Tailpipe

Toot Uncommon

"My feeling is that the faculty has been struck by a real sense of academic embarrassment," Reiss tells the 'Pipe.

As New Times reported, Associate Dean Winston Thompson has in recent years hired five religion professors with advanced degrees from Evangelical seminaries and given to them the lion's share of religion courses at BCC's central campus in Davie. In fact, on one syllabus, religion Professor Randall Allison lists as his third course object "to assist the students in their personal religious quest as they analyze the myriad views of the divine and what it means to them."

Reiss hopes that the resolution, which will be voted on by the full Faculty Senate in January, will pressure the administration to make changes in the way religion is taught at BCC.

"The senate is the place where the faculty conscience exists," Reiss says.

But change will have to come from the administration at BCC. So far, President Larry Calderon has declined to discuss the issue, citing ongoing litigation.

Graffiti Hijack

If your neighbor's putting up a new fence and it happens to be wooden, six feet high, and sports the words Cef, Cinco, or Doper, well, they might just have some hot — as in stolen — property.

"There's been an art heist in Fort Lauderdale," Todd Nolan reports, half-jokingly. Nolan's curating the exhibit "Bad Paste: a rock art poster show." In preparation, he and a friend drove around after Hurricane Wilma, collecting pieces of broken, discarded fences, with the idea that graffiti artists would write on them, making a cool backdrop for the exhibit. "They were handpicked too" Nolan says wistfully. "Ones with crazy springs and pieces of metal sticking out."

But three graffiti writers from the MSG Crew showed up at Studio 954, where the exhibit opens Friday, to lend their services. One of them — a guy named Cinco (who explains that MSG means "whatever you want: More Slutty Girls, More Stupid Graffiti, Miami-Style Graffiti") says, "Three of us had spent the day there. We were about half-finished" working on a 20- or 25-foot-long fence "and we stacked the fences under a tree." The next day, they were — poof! — gone. "There was loads of garbage back there, but the only thing taken was the fences," Cinco says.

Not a major emergency, though; they volunteered to return and just paint the inside walls of the gallery instead.

— As told to Edmund Newton

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