For continuing coverage, visit Buildings and Food.
Thursday March 16, 2006
"Klotz as in Blood"
When I started doing this blog almost a year ago, I had the idea that it would become a community affair, with a number of contributors. Steve Klotz, of course, was the first on board, and has been writing regularly here almost every week. We’ve sometimes disagreed about what constitutes “Miami-relevant” content, and I’ve often encouraged Steve to start a separate blog for some of the stuff that doesn’t fit here (then there was the case of the “dissapearing Islamic cartoon post,” but I’ll leave that for him to tell).
Well, he’s finally gotten it together, and here is ‘Klotz’ as in ‘Blood’. It looks like he’s having fun, too: five posts in the last three days. Hopefully, after Steve gets settled in at his new digs, he’ll continue to contribute here occasionally. Go Steve!
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Wednesday January 3, 2007
“I’ve lived in much better places than south Florida, and worked in many more, but I moved here 21 years ago and I’ve never been happier. While this will never be home, this is where I’m staying. I like it, in part because of all its faults. In fact, I love it.” Steve Klotz gets all sloppy all over Miami. (I meant to link this last year but for some reason it stayed in ‘draft’ mode.)
Monday July 9, 2007
“It’s not like I’m irresponsible about sunstroke, bleeding to death, or skin cancer, though. E.g., I know now that when it’s 92 degrees with matching humidity, it’s vital to remain hydrated: drink liquids! That’s why I always take breaks every 40 minutes or so to pound a cold beer.” — Steve Klotz mows his lawn.
Thursday March 8, 2007
“Meanwhile, Buffalo Barf hoists himself up and staggers to the men’s room to dump his fetid stew, only to return to his corner and repeat his rosaries. The horrid stench works its way through the refrigerated waiting room.” Steve Klotz visits the Memorial Hospital in Hollywood.
Wednesday September 7, 2005
Bob Denver
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
Three vital facts you didn’t know about Bob Denver, who passed away Wednesday at the age of 70:
1.) The “G” in Maynard G. Krebs stands for “Walter.”
2.) Gilligan’s first name is “Willy.”
3.) President George W. Bush once cited Gilligan as “my role model.”
Okay, I made that last one up. Maybe.
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Thursday April 13, 2006
Let’s test this out: Steve Klotz rolls his eyes at the latest name change of what I still call ‘Joe Robbie.’
Tuesday November 8, 2005
I met the Devil in Miami
Originally inspired by sites such as LAist.com and Metroblogging.com, Critical Miami arose from the lack a Miami-blog. These days, Miami blogs are a dime a dozen (many wondrful), yet we soldier on.
Contribute
Critical Miami is looking for contributors. We are currently getting about 40,000 page views per month. Want your work read? Submit something to our blog (your blog). You see what we post: it doesn’t have to be earth-shattering; just interesting and specific to our neck of the woods. Got something to share you loved or hated? A cool photo? A question? A suggestion for an article? Write it up and send it in.
Staff
Alesh Houdek, editor [e-mail]
Steve Klotz, contributing editor [e-mail]
Veronica Fernandes, foreign correspondent [e-mail]
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Wednesday April 19, 2006
Miami Transit and Overtown USA with some first-hand reporting and reflection on the traffic mess created during the recent closure of Biscayne Blvd. Herald on same, with a little more about the crane accident, which left one man dead and another injured (they were father and son, by the way). Update: Steve Klotz with a related traffic situation…
Monday April 11, 2005
Critical Miami
Critical Miami is modeled on blogs like LAist.com, but it’s not run by a corporation. We’re doing it ourselves.
Your Help Needed
All of the content on this site is written by regular folks who have something they care about. Please contribute. Send e-mail with your stuff. Or send suggestions for articles. The blog will include brief items about local events, places, and ideas, with emphasis on current and actionable items.
Current meaning it’s good if there’s a reason we’re writing about something right now. Actionable means we like stuff-to-do type of articles. Short is fine (100-500 words is perfect). Digital photos that go with your text are great.
Amazing things you have seen, done, plan to do, have been pissed off or delighted by, or random thoughts, so long as they are local and current somehow.
Check the following for ideas/inspiration—>
londonist.com
gothamist.com
metroblogging.com
boingboing.net
smorgasblog.com
blogging.la
laist.com
Staff
Alesh Houdek, editor [e-mail]
Steve Klotz, contributing editor [e-mail]
Veronica Fernandes, foreign correspondent [e-mail]
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Saturday November 5, 2005
Dania Beach rocks
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
Earlier this week, angry residents in Dania Beach hurled bottles, eggs, and rocks at crews repairing downed power lines. An FPL Field Apologist called to the scene remarked, “Seems an odd way to expedite repair service. These people just went bat shit. Maybe we should let ‘em sit in their caves like the Australopithians they are.”
One resident, asked why he was stoning repair crews, reportedly said, “Can’t reach Juno Beach from here;” apparently a reference to FPL’s corporate offices.
Yesterday, City Manager Ivan Pato said he would withhold Dania Beach’s payment of close to $50,000 to FPL as a symbolic gesture. “Forty percent of this city is still without power,” he fumed. And all through south Florida, stories about poor repairs, unanswered requests for inspections, and complete disregard for customer concerns by FPL are piling up.
This would be a wonderful stick for a political candidate to use to beat the drum of his own campaign. FPL has been buttfucking Florida customers for years, protected by a paid-off legislature and a nauseatingly greedy board of directors, hiding behind fabricated press releases making excuses (Avian obesity? Pole Canker?); writing lines, not repairing them.
Contact your congresscritter and demand action.
[See all Articles by Steve]
Update: FPL is going to try to charge us for power we didn’t get.
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Tuesday September 13, 2005
Useless Air, at your surface
[Posting has been slow lately due to various medical and circumstantial reasons. Meanwhile, please accept this latest rant by Steve Klotz, who might consider sharing what this has to do with Miami.]
You gotta fly from Miami to Philadelphia. You just do, okay? So you visit USAir.com to see your options. You figure, a quick look at a city’s major carrier is a good place to start. Right?
You fool.
Key in the days and preferred times of your departure and return, then press Enter. A lovely selection of flights appears (in no discernible order), complete with time of departure and return, number of stops (if any), and that ever-useful code that tells you what kind of aircraft. Incredibly, what does not appear is the flight number and the ticket price. You can obtain this valuable information (and more) by clicking on a little Information icon. But if there are 25 flight options, you’ll need to do this 25 times.
Soooo, go back to the home page and specify that you want to inquire by price. Re-enter your cities of departure and return, and your choice of dates. Again, you get a list by price…...but—deja vu!—you do NOT get flight numbers or times! You can open the next screen and get this information one flight at a time, as before.
This is so broken. Who designed this? Albanians? FEMA? Screw this crap. USAir has been a Mickey Mouse operation for decades, ever since they changed their name from Allegheny Airlines (the mountain range into which they were fond of crashing their passenger jets). Over the years I’ve fought with these sour bastards over missing luggage, misprinted tickets, late arrivals, slow service, food poisoning, articles stolen from baggage, and more. Their flight attendants and service personnel are the nastiest, least helpful, and overtly hostile to passengers since Air Uganda staffed its craft with cannibals. In fact, years before 911, I sent them a note complaining that “On USAir, the terrorists are the stewardesses” (they did not respond). Who’s surprised they can’t operate their own goddam website?
So next time I try CheapFlights.com, and ironically, the best flight is USAir. Reluctantly, I book it, then just for shits and giggles I go to USAir.com and look for the flight. Glory Oskie, It’s not there! I send an e-mail on their own cumbersome pain-in-the-ass response form (which comes back undeliverable the first two times), asking USAir how I can confirm the flight, seats, receipt, print a boarding pass, etc. when the flight doesn’t come up on their own website. Six days later I get an inadequate response packed with apologies but short on data. (I was told my seat assignment was a strapado in the aircraft’s underbelly, along with the non-perishable baggage.) And they won’t give me a receipt. They don’t address the issue of the flight not appearing on their own website.
USAir has filed for bankruptcy twice and is not expected to survive a third. Meanwhile, Air Uganda is doing fine. If you fly, request the vegetarian meal (aui@airugandaintl.com).
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Monday November 7, 2005
Aaaarrrgh!
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
“A cruise ship owned by a Miami-based Carnival subsidiary was attacked by pirates off the coast of Africa.” Miami Herald, Sunday
No, they didn’t have scabbards, parrots, and peg legs, although they might as well have. This was not your father’s pirate ship. They had machine guns and rocket-grenades, and they actually tried to board the luxury liner from a pair of 25-foot inflatable rafts, but that wasn’t enough. A spokesman for the company pointed out that crew members are trained to “stop intruders” from gaining access to ships.
“After all,” she noted, “many of our ships originate in the Port of Miami, where some of the rudest, most aggressive passengers in the world swarm like fruit flies. If our crews keep those people in line—what’s the big deal about armed, murderous pirates?”
The identity of the pirates has not been established. One crew member, pointing out that the attack came before dawn, suggested they might have been Japanese, but this nauseating racist speculation could not be confirmed.
The battle lasted about 10 minutes. Passengers, mostly Americans and many from Miami, were relocated to a central ballroom, away from danger. Nobody was injured, but Morris Greenstein, 112, from Miami Shores, complained loudly about missing his breakfast seating. “Pirates, Shmirates!! I take these cruises for the food, like everybody else,” he said, angrily. “Why the hell else would you get on a ship like this? They couldn’t spare a cook and a baker and setup the buffet line? Miserable bastard sonsofbitches! Where’s my food? I want my food! Where the hell’s my goddam food?”
Out of danger, the ship’s captain ordered complimentary Captain Morgan’s Rum for everybody interested, but at 7 am, only the crew indulged. The current location of the ship is not available.
[See all Articles by Steve]
Update: Holy smokes! Some news outlets are now reporting that a weird sonic weapon was used by the ship to fight off the pirates.
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Friday July 15, 2005
Service with a Smile
An occasional series on hurricane season
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
Called my contact Boob at FPL (Florida Plunder and Loot) to see how the power company’s hurricane program was faring in this record-setting storm season.
“We’re extremely proud of our team and our record,” he enthused. “Dennis gave us opportunities to really strut our stuff.
“Any power company can have shut-offs and break-downs in the teeth of a storm—hell, at FPL, we write the book on that every year!—but with Dennis cruising up the Gulf and striking the Panhandle, we managed to have major blackouts as far away as northern Broward, Port St. Lucie, and even a few thousand in Duval—Jacksonville! They were out for hours, because we could tell ‘em our people were all committed to those storm victims up in Escambia.”
Great work, Boob. Any injuries?
“A few losers got fricasseed when they stepped on downed lines, but, not our people. We never go out in the rain, you know. Customers can wait: what’s their choice? Go to the competition? Ha ha!
“So far this storm season, in the state of Florida alone we’ve clocked well over 23,000 interruptions in power, many on perfectly clear days with no ostensible cause. Broward had one just last night, in fact: no wind, no rain, no traffic accident, nothing except a 22 minute outage that screwed up the alarm clocks, computers, coffee makers, and security systems in entire neighborhoods. That puts us ‘way ahead of last year’s mark at this time.
And just think—it’s not even August!”
I thank him and ring off. Gotta admire a guy with such pride and enthusiasm for his job, y’know? Good thing he deploys his powers in the service of Good, not Evil.
Maybe I’ll send complimentary note about him to his boss.
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Sunday May 29, 2005
Skin Color is the Only Issue
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
Yessssssssssss finally we’re getting real south Florida weather: the sunny, hot, and humid stuff I like.
Makes me sweat just blinking. When an average white man from the frozen northeast can get himself a serious, cutting-edge dark tan . . .
Me, I do the beach from 10 to 4. I alternate 60 minutes dorsal, 6o ventral. You can feel the skin sizzle about hour 3—that’s when I know I’m making progress . . .
I’m listening in at a meeting of a Tanorexics Support Group. Like starving anorexic skeletons who perceive their own emaciated bodies as hidoeusly fat and bloated, these are people who, no matter how many hours they’re out there roasting their asses in sweltering sunshine, no matter how many shades they darken, swear that it’s never enough. One day – one hour – out from under the rays and they think they’re paler than Casper’s ass and nothing anybody says convinces them otherwise. They need the burn, the carcinogenic glow, the stiff leathery skin to feel completely alive.
One time I remember going straight from the dermatologist’s office to the beach after he’d burned off half a dozen skin cancers from my forehead and shoulders. It was painful seeing those white spots. I had to get them to match the rest of me right away!
Holy melted cocoa butter. And this is just one meeting, maybe 20 people, in a community of Ra-worshipers estimated in the thousands. They’re all ages, all sizes, both genders, and some are nudists (imagine the guys applying suntan lotion to themselves. Wait. Maybe don’t). I’ve attended neighborhood association meetings in Little Haiti with paler people.
This group meets weekly at night (of course) in the lobby of a skin care clinic whose name I can’t reveal. Sorry. But you can find your own group, if you want one, by checking out sunbathers. After a while it’s obvious who’s got a problem. Heard of Gay-dar? Use your Ray-dar.
Mmmmmm. Feel the burn.
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Sunday September 25, 2005
Don't call me AFLAK!
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
Emerging from the house the other morning I encounter a puddle of watery shit on the sidewalk large enough to warrant a lifeguard. This can mean one of two things: canvassing politicians, or muscovy ducks. Insofar as there’s no impending election, I figure it’s the ducks.
Everybody in south Florida knows about muscovy ducks.
With their distended asses, greasy-looking feathers, and hideously mottled bare-red faces, their eerie resemblance to victims of radiation poisoning is unsettling. The males, which can grow to 15 pounds, emit a hissing noise when confronted, and while they can actually fly, it’s with all the grace of Rosie O’Donnell skateboarding.
But it’s their tendency to shit all over creation that is most irritating. Traveling in packs of 3 or 4, they slowly waddle down the sidewalk, shit pouring from their feathered butts every step of the way. Green, milky, and semi-solid—imagine a bowl of mildewed grits—it’s a source of salmonella and E-Coli bacteria, as well as a revolting and slippery obstacle to put a bare foot into.
I’m told that Caribbean people eat these things. When I mentioned this to a Bahamian acquaintance, he stared at me in horror. “Dat duck dere?!” he asked, pointing in disbelief.
Even though they’re non-native to south Florida, it’s illegal to slaughter them, presumably for the same reason that you can’t kill tourists, even in season. You can chase them, as I have, waving a baseball bat and screaming epithets, when I found them eating from the food bowls I leave for the cats (and merrily shitting all over the carport). But that bends the animal lovers out of shape, and frankly, the ducks don’t seem to really care: they shoot me a dirty look, waggle their tail feathers..and shit.
I thought about putting poison out, but that might end up inside some neighborhood kid, and I’d have a lot of explaining to do to its parents. Besides, with my luck, the damn duck would drop dead somewhere I can’t reach it, and rot. I hate it when that happens.
If they were bums—oh, I’m sorry, “residentially-challenged persons”—I could call the city and have them removed. If they were dogs, cats, or alligators, I summon animal control. But this feathered pestilence? Is there such a thing as DuckBusters?
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Thursday July 28, 2005
Teele the End of Time
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
This is one work of art Miami is better off losing.
This entire affair was handled very poorly, and Teele should hang his (bullet-ventilated) head. Couldn’t he have hired a better producer? He drives to the newspaper, whines for a while in front of some low-level employees, then pops his own cap. B.F.D. You’d find a better sense of mission in a teenage suicide bomber. If you’re determined to off yourself, take somebody worthwhile with you—a fellow commissioner, a particularly obnoxious member of the media, even an annoying clergyman. In this town, the selections are endless. Show some ambition. Hell, wielding an automatic weapon, even a crazed postal worker—a unionized Federal employee, no less— displays more energy.
And why hand the fishwrap Herald an exclusive like this? Naturally, they blew it: where were the blood and guts photos; grey matter coagulating on the scuffed linoleum floor? Why no tapes of sobbing conversation, no sound of bullet entering brain on the website ready for download? And look how they handled DeFede, the real loser in this sordid Lilliputian tragedy—he gets canned by a dickless little fraud whose claim to fame is staking out Gary Hart’s townhouse, irreversibly ratcheting down American journalism yet another notch. “We have to maintain the highest standard of integrity,” sniffs the corporate mouthpiece. So that’s what they’re doing with those strip-club ads, Cal Thomas columns, and unedited reprints of self-promotional government press releases.
It was amateur hour staging, but Teele did us all a favor and saved us buckets of cash. Confronting various local and federal agencies, each elbowing the other to get to the front of the indictment express lane, taxpayers’ legal bills would have staggered a Saudi bank. No adjudication costs less than a bullet in the skull, particularly when the perp’s buying.
So, concluding this art review, while we have to turn thumbs down on presentation, we applaud the artist for his public spirit. The end justifies the means, and in fact he went out with a bang. We wish him every success in future endeavors.
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Tuesday July 12, 2005
Bastille Day
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
We have the great pleasure to inform you that the French American Chamber of Commerce of Florida, French Tuesdays, and Union des Français de Floride organize together a spectacular Francophile get together for Bastille Day where we expect more than 2,500 people.
Got that e-mail last week. Following its fractured English further, one learns that this madcap celebration happens Thursday, 7/14—Bastille Day!—at Lounge Restaurant Yagé on Key Biscayne’s marina.
Bastille Day commemorates the storming of the Bastille on July 14, 1789, the event that begat the French Revolution. A prison and symbol of the absolute and capricious power of Louis the 16th’s Ancient Regime, at the time of its takeover the fortress housed exactly 7 prisoners. Both guards were on a Gaulois break. A loyalist messenger fled to Versailles to warn the royal family that trouble was brewing like Café au Lait.
“The people of France are revolting!” he cried (words that remain true today).
The King and his Austrian bride, Marie ‘Let Them Eat Cake’ Antoinette, huddled with their advisors. A course of action was determined within minutes. “We will surrender,” proclaimed Louie the Louse. “Maybe they’ll leave us alone.”
Three years later, thousands of citizens packed a Perrier and picnic lunch and strolled to the public square for a show. Alternately cheering and munching on quiche, they hoisted their children to their shoulders to watch as Louie and Marie Antoinette were dragged to the guillotine, butchered like swine, and force-fed to geese for a foie gras feast 2 weeks later. Grainy footage of the deposed Head(less) of State lying decapitated on the cobblestones appeared that night on Al Jazeera—even then the French and sinister forces in the mideast had established contact—and the Bastille itself was sold to south Florida developers for conversion to condominiums.
The Cradle of Culture. This should be a hell of a party, n’est-ce- pas?
[See all Articles by Steve]
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Tuesday July 26, 2005
S-s-s-s-s-s snakehead!!!!
[Contributed by Steve Klotz]
When you find out that the snakehead is also called Frankenfish,
you might figure maybe there’s a problem. And you’d be right.
One of 28 species of snakeheads native to Asia and Africa, the Northern Snakehead Fish grow to over 3 feet long and 15 pounds. Aggressive predators, they’ll gobble up fish, aquatic birds, amphibians, and even small mammals. They can survive in crappy water with little oxygen and travel across land: in fact, snakeheads can survive out of water for 4 days in search of a more suitable habitat.
All god’s creatures, right? Well these guys don’t belong in the western hemisphere any more than tsunamis or babaganoosh, and for much the same reason: they’re murder on living things, and environmental disasters. Presumably, some dolt decided he’d toss one in a sewage pond—apparently he bought it with the intention of eating the damn thing and changed his mind—and in no time flat they’d taken over an entire creek in the Potomac River system. (“They’re as bad as developers,” one fisherman growled. “Not quite as nasty, but almost as slimy.”) They’ve since been spotted (and caught) as far west as California, as far north as Wisconsin, and as far south as Broward County, where the International Game Fish Association (IGFA) Fishing Hall of Fame proudly presides.
With all the uproar from fish and game agencies, sport fishermen, and environmentalists of every stripe and kidney, one would think that the IGFA, here in the angling capital of the country, would be leading the charge to eradicate these pests (the snakeheads, not the environmentalists). And think how “Frankenfish” would make for a terrific marketing opportunity for membership and environmental awareness! But a review of IGFA’s website turns up precisely one reference—from a months-old newsletter featuring a photo of a 3 foot specimen caught (and released) in Thailand. Notorious for missing the boat (pun intended), IGFA stays the course.
Meanwhile, in the unlikely event that you find yourself poling through the freshwater flats and you spot what looks like Kathleen Harris
before her make-up and morning coffee staring up at you, whack its ass to death without a second thought. Because your next encounter may be on highway somewhere as it heads for cleaner water and a better habitat. Hmm. Maybe we should follow it.
[See all Articles by Steve]
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