Blogs

Richard Lewis was a comedic cyclone at the Miami Improv last night – not just in terms of his considerable velocity, but in the way he circles around furiously, nesting topics within topics, opening a subject, switching back and forth, and returning, or maybe not.

Even the act of taking the stage was funny. “Where am I, in Macbeth?” he said, bewildered at the faux Roman columns. Approaching an equally faux gas lamp pole on stage left, he said, “Is Judy Garland going to come out and sing a song?”

I can’t begin to recount a single joke, not with that manic onslaught, but this much I can recall: As his set progressed I laughed harder and harder. Early on he introduced the subject of his possibly being molested by his internist, and how he fired his therapist when she was disinterested in discussing it.

Religion, politics, sex, psychotherapy, aging, airlines, hotel “suites,” the dangers of women like his wife having children in their 40s (and something about not wanting to be on a Larry King panel with his “rooster boy”) … nothing unusual, but in Lewis’s neurotic, apoplectic delivery it was all hilarious.

With a precision that belied his fury, Lewis came back around to everything. Well, everything except one topic: I never did find out what happened with that internist. Let me know if you do: Lewis continues his run at the Improv through Sunday. --Frank Houston

Life would be a lot easier for Augusten Burroughs if he just smacked the tag "the characters portrayed here are not real" on his memoirs or called them fiction. The controversial author faced a lawsuit from the children of the psychiatrist he lived with in his sad and hilarious memoir, Running with Scissors.

Tonight, Burroughs will be reading from his fifth and latest take on real life, A Wolf at the Table, at 7:30 p.m. at Lincoln Theatre, 541 Lincoln Road in Miami Beach. The book explores terrifying, early memories of his father, who is dead. His father’s friends are already calling the wicked depiction into question.

A New York Times review last week questioned its believability: "Determinedly unfunny, awkwardly histrionic and sometimes anything but credible, it repudiates everything that put Mr. Burroughs on the map."

Free tickets are available at all Books & Books locations. As of Friday afternoon, there was a healthy supply. Burroughs is expected to sign books and field questions. But before you ambush the guy too hard about his truths, think of your own memory of waiting in a downpour for hours to be picked up from school and how your mom assures it was a light sprinkle that lasted five minutes. Sniff, sniff.

--Janine Zeitlin

Ballet fans rejoice: another Cuban ballet star is coming to Miami.

Carlos Quenedit, a former dancer with the National Ballet of Cuba, crossed the Mexican border last week. He’s slated to arrive in South Florida tonight to begin rehearsing with the Cuban Classical Ballet of Miami, a company created to cradle the talents of exiled dancers.

He will become the fourth recent defector to grace local stages this year.“They come seeking the freedom to express themselves and develop their careers,” says Pedro Pablo Peña, the troupe’s co-artistic director. “They’re choosing to do a grand jeté into a world of truth.”

The 22 year old defected from the renowned Cuban company a year ago and has been performing with the Ballet of Monterrey in Mexico, Peña says. Word of the Quenedit’s border crossing quickly spread in the close-knit dance world.

The Cuban Classical Ballet of Miami soon invited Quenedit to make his United States debut at the Manuel Artime Theater in Little Havana. Next weekend, May 10 and May 11, Quenedit will join the three other recently exiled Cuban stars in “The Best of the Classical Repertoire.” Since defecting from the Cuban company in December, Taras Domitro, Hayna Gutierrez, and Miguel Angel Blanco have been training and living with the company’s co-artistic director, Magaly Suárez, also Domitro’s mother.

Read more from the New Times about the trio and their transition here.For tickets, call 305-549-7111 or visit www.cubancbmiami.com.

--Janine Zeitlin

Here come the four words many live-music junkies in Miami never wanted to hear: Studio A is closing. Rumors of its demise had plagued the venue practically since its opening in spring 2006, but staff has confirmed that after two years of live shows and alternative club nights, it's shutting its doors for good. When exactly that will happen or what will become of the shows it had booked through June, remains unclear.

As Miami’s only mid-size music venue (with a capacity of around 600), it single-handedly ushered in a new era in the city's flagging live scene. In recent years, Miami always lost to the better-equipped city of Fort Lauderdale and its surrounding suburbs. The venue presented on-the-verge acts like M.I.A., KRS-One, Brazilian Girls, Avenue D, Tokyo Police, Of Montreal, Justice, and Cat Power, as well as established bands wanting to play a more intimate setting, like Maroon 5. At one time it hosted the now-defunct weekly Revolver party, as well as other nights of clubland past such as Plastik Fantastik, Misfit, and SceneWolf.

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The story began in Africa. Paige Elenson, a native New Yorker, spied African acrobats doing crazy handstands. She joined in. Elenson, who practices an acrobatic brand of yoga, later started Africa Yoga Project to promote well being in Kenya.

Peace-loving, Miami Beach yogis have joined the cause.

Today, they’re hosting an event starting at 8 p.m. that includes devotional singing and instruction on Thai partner massage and flying partner yoga at Synergy Yoga Center at 435 Española Way in Miami Beach.

Sure, it may sound a little scary but we’re assured there’s no experience necessary – just an open mind. The event is free but donations are encouraged.

“If you have no money, whatever,” says Arianne Traverso, one of the local yoga teachers who organized the evening. “Bring some coconuts, bring some organic food. We’re trying to help people have a little sense of happiness.”

If you do have money, don’t be cheap. All donations will go toward the Africa Yoga Project.

-- Janine Zeitlin

Joe Cardona knew he was in for quite a journey when he sealed a film canister in the summer of 1998 with a proposal inside and sent it to Celia Cruz in New Jersey.

He just didn't know the journey would span a decade.

"It seemed like career suicide considering Celia wasn't so hot at the time," says Cardona, in between puffs of a cigar in his nondescript basement-like office in Coral Gables.

"But we didn't want to do any documentary. We wanted to uncover the real Celia. We wanted Celia unplugged..not the commercialized Celia of the 1980's and 1990's," says Cardona.

Ten years after getting the star's approval and clearing many hurdles, Cardona and Kids in Exile Films Partner Mario De Varona can exhale with the debut of Celia The Queen at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York Saturday.

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To commemorate 4/20, I'd like to start a campaign to change Florida's nickname to the "Grow Me State" based on the latest marijuana harvesting data from the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. But state lawmakers have something else in store for pot heads. -- Francisco Alvarado

Click here to see what the volunteers dragged from the waters.

Under a bright blue sky Saturday morning, hundreds of volunteers cleaned up Biscayne Bay at 27 different sites around the county. Riptide stopped by the Morningside Park cleanup, where folks fished plastic water bottles, grimy styrofoam and even lawn chairs out of the water.

Among the more disgusting finds: tampons, condoms and, whispered one volunteer, "a lot of crack cocaine baggies."

The best treasure was discovered by Vanessa Gonzalez of Hialeah. She was there with Girl Scout Troop 2338 when she pulled a little bottle out of the water. Inside was a carefully rolled up message that said it was written in Surfside. It was dated 4/2/707 and included a tiny photo of three little kids. "I can't wait to get home so we can write to them," said Gonzalez. --Tamara Lush

Earlier this month, MySpace Latino officially launched in yet another corporate bid to milk a bilingual market.

MySpace Latino is teaming up with South Florida based Spanish Broadcasting System to add people in a project, "We Want a Million Friends," and SBS will offer users access to its radio and TV personalities.

That's all well and good if the intent behind the site is to beef up the offerings to an under served bilingual, community of MySpace users.

But targeting Spanish-speakers in the United States, many of whom already freely use MySpace (now, presumably, Non Latino) seems antithetical to one of the concepts behind social networking. Is it segregating or connecting?

In other MySpace news: the networking hub expanded to South Korea this week. Would it not be utopian if users MySpace Latino, MySpace South Korea and plain ol' MySpace could somehow be connected? I'd rather have friends in MySpace South Korea and Latino than Jenna Sexxxy who, by the way, is not my real friend.

--Janine Zeitlin

First, Cappadonna took Studio A’s money and disappeared, then someone got shot at a Studio A hip-hop party, and yesterday, the kickoff to the Miami Hip-Hop Arts Festival was cancelled for undefined reasons.

I believe that neither hip-hop nor its purpose is dead, but something is holding it back.

“Hip-Hop is good for the soul heart and mind on all levels and we are about staying true to hip-hop and its original elements-to develop the community and elevate you into another consciousness,” said Muhammad about his Organic Hip-Hop Conference beginning Friday at Florida International University’s Biscayne Bay Campus.

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Jose D. Duran

Under the soft hum of the street lamps, hundreds still flock to the industrial wasteland of Wynwood for the visual delight of the second Saturday Art Walk despite the absence of Art Basel. It is still a place where people can gather to see some of the best contemporary art in the world as well as enjoy a free cocktail or two. Despite Basel being eight months away, Saturday had plenty of strong work on display proving this city isn’t only ahead of curve in December – it’s ahead all year long.

The In Repose exhibition at World Class Boxing provided a female perspective on female identity and sexuality, packing in a powerhouse punch of big names like Cindy Sherman, Kim Gordon and Anna Gaskell. Gordon’s life-size print out of an image of Paris Hilton begs the question of “What is our obsession with her?” While Cindy Sherman’s “Untitled #132” features the artist aged by prosthetics and makeup that doesn’t manage to hide her forced smiled.

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It was radio gold, a cliffhanger worthy of the best B-movie serial. Comedian Artie Lange, who visits Miami regularly (read here about my visit to his suite last year at the Setai)
walked off the Howard Stern Show in a major huff Thursday morning after nearly assaulting his assistant on the air. The best, or worst, part – depending on whether you’re a Sirius subscriber or a Sirius exec – is that there is no Stern show on Fridays, and the whole gang is on vacation next week.

Artie’s been on a collision course for months (see “Not Dead Yet”), if not years, as every Stern listener knows. His weight has ballooned past 300 pounds, and when he’s not cramming his mouth with junk food and Hawaiian Punch, he’s falling asleep. On Wednesday’s show, he napped for well over an hour.

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Roy Lichtenstein's House II

Play is the operative word. The Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden packs some serious beauty and quietude (and, it must be said, a serious price tag at $20 for non-members). But with the works of Fernando Botero, Dale Chihuly, and, especially, Roy Lichtenstein at every turn, there’s widespread whimsy. So much so, it’s almost hard to imagine the place without all these vibrant, otherworldly creations. But they’ll be gone at the end of May.

The glass work of Chihuly resembles plants and flowers boosted by alien DNA (or, as my three-year-old son once put it, “Look at the monsters!”), while Botero’s languorously bulbous sculptures of people and horses seem pridefully overfed.

But to my pop eye, it’s Lichtenstein who steals the show.

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At the Carbonell Awards last night, my boyfriend and I sat right next to a cameraman in the Amaturo Theater at the Broward Center for the Performing Arts. We wore tuxes, and we looked cute.

Everybody else looked cute, too. The real winner at last night’s Carbonell Awards was actress Tara Vodihn’s husband, whose name might be either Doug or Fred (it was loud at the Carbs, and it didn’t seem worth asking the guy to repeat himself). She was the most radiant thing in the hall, and I say this with all the objectivity vis a vis the female form that my queer little libido can muster. She wore a gown that was classy in front, showed a helluvalot in back, and was made of sequins comprising every variation of the color red known to man. Tara did not win her award last night (she was up for Best Actress for I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given To Me By a Young Woman From Rwanda), but people who look like her don’t need awards.

Unfortunately, most people do not look like Tara Vodihn, and discussing the brute facts of the Carbonells may well be less pleasant than an idle contemplation of Tara’s overwhelming hotness. The Carbonells are SoFla’s most prestigious theater awards, but last night their execution was a tad wonky, and the judges’ tastes… well, the judges probably have reasons for doing what they do, but I don’t understand them. Many talented theaterfolk were rightfully honored last night, but many more were robbed.

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The Japanese Masters Film Festival at the Cosford Cinema at UM wasn’t much of a festival as it was a movie screening. That doesn’t necessarily make it bad but it isn’t what you expect when you hear the word festival, there should at least be some sort of reception or something. I’m sure that the organizers thought the films (or shall I say film because only one film was screened yesterday) would speak for themselves.

The film festival began on Thursday, and Saturday they showcased the award-winning “Woman in the Dunes,” a psychological film about captivity, survival and growing to accept a captive lifestyle (Stockholm syndrome as others would call it).

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