Best Flack 2000 | Don Ungurait | Best Restaurants, Bars, Clubs, Music and Stores in Miami | Miami New Times
Navigation
Ungurait is the spokesman for one of the most overworked and politically perilous government offices anywhere. Yet he remains helpful and straightforward in the face of even the most taxing demands. No question is too small, no fact too obscure. Ungurait will research and promptly report back. The infrequent times he can't dig up all the details or answer you immediately, he'll apologize and get on with the job. That inspires confidence, which is almost an oxymoron when applied to the world of flacking.
It's far away from the Shangri-la of South Beach, but earlier this year Lazaro Gonzalez's home in the gritty heart of Miami became the best photo opportunity since Gianni Versace gave his life for the benefit of local tour-bus operators. When young Cuban rafter Elian Gonzalez moved into the modest abode rented by his Uncle Lazaro, the house became the Miami destination. Until police blocked the street to all but residents, cars loaded with vérité-seeking tourists slowly would parade past at night, as if the house featured an elaborate Christmas-light display. For weeks, all day long, leathery old men and matronly women maintained their vigil behind the barricades (and occasionally through the barricades), smoking cigars and chatting while hoping for a glimpse of the boy. Vendors did brisk business selling Cuban flags and other memorabilia. Hordes of media drones beamed images of the scene around the globe. Given that kind of exposure, local tour guides are all smiles: This place will be a cash cow for months, maybe years to come.
El Chamba has been around since 1989. Except for one minor detail (it finally has an operating permit), not much has changed at this ramshackle soap-and-suds center for cars. El Chamba's native Nicaraguan owners take pride in the fact that the only machine used on your ride is a heavy-duty vacuum for the carpets. "Machines can't think," notes Leon Mateo Sanz, one of the owners. "God forbid they should damage the car." Here, at this odd Flagler Street intersection, where several roads converge to become one-way streets, manual labor is the only way to go. A live human attends to every nook and cranny of your car. A variety of perfumes add the final touch. For a truly Miami experience, we recommend "ocean mist." Fragrance included, a complete job costs ten bucks.
Miami's municipal-bond rating is improving. Mayor Joe Carollo will serve out his term in office. An eerie calm permeates the city's tumultuous political environment. Don't thank government leaders. Thank Miami attorney Ben Kuehne. His courtroom argument was simple: A proposed charter referendum for a "strong mayor" amounted to an illegal recall of Mayor Carollo. That was all Judge Fredricka Smith and the Third District Court of Appeal needed to knock the referendum off this November's ballot. Kuehne's pro bono work allows the mayor to complete his term, and earns for his firm, Sale and Kuehne, invaluable publicity. (What? You say he did this solely on principle?) The political stability should last until Carollo's next outburst at city hall.
First things first: There is no beach at Jensen Beach. It's not on the ocean. But it does hug the western shore of the Intracoastal Waterway (known up there as the Indian River). Caribbean Shores is a funky waterfront inn just outside of town, which is just north of Stuart, which is about 100 miles north of Miami, which basically means it's a completely different universe. And that's good news for anyone seeking relief from the pressure cooker we call home. The facilities at Caribbean Shores include a two-story, standard-issue motel; a dozen or so charming old-Florida-style bungalows; and a big house on the water divided into four suites. The informal atmosphere is enhanced by whimsical color schemes (pastels everywhere), and the views across Indian River are splendid, especially from the "Swan" suites. But don't expect fancy amenities or organized activities. The Shores isn't a resort, though you'll find a pool and a fishing pier and nice landscaping. It's just a delightful place to spend a couple of relaxing days alongside the water. You can bike across the causeway to Hutchinson Island and its alluring, wide-open beaches. Or you can wander around the old part of town and pick through a nice assortment of antique shops. For dinner drive up the road to Conchy Joe's, famed for its conch chowder and fresh seafood. Lodging is quite reasonable, particularly in the off-season, which runs from May 1 to December 1. Pretty decent Website, to boot.
Can we fudge just a bit? Let's call it the "Best Couple of Miles of Miami." Loosening the definition is worthwhile, for all aspects of life in Miami are symbolically represented along this stretch of blacktop. The journey begins at Biscayne Bay in the shadow of wealth and power: the Miami Herald building, the Grand and Plaza Venetia condominium towers, the Omni complex. Across Biscayne Boulevard you plunge into Overtown, where, amid the abandoned buildings, garbage-strewn lots, and potholed streets stands the sleekly rehabilitated Ice Palace Studios, an entrepreneurial beacon for the city's vision of a new film and fashion district. Press onward beyond North Miami Avenue, where social life is an outdoor affair and beverages tend to be cloaked in paper bags. Not far beyond NW Seventh Avenue a couple of small clapboard houses stand as sentinels to a bygone era, before the interstates ripped out the heart of the neighborhood, an era when Overtown was a hustling, bustling community. Duck under SR 836 and you're transported to the sprawling complex of high-rises devoted to the healing arts, anchored by Jackson Memorial Hospital. Just past Twelfth Avenue the tall buildings address not physical ills but societal ills: the county's criminal courthouse, the main county jail, the State Attorney's Office, the public defender's headquarters. Two more blocks and the street changes once again, this time into a quaint neighborhood shaded by majestic oak trees. The cozy homes don't house families, however; they are occupied by law offices catering to the defense of accused criminals. Fourteenth Street finally hits a dead end at the west side of NW Seventeenth Avenue, along the banks of the hard-working Miami River. And there you have it on one street, just about everything that comprises life in this subtropical metropolis: wealth, poverty, demolition, renovation, depression, optimism, inequity, justice.

She may be the baddest chick, as she proclaims in her recent hit single, but this 21-year-old Miamian is part of a new breed of female rappers who rhyme as hard as any man and who aren't afraid to talk shit if you get in their face. A graduate of Northwestern High, Trina, as she's known, was working toward her real estate license when Trick Daddy asked her to sing on his 1998 hit single "Nann." Soon Trina had her own record contract. Her first CD, Da Baddest B***h, has steadily moved up the charts, which is particularly gratifying for Trina, since she wrote all but one of the songs. "The rapping is cool, 'cause I have always liked writing," she told the Herald not long ago. "The best thing about it is that I am just being myself."
That's right, the Shriners -- polyester blazers and funny little hats (they're called fezzes). What gathering could better symbolize South Beach's transformation from fashion/celebrity hot spot to the more mundane (and sustainable) conventioneers' destination than last August's Shriners conference? Hey, we're glad to have 'em. Who needs all those limousines, paparazzi, and purple-haired kids anyway?
Say you're in Dallas and you've got a layover in Charlotte. Or make that Detroit with a layover in Chicago. Who would know the difference? Most U.S. airports are as seamlessly generic as fast-food chains and Michael Bolton concerts. But fly into Miami International Airport and whoa! -- time to check your passport. MIA contains a little of everything that makes our city unique. It's loud and boisterous. It's corrupt (recent revelations include dozens of drug-smuggling airline employees and no-bid contracts). The announcements are bilingual, often trilingual (Kreyol being our unofficial third language). You can get a café cubano as easily as the ubiquitous Au Bon Pain dreck you find at other airports. And despite our cosmopolitan airs (MIA tops the nation in international flights), we can be so gosh-darn provincial: Remember when Cigar Aficionado magazine featured a photo of Fidel Castro on the cover and county airport officials tried to ban its sale? How quaint.
Tucked away from view, this triangle of land is wedged between NW Twelfth Avenue, State Road 836, and the north bank of the Miami River. Advertised as the most exclusive subdivision for sale in Miami in 1919, its developer, 49-year-old John Seybold, insisted on deed restrictions to preserve leafy, shaded streets and houses set back on ample lots. It worked! Eighty-one years later, giant banyan trees and moss-draped live oaks shade grand old homes built in Florida vernacular and Victorian styles. The breeze coming up the river, along with the lush foliage, keep the temperatures down. Everyone seems to have a dog, which gives a lively neighborhood feel to the otherwise quiet streets. One of Miami's four historic districts, Spring Garden even boasts a park that neighbors cobbled together themselves. Located on a spit of land jutting into the river, it's appropriately called Spring Garden Point Park.

Best Of Miami®

Best Of Miami®