, right before you reach Virginia Key, make a quick right and head for the colorful sailboards; this is the home base of Sailboards Miami. For twenty years a small group of windsurfer dudes has operated a school out of a trailer. Nowadays the Sailboards crew, chiefed by master instructor Ovidio DeLeon and also including Nick Sternberg and Diego "Young Ripper" Femenias, is famous for its bold claim: Give us $69, two hours, and we'll make you a windsurfer -- guaranteed. With beautiful views of Biscayne Bay and downtown Miami, Windsurfer Beach offers a picturesque, convenient place to give this exhilarating watersport a first try. In winter, lessons begin at 11:00 a.m., 1:00 p.m., and 3:00 p.m. every day except Wednesday and Thursday. In summer they start at noon, 2:00 p.m. and 4:00 p.m. Advanced lessons are also available.
Paying a $1.50 toll on a highway can be fun. Seriously. Don't believe us? Then take the other route to the Keys. On Card Sound Road, after about ten miles of cruising through the never-never land of mangroves, you will come to what could be the world's cutest toll plaza. Forget the Florida Turnpike toll moment -- ten or twelve booths, the scramble for change, the worrying about the dude behind you (i.e., Am I in the SunPass lane? Does he have a gun?). No such worries at the Card Sound Bridge -- there's only one tollbooth. And there's no android change-giver here; there's a real-live human. You can actually talk to the guy. Suggested small talk: "Where's a good place to get conch fritters?" "Who's the weirdest guy to ever drive through here?" Take your time. You are in the middle of nowhere. In addition to the quaintness and mellowness, the thing that makes the Card Sound toll plaza worthy of recognition by the National Register of Historic Places is its signage. No green metal expressway placard here. The Card Sound sign reads, "Welcome to the Fabulous Florida Keys," in a cursive typeface that is a rare, perfectly preserved example of Sixties-style Florida Tourism Font. So vintage, so kitschy, such an appropriate gateway to the Keys.
You don't have to be a geography genius to realize that Florida -- with a not-so-majestic peak of 350 feet above sea level -- is incredibly vertically challenged. As states go, ours resembles a slice of Swiss cheese floating in water. So how, you may ask, is there any decent off-road biking in these parts, let alone a spot that reigns supreme? Answer: What Markham Park lacks in verticality it more than makes up for in technicality. Manufactured from fill leftover from when the park's lakes were first dredged, trail conditions range from rocky to hard-packed sand. And with a combined distance (novice, intermediate, expert, and pro) of roughly ten miles spread across some 90 acres, these trails ride like and resemble a mini version of the northern trail Razorback -- undeniably the best in the state. According to the weekend warriors who flock here en masse, Markham offers something for everyone: fast, flat sections punctuated by short technical climbs and technical descents, with some double-track roads for newbies. The climbs may not be long and the downhill drops not overly steep, but designers have cleverly thrown in water breaks, steps, logs, rocks, small ramps, and a host of other obstacles that place more of a premium on how well you handle your bike going down, as opposed to how fast you go. Seriously intense, dude! And upon spotting trail names like Middle Earth, you would totally be forgiven for thinking you were nowhere near the Sunshine State -- right up until the moment a swarm of mutant-size mosquitoes tries to eat you alive. Which reminds us: Bug spray is as essential as a water bottle. The park is open in winter from 8:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.; summer from 8:00 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. Entrance fee is $1 per person ages five and older.
Anyone who drives in Miami-Dade for more than a week knows this category is fiercely competitive. There are so many chronically clogged roads. Strong arguments were made for South Dixie Highway; always a bitch, Biscayne Boulevard, north of downtown, is seemingly in a perpetual state of repair. But the worst, the most heinous, the road that seems to be the most sure-fire path to road rage is a roughly two-mile strip of Okeechobee Road in Hialeah. Exit the Palmetto Expressway near the Hialeah Raceway, head southeast, and enter a construction zone that should be treated like a Superfund site. There is no good time to drive past the malls and warehouses here. But the angst begins to set in when you recognize that on Okeechobee a traffic jam can occur anytime. Noon on a weekday, early Sunday morning -- no time is safe. Worst is when you realize -- as Camus did in The Stranger -- there's no way out. This stretch of Okeechobee, you see, is hemmed in by a canal. Which means once you're on it, you have only one means of escape -- a series of side streets to the north and west. If you're heading southeast, you're pretty much screwed until the Okeechobee Road Metrorail station, when life slowly improves.
The theme song from The Muppet Show bops from your cell phone with polyphonic glee and wakes you from a lazy Sunday afternoon nap. It's your hookup. Excellent. By 4:20 p.m. you are holding the perfect sack: The dewy-sweet, skunky aroma wafts from the snack-size Ziploc bag filled with herbal refreshment. Fluffy with cotton-candylike crystals and little red hairs. Awesome. You pull a few tubes, call your buds, and roll a bone for the road before catching the South Beach Local down to the park. Everything is perfect: the temperature, the breeze, the smell of barbecue in the air. You play with a few dogs and contemplate tossing a Frisbee but decide to chill on the rocks and toss stones into the waves as the sun changes from orange to red. The clouds blush shades of pink as the cruise ships begin blowing smoke, gliding through Government Cut and out to sea. People wave from the deck -- the honeymooners, families, and retirees. You wave back and snap a photograph of the mammoth beast of floating buffets and ballrooms. "Man," a buddy speaks after what seems like an hour of silent meditation, "I am so hungry." You nod and remember that Joe's Take Away is stumbling distance from the park. The last pink and purple ribbons streaking across the horizon fade to indigo as you pull yourself away from the shore and head toward what will surely seem like the best meal you've ever had. Sweet.
A liquor store painted with beer-case-toting flamingos seems an improbable place for politically inspired poetry. All the same, there it is in black plastic letters on the M&M Package Store sign facing Le Jeune Road. Recent gems have included "Borrowed More $$$ Than All Previous Presidents Combined / Fiscal Responsibility Redefined" and "Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld Real Axis of Evil Fomenting War and Plutocratic Upheaval." Local politicians haven't been spared either. "Sweep Miriam Alonso out of office with the same broom she flew in on," the sign proclaimed when Alonso, a former county commissioner, was facing corruption charges several years ago. Store owner Robert Gewanter tries to put up a new message each week, but sometimes he can't. There's a business to run, you know. Gewanter says the signs are an amusing way to promote civic discourse. "Only once did anyone ever threaten me with a lawsuit," he comments.
Best Place to See Alligators
Shark Valley Tram Road,
the Everglades
With a diversity in wildlife rivaled only by watering holes in the Serengeti, the bicyclist or tram-rider on the fifteen-mile Shark Valley loop is almost guaranteed a stellar showing of Everglades fauna: Roseate spoonbills, wood storks, and great blue herons delicately pick their way through shallow pools and pose serenely in branches. Spotted gar, red-belly turtles, and anhingas swim beneath the water's amber surface. Cormorants decorate the tram road's watchtower like gargoyles, and short-tail hawks soar overhead. The king of this jungle, however, is the American alligator, Alligator mississippiensis, whose green-gray bulk is draped over every muddy bank and drainage pipe that can offer him some sunshine. Beware of this dweller of murky puddles: He may seemingly ignore the fluttering and prancing of the wildlife around him, honed by millennia of evolutionary adaptation to expend as little energy as possible (he navigates canals swimming, propelled by the merest flick of the tail) but the gator is no slow fuddy-duddy of a predator. "Never get closer than fifteen feet to an alligator," warn signs and brochures. "If it hisses or opens its mouth in defense, you should back away even farther." A nice reminder, rendered totally unnecessary at the first glimpse of sharp, crooked teeth. Bike rental is $6 an hour; tickets for the tram are $14 for adults and $8 for children.
Commuters destined for downtown or South Beach from the airport area (including Miami Springs, Virginia Gardens, and Hialeah) can travel sixteen blocks in less than two seconds. The intersection of NW 36th Street and Le Jeune Road (with State Road 112 directly overhead) is among the busiest on Earth, and the two standard eastbound routes are a commuting catastrophe. With a "right turn only" sign funneling overused NW 36th Street into one lane at a particularly busy point, and ongoing construction in multiple locations, it too has become useless. As for 112 (known in parts east as I-195), it's jammed by an expensive toll facility and includes a confusing-as-all-get-out merge into I-95 (bear north to go south) for those hoping to eventually reach downtown. The secret: After passing Le Jeune on 36th Street, just before the Club Pink Pussycat, turn right onto NW North River Drive (known as the "Aluminum Trail" because it's lined with recycling depots). This relatively low-traffic four-laner angles and turns into NW 20th Street (just don't turn anywhere), which goes almost all the way to the bay.
This route, which was part of the trail for the Everglades Bicycle Club's Snowbird Century this year, takes you on a tour of some of South Florida's most unique areas. Begin your trek near the Fruit and Spice Park at 24801 SW 187th Ave. and ride north to 232nd Street, where you'll need to make a left. Enjoy the Homestead scenery as you pedal to 217th Avenue, where you should turn south. As you travel down this avenue, you'll pass the Schnebly Redland's Winery (30205 SW 217th Ave.), but you should probably wait until the return trip before stopping there, otherwise you might not get much farther. Keep heading south until you reach 392nd Street; go west. At 232nd Avenue take a left and you'll be in the Southern Glades Wildlife and Environmental Area. Riding through here, you can glimpse native Everglades birds and other animals, so be sure to have that camera phone ready. While you're down this way, take a look at the former test site for the world's largest solid rocket motor. The land was owned by Aerojet when it was testing the motor for NASA, but the company sold the site in the Nineties. You can still see the giant silo where the rocket was fired. Once you're well rested, turn north on 232nd Avenue and begin the ride home. Don't forget to stop at Schnebly's this time around, and try some of the tropical fruit wine like the mango or passion fruit versions, but don't "taste" too much or you might not find your way back to the car.
Best Mile of Miami
Fourteenth Street from NW Seventh Avenue to Biscayne Boulevard
It slices through one of Miami's most long-suffering neighborhoods and is patrolled by police hell-bent on keeping white people away, but NW One-Four is dotted with treasures between Booker T. Washington Senior High School (just west of Seventh Avenue) and the Miami Herald building (at bay's edge). There's the amazing Overtown Youth Center (a.k.a. the Alonzo Mourning rec center), which is right next to breezy Theodore R. Gibson Park, which includes a library, swimming pool, Chinese restaurant, and church clustered in the same lot. And then there's Bigtime Productions' ten-stage, full-service film studio, Ice Palace, which is just the sort of money magnet the area needs for development. There are two killer nightclubs -- I/O and PS 14 -- and unlimited potential. Eventually the performing arts center will become the anchor of this stretch, bringing to the area a flow of lawyers, politicians, and power brokers -- the sort of (white) people who can fight back against police harassment. Ever since integration, black people have been taking their money out of O-town. It's time for people of all colors to spend their cash in the neighborhood. With Habitat for Humanity working nearby and plenty of residents fighting gentrification, there really seems to be hope for bringing Overtown out of its morass. One-four is the key path to that progress.
What makes Miami a great city? It's the water, stupid. So when you're thinking about mounting your two-wheeler, and you don't feel like driving to the Keys, try the causeways north of downtown on a Sunday morning. Do it early when there's no traffic. Begin in Miami Shores at NE 96th Street and Tenth Avenue, and then meander south to 79th Street. Turn left and cross one bridge, then another. Smell the salt air. Revel in the views of downtown to your right. Look out upon Biscayne Bay. Then you reach Normandy Isle and Miami Beach. Next head north through the Beach's forgotten neighborhoods -- Byron Avenue is a pleasant route -- before reaching 123rd Street and heading west. Ahhh. Again the view of downtown. Again Biscayne Bay. There are fewer hills on this part of the sojourn, so relax, Lance. Pedal all the way to West Dixie Highway and head south through the Shores to 96th Street, where you turn left. Soon your car beckons. But you continue on to the dead end and settle on a bench in a pretty little park that looks out on -- you guessed it -- Biscayne Bay.
It's a dark, still night, and the only sound you hear is that of the leaves being crushed beneath your feet. You stop and look up as a flash of movement attracts your attention to the branches above. Large, round eyes peer down at you, reflecting red in the darkness. Then the silence is broken by a whispered chorus of "The owwwwls!" The ten kids along for this adventure are entranced by the bird's appearance. They point and poke at their friends: "Do you see it? It's the owwwwl!" From a distance comes the call of another feathered wonder, and you head in that direction, hoping to find the second one. What could be more fascinating to a youngster than walking in the woods in the dark in search of wild animals? Particularly since it costs only $5. Besides owls, you might also run into some four-leg creatures, like raccoons rustling in the bushes in search of a snack. And there's the occasional call of a monkey or whatever animal screech the kid next to you can imitate, so don't believe everything you hear (you'll have fun imagining though).
Richard Blanco speaks like a poet should; his voice is a low, soothing rumble that gives his words the weight of authority. He looks like a woman's dream of a poet; on the cover of this year's The Most Intriguing (and Sensual) Male Poets calendar, his shirt is open to reveal a stretch of tan skin, and his eyes are cast seductively downward. But what makes Richard Blanco our choice for this year's best poet goes far beyond his admittedly attractive visage. Blanco's poetry is powerful, and his poetic journey is unique. It all comes from the unique balance of his brain, which has allowed him tremendous success both in writing as well as engineering, the technically challenging field that pays his bills. Blanco did the poet-as-professor thing in colder climes, at American University and Georgetown University. But he's moved back to Miami now and doesn't plan on teaching anymore. "I realized that I am much more of an introvert than I thought. And being responsible for doing a dog-and-pony show for 80 people every day it really wore me out," he explains. "I came to realize that for better or for worse, a blessing or a curse, I needed to exercise both sides of my brain. I need to do my spreadsheets and my math. It's part of who I am. I really get a kick out of it, just as much as I do with poetry." He spends his days as a civil engineer, consulting for city planning projects. His technical skills are reflected in his poems, which reveal a careful balance of prosaic craft and glowing, tender detail. Blanco's first book, City of a Hundred Fires, was written in Miami and captures the nuances of Cuban-American cultural identity with deft brushstrokes. It won the University of Pittsburgh Agnes Lynch Starrett Poetry Prize in 1997. His second book, Directions to the Beach of the Dead, revealed a poet pining for home. Blanco has come full circle back to Miami Beach, but the formerly familiar now seems strange. "Now that I've come back and it's changed -- well, Miami changes every 36 hours it seems -- it's almost like a violation, like, how dare you change without me? I'm trying to stop living off memories, and trying to understand this place on its own terms as it's evolving. Miami as a petri dish has always been an anthropological and sociological marvel," he explains eloquently. Blanco says he returned for his muse, the beach. Evening strolls along the lapping shore fuel his creativity. It will be interesting to see how Miami inspires his future poems. While the poetic side of Blanco's brain finds romance in the city's contrasts, the engineer on the other side whispers fears about a lack of public housing, potential financial ruin, and economic and climactic storms. "There's an overlap between my engineering and the concerns of my poetry. The whole idea of the construct of the city, planning and design -- knowledge that I have from engineering of things that they're doing wrong and not doing.É I fear for Miami sometimes, because it's on the fence. And most people don't realize that," he says in a sobering bass.
Our favorite park doesn't have slides, a jungle gym, a golf course, tennis courts, a pool, a beach, a barbecue pit, a cool nature walk. But it does have more than 500 different varieties of vegetables, fruits, herbs, spices, and nuts. The county-owned Fruit and Spice Park is one of the world's most unusual parks. Located in the middle of the Redland, it showcases the bounteous reap of Miami-Dade's unique subtropical farming community. A hundred varieties of citrus, 65 kinds of bananas, 40 different grapes, and other tropical exotics are on display. You can take a guided tour of the 30-acre park beginning at 11:00 a.m., 1:30, or 3:00 p.m. daily, or you can also explore it yourself at your leisure. Once you're done touring or exploring, you can taste produce in the gift shop. The park also frequently hosts classes, led by staff, on cooking with tropical plants and how to identify edible wild plants. Admission: $5 for adults, $1.50 for kids. Hours: 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. daily.
The hindquarters of a six-foot alligator carcass protruded from the exploded torso of a thirteen-foot Burmese python. But it took at least ten minutes of staring at the photo -- a weird montage of claws and tails floating in a reedy marsh, published this past October -- to figure out who had eaten whom. Was it disconcerting for residents of West Kendall to learn that only a few dozen miles away from their comfortable beds, an alligator was literally exploding from confinement inside a python's belly? How does one sleep at night? Local biologists offered a number of theoretical explanations: The dead alligator's postmortem reflexes caused an unfortunately rough twitch of the leg. Or maybe the alligator's carcass had swollen in the early October heat and ruptured the snake with its bulk. The most plausible story, however, involved a third gator, who capitalized on the python's postprandial inertia to take a bite of him. That, at least, explained the snake's missing head.
It's not about wearing fine couture or driving up to the valet in a Bentley; "It's all about the attitude," says Thomas Barker, the little guy behind MUSE Entertainment and columnist for Wire magazine. The adorable brown-haired pixie, who always looks fabulous in his simple white Hanes V-neck T-shirts and two-dollar thrift-store threads, can be spotted everywhere: hotel and condo parties, art gallery openings, and boutique soirees from Lincoln Road to Bal Harbour -- even if he is not on the list. "You don't need to conform to the South Beach style; you just need one great accessory as a conversation starter. This cost more than my whole outfit," Barker says of his gorgeous Murano glass bead rosary. Barker, whose other signature accessory is a martini glass, suggests making friends with a few PR people to get the party ball rolling. Once you work your way into a few fabbity-fab events, you will begin receiving invites to others. "Every party needs to have the right mix of people. You have the intellectual, the beautiful, the fabulous, and the spenders ... and there's always the gays!" Barker laughs. "The key is to look the part and to act like you belong there -- because you do!"
Perhaps it's simply a coincidence that the courts at this brand-spanking-new recreation center a few blocks away from Francophile Normandy Isle are clay, the surface of choice for the French Open. Whatever the reason, it's rare to find clay, usually a favorite among elite players, on public courts. So common lobbers, rejoice; with twelve courts (ten clay, two hard surface), fees that cost only a little more than a couple of Gatorades, and nighttime lighting (it's open until 9:00 p.m. weekdays, 8:00 p.m. weekends), there are plenty of excuses to break out some fresh balls.
Planning the perfect party takes a little bit of practical chemistry: Bring together a mix of people from enough different social subsets to make for interesting, convivial conversation. But make sure they are not from worlds so alien that guests have nothing at all to say. Serve enough food to sate the starving without stultifying the gluttonous. Lubricate with enough alcohol to loosen inhibitions without encouraging regrettable hookups or, worse, drunken brawls. Find a sponsor generous enough to underwrite the festivities who doesn't subsequently become a demanding boor. And then there's the intangible type of chemistry that just clicks into place, turning an enjoyable but predictable shindig (something that happens almost every night of the year in Miami Beach) into one for the record books. Such an alignment of the stars occurred November 15, 2005, when the celebrity publicists (and publicists to celebrities) of TARA, Ink gave a coming-out party for Douglas Rodriguez's new incarnation of famed Caribbean fusion restaurant OLA at the Savoy on Ocean Drive -- it is located, by the way, in the former home of Rolling Stone Ron Wood's nightclub. The event was on the tab of cell phone and Sidekick service providers T-Mobile, which was simultaneously launching new incarnations of the personal communication devices. It turned out the electronics moguls were the consummate sponsors, rocking the party with witty chat and mingling easily. "I love Miami Beach," commented T-Mobile executive Mark Stockdale. "It's different -- way different than Seattle, where I'm from, but that's the idea." OLA was populated that evening not only by tech-talkin' geeks but also by local scenesters on their best behavior: Kimona, the National Hotel's iconic lounge singer; designer Esteban Cortazar; club owner Nicola Siervo; and Tara Solomon herself, possibly the most gracious hostess ever to simultaneously take a phone call, balance a martini, and personally escort a guest to the restroom in four-inch heels. Yet there were enough civilians -- starving artists and writers, people's parents and grandparents, and even a few children -- to make milling mandatory and introductions painless. The drinks were paired with Rodriguez's magnificent ceviche snacks, crab puffs, spring rolls, and lobster tarts, which led to a full-fledged four-course meal. Guests left full, happy, and madly craving a Hello Kitty-theme Sidekick of their very own. That's the key to party perfection: Satisfy every desire, yet make guests want more. Definitely one for the record books.
There are certain memories commonly associated with public pools -- such as screaming children, eyes bloodshot from excessive chlorine -- that can, at times, be unpleasant. If you're seeking a special public-pool experience renewal, we suggest a few hours in the sybaritic, neoclassical grandeur and chlorine-free natural spring water of Venetian Pool. Believed to be the only public pool in the country on the National Registry of Historic Places, this 85-year-old, 800,000-gallon pool is one of the Miami area's true wonders. With vine-covered loggias, a three-story observation tower, coral rock caves, and a palm-fringed island, the pool is part Renaissance Italy, part Fantasy Island. At one point, gondolas actually plied the length of the pool. One of its unique features is the chlorine-free water, supplied by a subterranean aquifer. Conservationists need not worry about wastefulness: The Venetian's water is recycled, via a natural filtration system that was added in 1988 to address water supply worries. Price of admission to the pleasure dome from April to October is $9.50 for adults and $5.25 for children under twelve. From November to March, the price dips to $6.25 and $3.25.
Best Location for a New Starbucks
NE 28th Street and Biscayne Boulevard
Sure, it's across the street from our offices. But hey, we're biased, sleep-deprived journalists who would love the convenience of skipping across the street for a caramel macchiato or a soy chai latte during our midafternoon writing slump. And with all of the new condos sprouting up between Edgewater and downtown, don't we really need a Starbucks in this neighborhood? A defunct (was it ever even open?) rug shop with an orange chimney has been cluttering the corner for too long, and we're tired of trudging through Biscayne Boulevard construction zones in order to reach the nearest baristas at 69th Street. Oh, people can say what they want about the monster coffeehouse that is taking over the world, but that serene mermaid in the green circle is a sign of a lively neighborhood, and this area could use a little polish. Naysayers should know that one of the company's guiding principles is "to contribute positively to our communities and our environment," and it does so through the Starbucks Foundation, which has given more than $11 million to organizations that provide literacy programs for children and families. Now if it could slow down Miami drivers, we might survive crossing the street for our java.
The opera world's original spaghetti Western made for the season's best-realized theatrical spectacle, as the Florida Grand Opera took on Puccini's late masterpiece and unveiled sets by John Conklin that went a long way to explain why opera is called grand. Big, intelligent, and full of surprises even for the most jaded opera fans, the whole affair looked and moved at a furious gallop in a first-rate production that recalled the company's glory days and frankly let us look ahead with optimism to the move next fall to the spiffy new Miami Performing Arts Center. Like the unforgettable production of Paul Bunyan, this Fanciulla also reminded us that Florida Grand Opera's partnership with New York City Opera and Glimmerglass Opera, which among other things means taking advantage of spectacular ready-made sets, translates into good news for lovers of music theater in South Florida.
The Project, praised by everyone from Jeb Bush to Bob Graham to Bill Clinton, mentors young people and works with their families to encourage safer, healthier directions in life. Volunteers and staff collect donations of clothes, jewelry, computer items, household goods, used bikes and cars -- basically anything. Pickup can be arranged, or you can drop off items between 9:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.
With all due respect to Looe Key, Biscayne National Park, and John Pennekamp, snorkeling holes should offer a stronger sense of adventure than the popular spots. A lack of humans is almost as rewarding as an abundance of sea life. As you travel toward Key Biscayne on the Rickenbacker, cross the bridge on the far side of the cut and then follow the shoreline away from the causeway to the farthest point out. It's not a casual stroll -- mangroves and other obstacles can get in the way -- but out here the current isn't nearly as strong as in the cut proper, and you're likely to observe sharks, barracuda, crabs, rays, angelfish, jack, trout, even the occasional, and thrilling, snook. One gorgeous spring afternoon a solo diver at the location remarked, "Hardly anybody comes out here, but it's worth the trip because you never know what you might see. One time I saw a spinner shark break water, and when I went down, I saw three nice sharks." Most gorgeous afternoons there is no one here. It's not St. Lucia or the Seychelles or Micronesia, but for local waters this place offers everything that Looe, BNP, and Pennekamp do -- everything but the crowds.
There is no tougher test for a company -- and no bigger thrill for an audience -- than the miracle that is Shakespeare. And miracles are just what this annual summer festival makes: The play's the thing, and Rafael de Acha's ensemble works with boundless generosity at the New Theatre, at its best persuading us that American English is the ideal instrument for bringing to life the Bard's glorious verbal music. This is no easy task, by the way, and perhaps chief among the many joys of this Shakespeare extravaganza is that it so seldom feels like hard work -- on either side of the footlights. De Acha, Florida's busiest man in show biz, does everything, from caressing the best out of his actors to editing the scripts with a practical eye and even composing his own music with his heart on his sleeve. Best of all, this work of love is an ongoing affair: If you missed the last one or simply didn't get enough with The Shakespeare Project's last trio of Romeo and Juliet, The Merchant of Venice, and Macbeth, plans are afoot for more Shakespeare in the summer. This is South Florida theater at its best.
Best Place to Go Back in Time
The Ancient Spanish Monastery, St. Bernard de Clairvaux
Miami, they say, is constantly reinventing itself. When all that reinvention gets your head spinning, take a contemplative walk around the cloisters of this twelfth-century monastery -- the oldest structure around by a long shot. Like most things in South Florida, it's a transplant. It was originally built in Segovia, Spain, and served as a spiritual home to Cistercian monks there for almost 700 years. In 1925, William Randolph Hearst purchased the monastery and had it shipped -- block by block -- to the United States. Fate brought the disassembled building to Miami, where it was resurrected in 1952. Nowadays the monastery's pretty gardens are the backdrop for many a wedding, and its worn stone walkways give some perspective to the probable life span of that new South Beach nightclub. The Ancient Spanish Monastery is open Monday to Saturday from 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. and Sundays from 2:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. Admission is $5 for adults, $2 for children under twelve, and $2.50 for seniors.
Best Place to Meet Intelligent Men
Winter Music Conference parties
Two words: Uh huh. WMC men -- and some who are just boys, really -- are cute and smart. They are adorable, shaggy-haired DJs who wear hipster sunglasses, vintage shirts, and classic sneakers. They are intelligent and talented musicians -- basically hot geeks. Of course, they know their music (a big bonus in our book). And speaking of books ... they also read. And they watch independent and documentary films. Some are also into photography, while others do volunteer work. They aren't looking for fake boobs and spray-on tans. They want a real girl, one who gets pop-culture references, has actually read Moby Dick, and also thinks dancing to a live Sasha & Digweed set with 300 cool people, all while sailing on a private yacht, would be the best party ever. (It was the best party ever.) We know WMC (and M3 and Remix Hotel and the rest of the conference activities) comes but once a year, but you must make the most of those ten days or so. Get every pass you can, go to all the cool parties, and drink as much Red Bull as you do water. It is worth the time invested -- and the hours of sleep you will forfeit -- to have a vacation from all the dull, vacant men who prefer playing with plastic toys to engaging in an animated discussion about why you both hated the movie Crash so much. You've been wondering where they all are; we found them.
A tender-voiced woman with snow-white locks, Raquel Regalado looks like she belongs on the cover of a grandmotherly greeting card. But don't let her geriatric appearance fool you. She is the tenacious, sharp radio show host of Lo Que Otros No Dicen, a title that literally means "what others won't say." That's Regalado's way of letting her audience know that no subject is off-limits on her morning program. Monday through Friday, beginning at 10:00 a.m., on 670 AM La Poderosa, Regalado tackles the social ills afflicting the Magic City -- from the poor condition of public housing for the elderly to the arrogant indifference of Miami's elected leaders.
Best Place to Meet Intelligent Women
Writers on the Bay Reading Series
In this stimulating series of readings, Florida International University alumni and creative writing students read their work to an audience often underserved in South Florida -- those still interested in language. The readings can be hit-or-miss, with prose that is sometimes blowzy, sometimes brilliant, but they feature luminaries such as The Nation's Victor Navasky, poet Ray Gonzalez, and short-story writer Kelly Cherry. These dynamic writers stop in at locations all over town and are gaining a following. If you like your women literate and community-minded, you just might find Ms. Perfect here.
http://w3.fiu.edu/CRWRITING/Writers%20on%20the%20Bay%202005<\m>2006.htm
http://w3.fiu.edu/CRWRITING/Writers%20on%20the%20Bay%202005<\m>2006.htm
Mike Inglis is the opposite of a homer. Unlike his TV counterpart, the unctuous Eric Reid, Inglis calls it like he sees it -- through a half-empty glass, pessimistically. His stoic sidekick, former Heat guard John Crotty, is often left to pick up the pieces after Inglis drops a despairing on-air monologue: "I don't know about you, John, but as glad as I am that the Heat are up by 30 going into the half, I can just feel disaster coming if these guys don't start making their free throws. Maybe not now, but soon. It's just pathetic to watch these guys at the line." (It's not all doom and gloom, though -- Dwyane Wade's acrobatics often have Inglis rejoicing.) Miami Herald sports columnist and 790 AM sports talk host Dan LeBatard is an Inglis fan. "I want truth undistilled, even if I don't like what I'm hearing, instead of sugar-coated crud from propagandists who don't utter a syllable without remembering who pays them for said syllable," LeBatard rants in an e-mail about Inglis. "I don't want to be lied to by people paid to pull out the peppy pompoms."
You will probably walk past this tiny bar three times before noticing it, but once you finally slip inside, you'll find cozy seating, a comfy bar, and a totally different vibe than you've ever experienced. This wonderful little hole is filled with the cutest boys we have ever seen in South Beach. If you've been wondering where they've been hiding, wonder no more. You won't find annoying spring-breakers or have to compete with those chicas in their South Beach slutwear, but you will have to decide between the guy with the awesome hair who looks like he should be on tour with My Chemical Romance and the hipster with a soul-patch, black-rim glasses, and vintage shirt. And these beautiful boys are not afraid to approach pretty girls wearing Anthropologie skirts and "Reading Is Sexy" T-shirts. With candles all around, alternative and indie-rock tunes that are never too loud, and a great selection of wines and beers (including one of our faves, Chimay), this is a place where you'll want to hunker down and stay for the night. The excellent specials (like $3 pints) are just right for putting everyone in that feel-good, love-is-all-around mood.
Best Stargazing
Post-hurricane Miami
Alternate: Bill Sadowski Park
Don't even get us started.
Realistically the way to meet single women in Miami circa 2006 is to go online and start cruising Match.com, JDate, Craigslist, eHarmony, et cetera. Send e-mails. Exchange photos. Then date. Let's say you're different, though -- a traditionalist, who longs for the ways of the shagadelic Seventies. You appreciate the art of the one-liner. You love the quest for a freshly written phone number. The place for you, my old-school friend, is Novecento on Brickell. It's a sleek, stylish Italian-Argentine restaurant that has branches in New York, Buenos Aires, and Punta del Este, Uruguay. Not surprisingly, Novecento is popular with Latin American financiers hunting for señoritas. It's a particularly swinging scene after work, between 5:30 and 8:00 p.m. You can capitalize on happy hour (4:00 to 7:00 p.m. daily, beer $3, wine $4, mojitos $5, martinis $6) to build up some liquid courage. Then assess the crowd. Your targets: 24- to 30-year-old, largely Latina, young professionals. And yes, most important, they are single -- and attractive. Bring your A-game. If things don't work out at the bar, then relax and try Novecento's Argentine-style skirt steak ($12.95).
Few things are as entertaining as watching a talented actor having a ball with a bunch of roles at once. That is what Erik Fabregat did, with relish, in Mad Cat's Painted Alice by William Donnelly. With accent after outrageous accent and a chameleon's way with physical transformations, Fabregat took little bits in this little play and piled them up into a pig-out of acting exuberance. The man is shameless, not exactly a matinee idol, but definitely the sort of actor by whom you find yourself riveted no matter who else is onstage. That raises the bar for everyone, incidentally, which makes for good theater.
All you have to do is watch an episode of The Sopranos to see how the nouveau riche have, tragically, trampled upon all that once was the province of old money from the Old World. Tony Soprano and Paulie Walnuts might chomp cigars, swig Jameson, and tote copies of the Robb Report while profanely clomping across Pine Valley Golf Club's pristine eighteen holes. Yet there is one world that so far has escaped the grubby attentions of the crass-but-moneyed masses, and that is the domain of equestrian sports. Horses are not Porsche Cayennes, and they require a rather high-octane attention span; it takes time to learn to ride, handle, curry, and bond with a flesh-and-blood ride. You can bling out a thoroughbred only so much. And riding horses -- really doing it well -- isn't easy. So steeplechasing, dressage, and quadrilles remain for the moment a very blue-blood pursuit. The queen of these human-horse sports is of course polo, which pairs extraordinary equine athleticism with equal effort from riders, who basically play a wicked form of lacrosse astride 1000-pound thoroughbreds. In April 2005, Reto Gaudenzi, the master of Casa Casuarina who is also, as luck might have it, a professional polo player, thought to bring his beloved sport here and arranged for a three-day series of matches on Miami Beach across from the Casa at Eleventh Street and Ocean Drive. Polo on the sand was a novelty, but more interesting was that the matches -- played in innings called chukkers -- were open to the public. Despite frequent downpours and blowing sands courtesy of some errant April showers, it was successful. This year -- from April 11 to 13 -- the polo matches, still hosted by Gaudenzi, moved south to the beach behind The Setai on Twentieth Street and Collins Avenue, adjacent to the public beach on 21st Street. The weather cooperated. More children were on hand -- more observers in general -- and the ponies that weren't playing were stationed where scores of little equine lovers could get close enough to inhale. Polo ponies are actually the same thoroughbreds whose cousins race in the Triple Crown, but they are gelded and generally composed of a more compact, stocky body type, similar to that of a quarter horse. Yet in their polo finery -- plaited manes, tales coaxed into pompons or sleek braids, colorful saddle blankets -- they appear majestic. And these horses can haul hindquarters, possessing both sprinting speed and endurance. They are able to spin on a hoof and not get their elegant legs entangled in the dozen others seeking the five-inch-diameter orange ball. The party behind the polo is no joke either -- beyond the expected open bar, both years' tournaments have offered snacks above the norm, from a dozen flavors of gelato to fresh salmon rolls to crabcakes and éclairs. At the end of this past April's tourney, Melissa Ganzi, the only female rider, doffed her pink helmet to a cheering crowd as her Team Kreon emerged triumphant. It was a gracious, graceful spectacle. Don't you barons and baronesses of Brickell get any ideas.
There really are no small roles in Shakespeare. Were it not for the splendor of the cast surrounding her, Kimberly Daniel would have found it easy to simply steal the show as the Nurse in Rafael de Acha's Romeo and Juliet. As it was, she was just right in a character that can easily slip into vulgarity. Shakespeare's bits of comic relief are always on the verge of being too much, too broad, too big a temptation for lazy actors and directors who carelessly bulldoze through the verbal thickets to elicit the easy laugh. Daniel was funny enough, believe us. But she was as real as she was touching. And, for all her bawdy humor, this Nurse's discovery of Juliet's limp body was a heart-rending moment of raw emotion made all the more devastating by her ability to remain true to the play's glorious language.
Although his best fighting days are behind him, it's difficult to beat Arroyo for narrative arc. From rough roots in Allapattah, he became one of the best boxers Miami has ever seen. He's gone seven rounds with Hector Camacho, one of the all-time greats. He's been in Roberto Duran's inner circle. He's fought the world champion in his weight class, appeared on ESPN, and enjoyed a 21-bout winning streak. He also became a crack addict and serial robber who was in and out of jail for twenty years. Arroyo has since turned his life around, hasn't touched drugs in years, and at age 41, is still winning some fights.
Yo, Vinny! Yeah, you, with the putrid, beer-stained, urine-soiled Wayne Chrebet jersey! You've been living in Miami-Dade County for the past fifteen years and you still talk like you belong in a Brooklyn bagel shop! And didn't your wife tell you that mullets and mutton-chop sideburns went out of style back in 1969, the only year your lousy stinkin' Jets won a Super Bowl? I can't wait to see you later this year at Dolphin Stadium so me and my boys in Section 454 can kick your ass and serenade you with chants of "J-E-T-S suck! Suck!" before, during, and after the game. And don't forget to bring the 24-pack of Coronas and the ten pounds of barbecue ribs you owe us from that bet you lost last season.
Best Reason to Stay in Miami for the Summer
Snorkeling at Biscayne National Park
It's infernally hot, suicidally humid; the hurricane threat looms; and the festivals are gone. Not even Grandma from North Dakota will visit. But while much of Miami whines, we celebrate. The brutal summer heat is, after all, a good thing: Water temperatures nudge past 80. (Go ahead. Hang up that wetsuit.) The nearly windless summer doldrums, trouble for our sailor friends, are brilliant for us. Boat rides out to the reef are easy, no need for Dramamine. Best of all, the heat drives away the crowds; North America's great barrier reef is our playground. And amazing Cousteau-ish encounters with brain coral and fire coral and barracudas and jewfish are all so friggin' close. You can try Biscayne National Park, which runs a charter ($39.95, call 305-230-1100) that departs daily at 1:30 p.m. for a roughly four-hour snorkeling tour. You can also go a little farther south, to John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park in Key Largo. There are literally dozens of reefs and wrecks up and down the Keys. So buy a $25 snorkel and mask, splurge on some fins, and join the happy set.
So you just came into some bayside property and you want to build a hurricane-proof home. What's the first thing that comes to mind? It wouldn't happen to be elevating your house, would it? If archaeologists are correct about the function of the Miami Circle, the earliest known locals built their village on a series of stilts near the mouth of the Miami River. Even 2000 years later, it's still the trendy thing to do: Enjoy Paul George, of the Historical Museum of Southern Florida, as he regales you with tales of the fishermen, socialites, and mobsters who populated Stiltsville, the controversial "neighborhood" located on the mud flats near Key Biscayne. The unique group of elevated homes has been one of the area's most popular attractions since the Twenties, but catch it before a hurricane or government official demolishes the last seven houses. Cost: $39. Next scheduled launch is Mother's Day, May 14.
We were sad to see the wheezing and whining (when they weren't broken down) Electrowave buses sent out to pasture when Miami-Dade Transit gobbled up the route. But the shiny new buses with two separate loops (one up Washington Avenue, the other on West Avenue) are the best. The buses are clean, the air conditioning works, and the view is even better. For just a quarter, you can ride in comfort as you're spying the Washington Avenue riffraff. Arguing homeless people -- "You're a bum!" "No, you're a bum!" -- cause a commotion next to the bus stop. Not-so-casual drug deals take place. And there's an endless stream of fake breasts, shakin' booties, and bare legs strutting in four-inch heels (some even belonging to women). Plus there are plenty of characters on the bus: tourists from Europe, Canada, and the hills of Kentucky; packs of wild, hormonally charged teenagers; senior citizens with grocery carts. Even the drivers are an interesting lot: One particular gentleman who resembles Gopher from The Love Boat keeps things exciting by holding a conversation with a guy in the next lane for six blocks. (He wants to know all about the guy's blinged-out Ford F-350.) We've heard girls on spring break complaining about their hammertoes and elderly vacationers from Buffalo calling friends back home to brag about the balmy Florida February weather. And yes, ladies, plenty of hot, wife-beater-wearing Latinos also ride the bus.
Naomi Wilzig is a Jewish grandmother unlike any other. Over the course of fourteen years, she collected approximately 4000 works of erotic art and penned five books about the genre. "We look at sex as such a forbidden subject. But where would we be without it?" asks Wilzig. But the enormous phallic sculpture in Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange served little purpose in her living room -- to call it a conversation piece was an understatement. So she moved the Japanese shunga prints, the portraits of a shapeshifting Zeus in prime seductive form, and renditions of coquettish Rococo ladies into a mezzanine over on Washington Avenue. There the art smolders silently over the nightclub sex circus below, just blocks from Club Madonna. The museum is open from 11:00 a.m. to midnight; admission is $15.
The Miami Heat has demonstrated once again that all a team needs to win in the NBA are two superstars and about six or eight warm, giant bodies. That formula almost took the Heat to the league finals last summer. But then a couple of dippy plays and Dwyane Wade's hurt ribs kept them from knocking off the defending champion Pistons. Most general managers would have locked-in the club's best-ever team, but not Pat Riley. Gone this year are Keyon Dooling, Damon Jones, Eddie Jones, and Rasual Butler. In are Gary Payton, Antoine Walker, Jason Williams, and James Posey. Now Posey is a no-frills workman and fine to have aboard. Payton, Walker, and Williams are all oversize niche talents (Payton, defense; Walker, making baskets; Williams, handling the ball like a yo-yo). They're also recovering malcontents, every one. Along with Alonzo Mourning, then, Wade and Shaquille O'Neal have an all-hothead supporting cast. Will the Heat win a title? They're among a half-dozen teams that have a legitimate shot. Even if they don't, this playoff meltdown should be nothing short of nuclear, a guilty joy to behold.
You have to go to the southern terminus of Ocean Drive to find a good deal, but it's worth it. Opa, which also has restaurants in Hollywood and Fort Lauderdale, is an atmospheric, high-ceiling Greek joint with an open kitchen and a spacious bar area. You can wander off the beach and through Opa's door for a $6 pork souvlaki with pita and fixings, an $8 lamb shank with orzo, a $15 beef shish kebab with rice pilaf, or a selection of four mezze dishes for less than $20. For the price of a mashed potato side dish at the Hotel Victor's restaurant just a few blocks north, you can dig into Opa's wood-grilled lemon half-chicken, side of potatoes included. If you're with a party of six or more, $25 per person will get you a feast of eleven dishes (seven appetizers and four mains). At $3.75 a glass and $18 a bottle, the cheapest house wine is just that -- cheap. Taverna Opa is open from 4:00 p.m. until the ouzo runs out.
Though it's unlikely your guests might walk away from a visit to this popular Little Havana landmark with a Paris Hilton sighting under their belts, they will leave with a quintessential postcard of Miami's sabor Cubano. For more than four decades, the gaudy landmark, decked out in chandeliers, murals, and mirrors, has been the meeting place for exilio honchos, noisy Cuban families, and multiculti Miami. It's the place to go if you're hungry for authentic island cuisine served up with a heap of Castro-bashing or peppered in local political intrigue. Open till the wee hours seven nights a week, Versailles offers a cornucopia of old-fashioned Cuban favorites like ropa vieja, arroz con pollo, and lechón asado at prices that won't dent the wallet. After getting your visitors wired on a shot of cafecito, take a dime tour of Calle Ocho, where you can catch old-timers in a heated dominoes showdown at Maximo Gomez Park, shop for souvenirs at a shabby-chic bodega, and visit one of the many low-rent art galleries. Sure it might not compare to a sultry day at the beach, or the glamour of celebrity gawking at South Beach's exclusive nightclubs, but your friends will leave with a sense that there's nowhere else in America like the place we call home.
You don't have to be an arborist to notice that South Florida boasts some of the most unique tree-life in the world. We have royal palms, cypress, live oaks, banyans. We've got ficus-laden Coral Way and palm-lined Biscayne Boulevard. There is, though, among all of Miami-Dade County's trees, a champion. It's part of the always-impressive ficus family but is not any ordinarily breathtaking banyan. It's an Über-version of the trees you'll see lining roads in Coconut Grove and Coral Gables. This tree, in the former location of Parrot Jungle, is so massive, so sprawling, that it looks like its own jungle. The root system to support it spans five acres. Now, when you see this awesome tree, keep in mind -- it's literally half its former greatness. A huge chunk of it was destroyed by hurricanes.
He began his career in 1978 as a shoe-leather scribe for the defunct Miami News. Two years later Rodriguez switched to television and began a career highlighted by his 2002 interview of Cuban leader Fidel Castro. The dapper newsman (who was named one of South Florida's sharpest-dressed men by Ocean Drive) has covered major events such as the invasion of Panama, free elections in Nicaragua, and Pope John Paul II's visit to Cuba. Today he is co-anchor of CBS4 News at Noon (and the 5:30 p.m. broadcast as well) and host of 4 Sunday Morning. Rodriguez sets himself apart from his peers with his no-nonsense on-air delivery. He doesn't ham it up or use gimmicky one-liners. He simply reports the news in a direct, forceful baritone made for television.
Take the weekend to get away from it all -- literally, by chartering a boat out to sea. It's pricey -- $550 for a half-day or $1350 for a full weekend -- but think of it as your own private cruise, without the hovering masses at the midnight buffet. Capt. Russ Boley, a lifelong sailor who's been trekking to the Bahamas and the Keys for nearly three decades, takes care of the technical stuff so you can just kick back (or throw a party). His crew produces oven-fresh breads, scrumptious meats and cheeses, and homemade desserts that will keep your tummy happy while you while away the weekend on the water. Take the boat all the way down to Elliott Key if you like, and quaff a glass of wine -- or a bottle. Just grab your sunglasses. Wherever you go, you will have escaped.
Best Sanctuary from the Fast Track
The Martin Z. Margulies Sculpture Park
Motoring through the Dolphin Expressway bottleneck at the airport might encourage you to drive straight into swampy muck in the Everglades. But if you make a quick pit stop at FIU before you head east to the urban wasteland, try recharging your spirit. Nestled among the campus trees is the Margulies Sculpture Park, which comprises more than 70 large-scale sculptures by noted artists such as De Kooning, Dubuffet, and Serra. It's free and open to the public 24/7. Be sure to park in one of the Blue Parking Garage's visitor spots. If you don't, your sanctuary could turn into tow-truck torture.
Berky is the anti-Twinkie. Always professional, never treacly, he brings depth, doggedly thorough reporting, and elegance to a business full of flash, false sincerity, superfluous bites, irrelevant "news," and ratings stunts. He, Glenna Milberg, and Michael Putney form ABC affiliate WPLG's most solid, probing, and balanced triumvirate, excelling at the meaty pieces. Berky has an irresistible combination of scrupulousness and panache that allows him to dig deeply while telling the best story around. Berky doesn't do the easy thing. He doesn't do the salacious thing. He relishes complexity, whether reporting about migrants or Luis Posada Carriles or the Dubai port controversy. He doesn't "sell" tragedy or insert himself into the story. Berky tells you what's happening, how it happened, what might happen, and how it affects you; and he does it with an integrity, a nuance, and a depth from which many in his field could learn.
Once the bizarre infomercials are over for the day, this station just drips with the flavor of Miami. Between Tres Patines documentaries, local talent shows, and the news in Spanish are hours and hours and hours of hot women parading around in worse than nothing. There's a lot of ass in Miami, and it ain't only the politicians. In case you never tired of the Exilio AM-radio talk shows, you can watch a lively anti-Castro talk show called A Mano Limpia. (When Fidel kicks the bucket, what the hell will they talk about? Let's hope girls' asses!) Then there are the comedy shows that feature -- you guessed it -- more women's asses. (There's definitely a universal language here that any hetero American male can understand regardless of Spanish skills.) And if the butts leave you longing for an infomercial, you can always enjoy the charmingly crafted local ads for ¡Ño, Que Barato!
Even before heading the National Hurricane Center, Max Mayfield won accolades and awards from his peers in the industry. Now in the top post in his field, Mayfield has earned the thanks of those whose lives he has saved. As director, he leads a team of scientists who interpret weather conditions and issue advisories. However, as the public face of the center, Mayfield's most important job is alerting the public. If not for Mayfield's persistent warnings, thousands more Louisianans might have found themselves on the wrong side of those broken levees, but they listened to Mayfield early and evacuated voluntarily even when their local officials seemed nonchalant about Hurricane Katrina's strength. Thanks, Max!
For those looking to fill the ice chest with some tasty fillets while boning up on lush, natural beauty, Flamingo couldn't be a surer bet. Located at the south end of Everglades National Park, this angler's paradise is about an hour-and-a-half drive from the city. Although this end of the park suffered damage last fall from hurricanes Wilma and Katrina, the facility is open and again renting canoes and motor skiffs for half-day and full-day fishing excursions. (Call 239-695-3101.) Whether wetting your line for mangrove and mutton snapper, or tackling feisty tarpon, known for explosive strikes and acrobatic leaps and growing up to 150 pounds, hundreds of spots in the area practically guarantee you'll come home with more than a sob story about the one that got away. In addition to seeing redfish feeding in shallow water, or spotting sea trout taking your bait over a grassy patch of bottom, chances are you'll also run into the ever-elusive and crafty snook, which is prized for its delicate taste -- and is also one of the toughest fighters you could snag on a line. Canoes run $22 for a half-day and $32 for a full day, and fifteen-foot skiff rentals cost $65 and $90, respectively.
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