A journalist who came to Miami via Venezuela and New York with more than 30 years of experience, Julio Cesar Camacho never gets lost in the maze of this city's Spanish-language radioverse, prone to sensationalist noise and cheap jabs. Every day from 5 to 7 p.m. on Actualidad (WURN-AM, 1020), Camacho is just as likely to level hard-hitting questions at politicians across the ideological spectrum as to interview doctors working on important research, musicians performing across the globe, or local professors conducting sociological studies. He welcomes anyone and everyone to his show, maintains a cool and collected stance, and delves deep into far-ranging issues. And perhaps most important, he seems comfortable enough to understand the story isn't about him.
Don Francisco has been in the business so long that his life is slowly transmogrifying into a daytime variety show. At the age of 70 — when most South Floridians have retired and taken to wandering around the mall food court — the Chilean talk-show host was recently hit with a paternity suit by 43-year-old Patricio Flores Mundaca, who claimed his mother once had an affair with The Don while she was working as a hotel maid. To make matters juicier, Francisco was allegedly caught bribing a biochemist to alter the paternity test. But after 49 years at the helm of Sábado Gigante — Univision's irrepressible and unapologetic pastiche of buxom models, weepy interviews, and dancing dwarfs — the king of kitsch can be forgiven for a few transgressions. Besides, he looks great. If Charlie Sheen has tiger blood, Don Francisco's bodily fluid comprises dragon DNA and Johnny Walker Black. Since bringing his show to Miami in 1986, he continues to strut around the stage like an ultratan AARP avenger in impeccably tailored suits. Born Mario Luis Kreutzberger Blumenfeld in Talca, Chile, while World War II was just getting underway, Don Francisco is the epitome of an entertainer. His latest foibles only make the man behind the tan mask all that more human.
Marc Hackman is like every other sportscaster in the country — prone to pukey clichés, blatant pandering, and an almost encyclopedic store of useless information. Except Hackman isn't really a sportscaster or radio personality. He's not even a real person. He's a hack, a construct created by 790 the Ticket station program director Marc "Hoch" Hochman to serve as an ad hoc (excuse the pun) guest from Miami when sports shows across the nation come calling. Instead of getting a sports insider talking about the Heat or Hurricanes, unsuspecting hosts are treated to the most hackneyed, cornball, goofball sportscaster imaginable. It's the best kind of satire — just credible enough to keep unwitting hosts from hanging up, but over-the-top absurd enough so his appearances provide pure comedy gold for Miami listeners who are in on the gag. Here's Hackman talking to a Cleveland station about the Heat's early-season troubles: "There's an old saying that every dog has its day, and we've been saying in Miami radio for a while that even when there's darkness, one size fits all." On air in Chicago, he likened the Dolphins' problems to a pizza: "It's like a Chicago deep-dish pizza — lots of layers and lots of sausage." He's apt to ramble nonsensically, make up silly facts ("UM President Donna Shalala invented the pantsuit"), and mispronounce names such as Heat coach Erik Spolestra (instead of Spoelstra). Catch Marc Hackman bits periodically weekdays from 3 to 7 p.m. or in rebroadcasts on the 790 website.
Assume Conan is on vacation and The Daily Show is on hiatus. What do you watch at 11 p.m.? Spanish-language paid programming on Mega TV, of course. Sure, you might learn a thing or two about immigration laws or DUI charge loopholes, but the best-bet byproduct of En Corte con el Dr. Ricardo Corona is belly laughter. Sandwiched between Bayly and prerecorded commercial programming, En Corte con el Dr. Ricardo Corona is a live phone-in show that offers generic legal advice from a team of Corona Law Firm abogados. At the helm of this hourlong consulta gratis is an attractive blonde named Leyla (at least when Dr. Corona isn't in), along with Nina Tarafa, lead counsel, so to speak, who butchers the Spanish language Mondays through Fridays. Each weekday offers something a little different: Mondays, the panel discusses foreclosures. Tuesdays are dedicated to immigration law. Divorce, domestic abuse, and other family matters take center stage Wednesdays. Thursdays and Fridays round out a week of paid programming with a potluck of cocaine possession-related charges and DUI Breathalyzer test queries. And the beauty of it all: It's commercial-free — because it's already an hourlong commercial.
In any other season, on any other Canes team, on any other night, University of Miami star Leonard Hankerson would have left the locker-room doused in champagne last November 28. On the field at Sun Life Stadium that Saturday, the mammoth six-foot-three receiver with 200 pounds of sprinter-quick muscle scorched the University of South Florida for nine catches and 127 yards. No one on the Bulls could cover him. Hardly anyone in the country could all year, actually. With his season-ending haul against USF, Hankerson set a new UM record this year for touchdowns (passing some guy named Michael Irvin, who once had 13) and tied a 26-year-old mark for receptions. He might just have turned in the best single season ever by a Miami wideout. Too bad for Hankerson that the heroics came amid an epic Hurricanes implosion. In fact, the very night Hankerson rewrote the record book against USF, the boys in green and orange blew a last-minute shot at a field goal and eventually lost 23-20 to the Bulls. Instead of celebrating his feats after the game, Hankerson was left arguing why his coach, Randy Shannon, should keep his job. (Shannon was fired hours later.) Well, consider this your much-belated champagne bath, Leonard. Pop!
We've all asked ourselves about people who just seem to drop out of our lives. Where did the cute girl from the dog park go? Where do carnies hang out the other 11 months when the county fair isn't in session? Where is the guy who faked Obama's birth certificate? Why did my dad abandon me? Many of these questions and others can probably be answered thanks to WhosArrested.com. You can read a list of the most recently incarcerated members of the community or search via a crime cloud if you want to focus on a specific violation. At the very least, the mug shots provide hours of free entertainment and peace of mind — so the cute girl at the dog park is a down-low carnie who runs a side business making fake birth certificates and is married to your estranged dad. No wonder you never hooked up!
It's a relative newbie, with a little less than a year under its belt, but Beached Miami has quickly proven itself one of the best reads in the South Florida blogosphere. With great writing, quality photography, and creative features, Miami natives Jordan Melnick (a journalist) and Robby Campbell (a photographer and songwriter) are out to unveil the true essence of the Magic City. Coverage focuses heavily on music, art, and culture, but readers will also find insightful posts about politics and history, as well as news commentary and interviews. The blog excels at interacting with its audience through participatory activites such as caption contests for Campbell's cartoon sketches and a Valentine's Day playlist where Melnick featured songs suggested via Twitter throughout the day. For those not inclined to read, podcasts summarize each week's events. Beached Miami has set out to highlight the side of Miami that isn't all glitter and fake, and so far it has done a superb job.
"RT if you love brown skin." This is not a Manny Mangos original, but it pretty sums up the vibe of this quirky local character's Twitter feed. Who is Manny Mangos? You've seen him around. He's tall and lanky, all Miami. Manny plays garage music, not very often, but he does it. The thing that makes him stand out on the Internet are his tweets. The people of Come On Bro, a weekly party housed at Villa 221, were so inspired by the Mangos' insane little tweets that they created a photocopied zine of the megalomaniac's words and called it Spring Break Starts Now. The gems inside include "wish BK delivered" and "follow me, in real life." His tweets are enlightening. "mEmBeR when girls would pretend to be bi in middle school for attention?" Middle school? Which middle school was that? Back in the day, girls waited till high school to do it with other girls for attention. He makes commentary on sexuality ("Since the end is near spread that seed") and reflects on religion (his Good Friday tweet read, "rip Jesus"). A regular thinker, this guy is. His grammar is not always the best, but he definitely has the right attitude to get the world at his feet. Follow him on Twitter, not in real life.
Ah, if there is one thing we always look forward to when we travel through the Twitterverse, it's catching up with the pseudo-avatar of Miami Heat power forward Chris Bosh. Playing on the baller's perceived lack of toughness, @notchrissybosh amps up the former Raptor's feminine side with some revealing tweets, such as asking Twitter followers to guess what "color panties [he's] wearing during the game," or mentioning he "can't keep [his] tongue in [his] mouth" when an opposing player bends over, or talking about showing up for a "K-Y party."
Surfside Beach
Jessica Gibbs
New Yorkers and Midwesterners who spend a summer day at Jones Beach or some lake adjacent to a nuclear power plant don't mind getting pricked by a used syringe, stung by a jellyfish hiding in a floating Wendy's cup, and pissed on by a naked toddler. They'll still be sunburned and happy on the long trip home. But in South Florida, where many of us live within walking or short-driving distance from a beach that looks like it was ripped from a postcard, we can get pretty spoiled. To us, South Beach's famous shores — clogged with gobs of humanity sweating, bleating, posturing, preening, and moaning — have begun to resemble a DMV waiting room (but with more sand and topless Brazilian knockouts). So thank the Lord for Surfside's pristine, beautiful, and — most important — never-crowded sands. Douche-tastic Jersey Shore wannabes don't travel this far north, and loud children have mostly been replaced by elderly couples. Unlike neighboring Bal Harbour, this beach isn't crawling with snobby rich people glaring as if you stole their Grey Poupon. Surfside Police officers patrol on ATVs but typically don't bother you if you're discreetly drinking wine or beer, and sometimes you can even get away with bringing a small dog. And yes, you perv: There are topless Brazilian babes in Surfside too.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®