It’s hard to miss Billy Mitchell. At six foot four, he towers above most people with his skinny body, brown shoulder-length hair, and neatly trimmed beard. He wears jeans, Oxford shirts, and Velcro shoes. An American-flag tie hangs from his neck. He owns several and wears one every day. “Remember,…
The Broward County Health Department is on the case, but I wonder if officials will find the obvious: Pompano Beach city officials falsified a report and hid serious chlorination problems from both residents and regulators. Broward County environmental czar Howard Rosen has begun an investigation based on a March 13…
Avicide redux: I am sincerely happy that the Big Bird story didn’t fall by the wayside (“Fowl Play,” Susan Eastman, June 12). It thrills me that someone came forward to report the thug who allegedly killed an innocent bird. Must we resort to killing people/animals because of their hair color/feathers?…
At 6 a.m., a rickety white van with a single working taillight sputters up to Broward Boulevard and Federal Highway. Jerry, a slight middle-aged guy with ratty gray hair matted under a bright-pink Sun-Sentinel cap only slightly darker than the sunburn he’s sporting, pops out of the back. He’s arrived…
In the journalism world, hawking goods is a sin approaching that of plagiarism. So when the New York Times reported in May that a Boca Raton video-production firm had hired three of the most recognizable newsmen in America as pitchmen, the upshot was malodorous publicity all around. It all started…
A smoke machine fills the doorway with fog as two studs enter from stage left. Looking as if they have just walked off the set of A Night at the Roxbury, they’re wearing gray suits and satin shirts with three buttons undone at the top. The camera pans them slowly…
Robert Barcia took a single peacock feather from a vase on the landing of his two-story Victoria Park home and walked into his backyard, crossing to a fence that separates his property from a gated townhouse to the west of him. Then, in a gesture of celebration and defiance, he…
Forget the truth: In regard to Bob Norman’s three columns on U.S. Rep. Mark Foley (“Out with the Truth,” May 8, May 22, June 5): Give him a break. Since when is it a prerequisite of public service to be forced to discuss publicly one’s private sexual details? If he…
Usually, Sebastian Ordoñez is a race-car driver only when he’s pushing toy cars across his bedroom floor. The 8-year-old will sputter engine noises between his lips as he maneuvers imaginary Formula One racetracks all over the globe. “In like Brazil, Australia, lots of places,” he says. He’ll be a star…
There’s a lot of male posturing in the room tonight: wide-legged stances, unmanicured hands placed proudly over crotches, catcalls, cigarettes dangling. But it’s not from the men. In west Fort Lauderdale, a town boasting rodeos and drive-through liquor stores, J’s is bustling with an anomalous swirl of estrogen-fueled machismo. The…
It was like putting a perfectly decent child into the world only to see her pimped out on the street or, worse, soullessly shilling for the man in some sterile corporate suite. I had hoped that my May 8 column on Congressman Mark Foley, which stated that the Lake Worth…
Heidi makes a killing: Just wanted to say that I thought Chuck Strouse’s column regarding the Herald’s photo and story on the Kentucky Derby was right on the money (“Horsing Around,” Chuck Strouse, May 29). What I can’t believe is that experienced racing writers, assuming that’s what Carlson and Spencer…
Even before the start of the Gulfstream Park season in January, horse trainer Mark Shuman and his boss, New Hampshire mortgage banker Michael Gill, were talking large about their prospects. They had sauntered into Hallandale Beach like a couple of pistoleros, muscling their way into the pastoral confines of the…
“Gooood morning, everybody,” the guy with the comb-over bellows before stopping himself and turning to the blond woman on his right. “I mean, gooood morning, Florida. Ha, ha, ha.” It’s just the kind of cheery greeting Bob Nichols wants for his opening monologue on his new show, Good Morning Florida…
By now, most sports fans know that the Miami Herald on May 10 published an apparent blockbuster questioning the integrity of the nation’s premier equine event, the Kentucky Derby. And by now, almost everyone knows the Herald blew it. Commentators around the world have hit the paper for falsely insinuating…
Editor’s note: We received dozens of letters in response to Jeff Stratton’s May 15 column about the Florida Philharmonic. Below are just a few examples; more will follow in coming weeks. You Get What You Pay For It could even happen here: Since Jeff Stratton works at an alternative weekly,…
On a sunny Saturday morning in April, Barbara Rourke gazes toward the sea out her balcony windows. Her fourth-floor condominium on Ocean Boulevard in Pompano Beach offers a splendid view, although it’s hard to tell whether she enjoys the seascape. She’s a gray-haired wisp of a woman who spends her…
The online ad was clear. Framed by images of stretched anuses dripping with cum and engorged penises, some in the mouths of mustached men, the text read: Orgy style, no attitude, private sex party for HIV POZ guys ONLY ! You must be in shape and 18-45ish. For invite, send…
When I outed Congressman Mark Foley in my last column, I knew it would raise some hackles. I figured some would question whether the Palm Beach County Republican’s sexual orientation was politically relevant. And I expected the mainstream media would leave it alone, even though it’s inevitable that the issue…
The fear factor: I have read only selected highlights of Jeff Stratton’s recent article concerning the Florida Philharmonic (Bandwidth, May 15), but that was enough to let me know that he is a man who sees clearly his own future. He must be very aware that the written word and…
It’s 28 hours before showtime and Jim Bailey hasn’t found his inner woman. He’s on stage for the final rehearsal at the Atlantis Playhouse, a strip-mall theater in Lantana where he’s doing a 12-show stint impersonating Barbra Streisand. Bailey is trying to sing “As If We Never Said Goodbye,” but…
Arrest the stupidity! I read Susan Eastman’s article about development in Fort Lauderdale last night as I enjoyed a cigar on Las Olas (“Where the Condos Are,” May 8). She hit things right on the head. I moved here in 1994 from California when parking was free on Las Olas…
