Michael J. Mooney

David Allan Coe is, simply put, a wonderful white-trash poet. (Note, by the way, that his middle name is "Allan" and not "Allen.") For five decades, his songs have delighted and disgusted fans of country music, hard rock, Americana, and everything in between. At 71, he still tours relentlessly, through...

You recycle. You buy organic. You even vote for the Green Party candidates every once in a while. (The thought of ever voting Republican is, somehow, at once laughable and vomit-inducing.) But if you think you’re some true bleeding heart, you should meet the young men and women behind the...

That’s right — Naked… Dance… Party. Here’s how it works: The Rooftop Resort is South Florida’s only “lifestyle” hotel, which means it caters to nudists and swingers. Now, for the first time, Rooftop is opening a nightclub, Club Eden. That’s everything you’d get at any other nightclub: thumping beats, flashing...

Bill Maher is acerbic and offensive. He’s dry and crass, and even the people who agree with him most sometimes want to slap the smug grin off his Hollywood-elite face. Before he got his first television show in 1993, by the way, he appeared occasionally on Murder She Wrote and...

From the musty sound booth atop the Pompano Park grandstand, announcer Frank Salive has a rare vantage point on a fleeting sight. Seventy feet below him, ten men clad in Crayola-colored silk jerseys and helmets brandish whips — each man piloting a small horse-drawn cart around the chalky dirt track...