Of Ramp Rats and Cheap Men What do you mean only in Miami? Well, maybe: That was an amazing story by Kathy Glasgow about ramp workers and what they take from your luggage (“Ramp Rats’ Revenge,” May 30). I have to accept the veracity of your story and interviews, but…
No matter how many times it happens, the moment still stuns. A star shoots from the firmament over Latin America and lands somewhere in Miami: On this June night, Celeste Carballo touches down on an armchair in the corner of a dimly lit living room in the Design District, balancing…
Sadiq and E-Trap were talking about Saturday’s Mike Tyson/Lennox Lewis heavyweight championship fight from their stools near the stage at Big Mac’s Foxy Lady Lounge, 1800 NW 79th St. in Liberty City: “Mike comes in light — under 220 lbs.? — he will knock that faggot out!” E-Trap predicted confidently…
Got a Gripe? Take It Elsewhere, Pal Yes, I know this is the land of free expression, but give me a break, okay? Regarding Alfredo Triff’s article about the vandalism at Maxoly Art Cuba gallery (“Anatomy of Suppression,” May 23), I would encourage all foreign militants to take their wars…
In the usually dead hours before dawn, when house lights are dark and the streets of Wynwood silent, an unclassifiable din explodes from speakers hooked into a laptop on the patio behind Two Last Shoes. If the neighbors called the police to complain, what would they say? There is an…
So Stupid They Must Work for Castro Who? Those idiots over at Vigilia Mambisa, that’s who: While I always cringe at New Times articles criticizing el exilio, I must say Alfredo Triff’s “Anatomy of Suppression” (May 23) was well deserved by those idiots over at Vigilia Mambisa. In no way…
Last year Smilez and Southstar wandered around Miami Beach on Memorial Day weekend just like the rest of the hip-hop hooligans scoping out the honeys and gawking at the stars. Their names weren’t on any of the lists at the clubs on Washington Avenue. Their rhymes weren’t pressed on vinyl…
Party Pooper Memorial Day will be a disaster: In response to Rebecca Wakefield’s story “Anatomy of a Party” (May 9), I see disaster coming on Memorial Day weekend, a disaster in which everyone loses and no one wins. Are the Miami Beach town fathers so greedy they have to invite…
It’s a sound that’s swiftly showing up everywhere, like a suddenly trendy drink embraced by the masses as the perfect tonic for the times. A bracing mix of tough and tender, sweet but street, that somehow makes everybody feel aa-ight in these strange, uncertain post-9/11 days. Switch on the radio,…
It’s a recent Saturday night, you’re tucked behind a VIP table inside Lincoln Road’s Spin nightclub, and the hip-hop beats are thumping. Supermodel Naomi Campbell sashays over — she hasn’t seen you since her birthday party last summer in France — and snuggles in to share a glass of champagne…
“You want my prediction for Memorial Day Weekend?” asks Rudolf with a mischievous grin. The Billboardlive nightlife director pauses a beat for dramatic effect and then cracks to Kulchur: “It’s not going to be nearly as interesting as last year.” That’s certainly the message the city of Miami Beach was…
No Brahms, No Alms If you don’t play it, he won’t pay it: I don’t understand how Rebecca Wakefield could use terms such as “hodgepodge” and “misguided mishmash” in referring to WLRN-FM’s pre-1999 programming (“The Battle for Bach,” May 2). Perhaps her head was filled with some real “misguided mishmash”…
Not since Simon & Garfunkel repackaged “El Condor Pasa” with English lyrics has a Peruvian export scored as much play in el Norte as 31-year-old singer-songwriter Gian Marco. Sure Susana Baca’s treatment of Afro-Peruvian tradition makes her the darling of the world-music crowd and alt-rock act Libido has been making…
Celebrities Are Different from You and Me Yes, they can skip the velvet rope: Regarding Brett Sokol’s “Kulchur” column last week (“Oops, She Did It Again!” April 25), what’s the big deal if underage Britney Spears goes to a nightclub? As if Brett didn’t know that everywhere in the world…
Sometime past midnight a heavily tinted black Mercedes pulls up to the gate of Circle House, the posh private North Miami recording facility owned by reggae veterans Inner Circle. The driver cracks the window and extends an arm to activate the intercom, his long dreads brushing across his dark skin…
Britney Spears is many things to many people. To her label executives at Jive Records, the midriff-baring singer is a recording artist who pulled in more than $35 million last year. To the advertising honchos at both Pepsi and the Dairy Council, she is the nymphet pitchwoman whose “I’m Not…
Everglades Restoration: It’s Now the Big Boys’ Game And the little guys are needed more than ever: Joe Podgor and his record as a leader in Florida’s conservation community are worthy subjects for New Times. But fundamental changes within Florida’s environmental movement in the early Nineties primarily account for Joe’s…
Few have led the life of sex, drugs, and rock and roll bigger or brasher than singer-songwriter Charly Garcia. Yet 30 years after his first bid as founding father of Argentine rock, the 51-year-old rockero is still as out of control as ever — and still recording as prolifically as…
Hooked: I Killed a Hammerhead But I was young and foolish and under the spell of Mark the Shark: I was glad to see Mike Clary finally bringing to the public the issue of killing South Florida’s sailfish and sharks (“Hooked on Death,” April 11). Many years ago ignorance led…
If you stand outside Miami Beach’s City Hall and listen carefully, you’ll hear the distinct sound of gnashing teeth, followed by the anguished turning of calendar pages. “We’re not doing anything other than Memorial Day weekend for the next two months,” groaned Christina Cuervo, Beach assistant city manager, at a…
Korda’s Last Will and Testament Desperate acts of a revolutionary with second thoughts? Kirk Nielsen’s excellent article on Alberto Korda’s photographs and the disputes over rights to his work (“Blowup,” April 4) was brimming with delicious ironies that mimic the Cuban revolutionary experience. Imagine my sense of naughty delight at…
The signs have been there. Urban marketers talk about “skate kids” rather than black kids. The Olympic snowboarders, America’s sweetheart punks, plug into the gnarliest music ever aired at that august competition. And then a soundtrack for the “extreme” video game SSX Tricky shows up in the mail: Run-D.M.C. throwing…
