Hurricanes. Favorite football team. Least favorite weather occurrence. And more. There was that hurricane benefit writing contest thing in New Times, wherein people lucubrated their personal experiences, and $15K went to organizations helping victims of Andrew. Like the rest of the editorial staff here, I helped judge the entries, but…
KIRSTEN TO JOHN: MEET ME ON THE DOCK, BUDDY I wish to thank Kathy Glasgow for writing a very good article about the complicated efforts being expended to ship hurricane tree debris to Haiti (“The Idea and the Bureaucrats,” October 28). Some of the facts and figures given were not…
Halloween weekend, the new neurotic holiday feast, the compulsion to have the best possible time akin to the frenzy surrounding New Year’s Eve. Another year, another ritualized program of anticipation, random moments of half-baked pleasure, and the aftermath of suspecting that other people — worse yet, your friends — are…
One large container frozen lime juice, handful of ice, a slice of lime, and several glugs of vodka. Blend well (making sure lime slice is pulverized) and serve in frosted glass. Or, one 46-oz. can V-8, Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, lime juice (fresh only), horseradish — all to taste — and…
It’s a little late now. Out of time, over deadline, which happens when you spend sixteen hours a day on the job, and still have to find time to fill this stupid space. None of this is going my way. And we promised, by God, not to critshit all over…
The Hell phenomenon, another strange story from the naked city. A mysterious German developer, Thomas Kramer, descending on the city out of nowhere and acquiring major-league properties with endless cash: socialite Jan Cowles’s Indian Creek estate, attorney Dan Paul’s Star Island home, acres of lower South Beach for a new…
LONG DISTANCE INFORMATION, GIVE HIM MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE Regarding the story “Memphis Blues Again” by Todd Anthony (October 21), we all thought the article was very fair, with the exception of the cartoon, which only seemed to make more of a joke out of it than it actually was. The attention…
Life is a contest so play it. Or as poet Lionel Goldbart might say, “Integrity is a winning strategy.” Right, right. So it is with pride and pleasure we announce the Official New Times “Program Notes” R.E.M. Photo Contest. We could make this easy, of course, like by asking what…
The regular crowd shuffling in, hawking the dreams of the evening hours: the ultimate conceptual one-nighter, the outfit that will fix your life, the model of the moment. Four One One at the Hotel Harrison on Washington Avenue opening hyperofficially, the usual players working the room with the fervor of…
LOVE, AWARENESS, AND 110 DEAD MACAQUES It’s a shame and so uncaring that anyone would take wild animals out of their natural home for any reason (“Dead on Arrival,” October 14). I think if someone is interested in experimentation or research for the good of mankind, that person should do…
Looking as good as it gets, only slightly shattered. Hair by Joe Mesa, thickened and tortured. Brooks Brothers oxford shirt, wrinkled to perfection. Khaki pants, same dependable clothier, spotted with ink and gin. Puke-stained Cole-Haan loafers, worn without socks. Loaded with pocket change and attitude, ready to take yet another…
The year’s most important rock album has been released. The rectological explication engenders the broadening base of potential matched against the constricting demands of commercial success, and R.E.M. effectively negates that equation evocatively by juggling configurative…whoops, wrong column. Sorry. They didn’t headline their press release “Automatic for the Pundits” for…
DIALOGING WITH DEFEDE After reading your cover story “The Ugly American” (October 7) by Jim DeFede, I, as a Filipino, can only react with disgust, distress, and disappointment. A writer has many tools in his trade, and one of these is the use of dialogue to make his work more…
Out, out, Prince Albert of Monaco. Waiting for Bono. Tim Robbie, die-hard David Byrne fan and party animal extraordinaire. Pat Booth, author and Home Shopping Network star. Chuck D., public enemy and fun guy. Miami calling Mick Jones. Herb Ritts, photo-vibrator to Seventh Avenue. Models migrating back to town, the…
WE DO ALL WE CAN DO TO BRING THE POO TO YOU Todd Anthony’s bold report of dung sniffing as the next psychopharmacological craze (“Cow Pie High,” September 30) is raw, in-your-face journalism at its best. The fearless efforts of field reporter Anthony, photographer Steve Hlavac, and intrepid dungmeister John…
The hurricane relief social weekend, high-purpose pleasure, parties of the staunchest moral caliber. Saint Gloria orchestrating a massive relief concert at Joe Robbie Stadium, featuring Jimmy Buffett, comedian Paul Rodriguez, Celia Cruz, the Bee Gees, and just about every other known available entertainer. History in the making, but to a…
ROSE GIVES NAVARRO HIS PINK SLIP After reading Rafael Navarro’s latest restaurant review (“8 Million Ways to Fry,” September 23) — or should I say “restaurant demolition”? — I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt of his closeted sexual preference. The venom spewed forth by this gastronomic queen…
Zombie Birdhouse, Three Penny Opera, Mari Serpas and the Instigators. The winning band would get $1000, a cool guitar by a famous-name manufacturer, et cetera, courtesy of the booze company Tanqueray. As one of three extinguished judges, I probably shouldn’t do this, but I’ll tell you that I gave the…
South Beach, and the curfew incident, the ultimate moratorium on pleasure, passes into legend. Suffering from the doubly painful withdrawal of being encouraged to limit phone use and not being able to drink during prime-time hours, one prominent local reportedly breaking down at Paragon: “What do you mean you’re not…
FETISHES ON PARADE And speaking of miserable, self-indulgent cretins, how about those with deeply disturbing fetishes for thesauruses? You know the type: those who feel too threatened to use terms like “narcissistic,” “self-aggrandizing,” or “I could really use a good therapist.” They’re the same ones who also feel threatened by…
Just another funky day, as Greg Brown would sing. Dear diary: 8:30 a.m., car starts, gets me home. 9:00 a.m.: car won’t start. 9:00 to 10:30 a.m.: work on car. 10:30 a.m.: car still won’t start, screw it. Left knee stiff, left ear swollen with infection. Stop by McDonald’s for…
September in Miami, the hot bottom of the earth, and life is like an interminable Port St. Lucie dinner-theater production of No Exit, leavened somewhat by bright moments here and there. “Kaboom” at Warsaw. Club Anarchy in the Grove and Falcon’s Lair on South Beach opening with all due fanfare…
