Alexis, a tall exotic dancer from New Hampshire with golden blond hair that hangs seductively to the small of her back, sits at the bar of Spearmint Rhino Gentlemen’s Club on Federal Highway, a bottle of water in one hand. It’s nearing 9 p.m. on a Tuesday, and the Oakland…
Save ’em from slaughter; end the travesty: Thank you for having the courage to expose what really goes on at the Hollywood Greyhound Track and at greyhound tracks in general (“Finished Line,” April 29). Why this pathetic pastime continues to exist is beyond me. I am a volunteer with Friends…
There be three things which go well, yea, Which are comely in going: A lion, which is strongest among beasts and turneth not away from any; a greyhound; a he-goat also. — Solomon, Proverbs 30 It’s a late April afternoon, though the sun remains far enough above the west of…
Ray McAllister has scuba-dived along the Broward County shoreline since 1964, when he helped establish Florida Atlantic University’s ocean engineering bachelor’s degree program. The sea in his backyard served as a practical classroom. His nickname, “Old Crusty,” reflects both his time beneath the waves and his sometimes gruff and always…
This rusty but still literate cylinder recently had to put aside Against All Enemies by Richard Clarke and Plan of Attack by Bob Woodward to immerse himself in a book of real significance: former Fort Lauderdale City Commissioner Tim Smith’s Politics 101. Here, for the first time, in Smith’s italicized…
Imagine owning a business that is in cut-throat competition with a similar enterprise across the street. Your rival undercuts you at every turn and ruthlessly tries to steal your customers. And it not only doesn’t pay taxes but it benefits from an infusion of near limitless public dollars. While you…
Stop with these cockamamie rules: Great article on the Seminoles (“Rock ‘n’ Nole,” April 22). I would think that before they opened this place, they might have had some inside information that the state or federal government were going to allow blackjack, craps, and other table games as well as…
The Seminole Hard Rock casino in Tampa is a low-slung, vanilla-colored, 37-acre playpen with a 50-foot replica of a Paul McCartney electric guitar at the street entrance and an Elvis-autographed six-string inside. On Saturday night, it becomes a cross between an outlet mall, a meat market, and a nursing home…
A few weeks ago, Manalapan’s very own Don King, the infamous, fast-talking fight promoter, held a $25,000-per-couple party at his beachfront mansion. He wanted to raise money for the Grand Old Party’s effort to keep slow-talking George W. Bush in the White House. Perhaps because of this Pipe’s rusty, battered…
Three hundred thousand sports fans in Hartford, Connecticut, put down the kielbasa a couple of Sundays ago and neglected their near-constant relationship with the dented cushions of their couches to celebrate UConn basketball’s NCAA championship. It must have seemed a good opportunity to reestablish a relationship with natural light. And…
Frank Luntz isn’t a neutral pollster, but he does play one on TV. The cherubic Republican guru, who wears his orangish hair in a bowl haircut and seems to favor Gap clothing, is a regular on MSNBC, where he gauges instant responses from focus groups about the nation’s political happenings…
We’re not in Roma, signori: Dude, you guys can write better than this. What major metropolitan area doesn’t have a train (“Next Stop, Nowhere,” Jeff Stratton, April 15)? Answer: L.A.. Rebuttal: L.A. also has east and west highways. Although the Tri-Rail sucks in many respects, it does do something worthwhile…
And we were doing so well. Just a few minutes after the northbound Tri-Rail train begins its jaunt from Fort Lauderdale to West Palm Beach, we slow to a crawl and stop for no apparent reason. Engineer and conductor converse. Radio static cuts through the quiet. An employee leaves the…
Hand it to Hollywood City Hall — even when the commission is dealing with raw sewage, it still reeks more than anything else in town. A deal to treat the city’s raw sewage is fraught with millions of wasted dollars, conflicts of interest, and very likely illegal conduct on the…
Inside the conference room of the Hallandale Beach headquarters of Empire Musicwerks, the order is given to kill the lights. Label honcho Paul Klein, a barrel-bodied man with the requisite open shirt, gold chains, and slick black hair, warns Scott Putesky — the artist responsible for this particular effort –…
I read Eric Alan Barton’s April 8 article, “If Steve Had a Hammer.” After a two-year hiatus, I am again running for the Broward Folk Club board of directors. I also have been involved in the issues covered in the article, although not firsthand. I noticed quite a few errors;…
More than anything else, Abram Elam misses the way his name sounded over the loudspeaker at Notre Dame football games. When he would run onto the field or make a tackle, the announcer, tucked high away in the press box, would bellow out A-bram E-lam like it was money, like…
This is a story about peace and love and bickering and lawsuits, all the things that have come to define the Broward County Folk Club. It ought to be read while strumming G-chords on an acoustic guitar. It began in the living room of Cheryl Valentine-Silberberg’s home in Hollywood back…
It’s 2 a.m. on a Saturday at Plato’s Repeat (321 W. Sunrise Blvd., Fort Lauderdale), and the long, softly lit Jacuzzi room next to the bar is crawling with eight nude bodies. The Asian-themed space is filled with an almost impenetrable haze, but when a loin-wrapped, soft-fleshed couple in their…
So, what do you feed Dick Cheney when he comes to dinner? Considering the vice president’s heart problems, fish or chicken breast might seem the best choice. But you don’t want to go too far with the light stuff or he might suspect you’re one of those latte-drinking, sushi-eating, Volvo-driving,…
What in God’s name are the top dogs at the Sun-Sentinel thinking? It’s a newspaper, right? It’s supposed to advocate open discussion of ideas, no? And it sure as hell should be impartial. At least, that’s what this grimy old ‘Pipe thinks. But that doesn’t seem to be the case…
Cuz the Democrats are still learning: I was impressed by Eric Alan Barton’s April 1 story, “Prelude to a Butt Whippin’.” That took a lot of work. I appreciate all the nice things he said about me, and I look forward to living up to his expectations. Sid Dinerstein, Chairman…
