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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

John Hood

Let me set the scene for you. I'm at The Command Center at the Triple A , which is one of the best staffed arenas in the country, by the way, trying to sort out my media credentials. People from production, security, law enforcement, all rolling by me. Lou, security chief of The White Room and tonight’s combination sidekick and bodyguard, is talking to his staff. Me, I’m working the phone.

In comes a behemoth of a man bellowing and drawing attention to himself. The man made it impossible for me to hear the cat I was talking to on the other end of the line.

“Yo, Killer,” I say to the monster. “I’m on the phone here.”

He stops and his shadow immediately engulfs me. I figure I better soft-pedal it a bit.

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I got a press release this morning announcing that Nestle will be changing the name of their Butterfinger candy bar to just, “The Finger.” I can picture it now, Bart Simpson pulling his chocolate bar away from Nelson after knocking him out, then looking at the television viewer while quipping, “Nobody better lay a finger on my … finger.” -- Elvis Ramirez

I’m ashamed to tell you this Mr. Construction Worker with an East Coast accent and sandy hair but, I usually cross the street when I see a group of hard hats clustered. I won’t again.

You were near last week when, after 25 minutes of circling for a parking spot, I was delighted to see two young girls heading to their car at the Miami Beach lot along Collins Avenue around 21st Street.

I regret that you couldn’t stop the black, luxury car with three, vocal young lads from coming behind my Honda or detain the one who emerged in a Jordan jersey displaying a colorful assortment of body art.

I greatly appreciate that you did hear him not so nicely inform me through my open car window: “I’ll come after you bitch if you take that spot. I’ll beat you.”

Thankfully sir, you stepped in and said, “Don’t talk to her like that.” And, even after glancing at my engagement ring that perhaps led you to the conclusion that you had no chance in my pants, you still moved your truck to free a spot. I will never look at hard hats the same.

Sincerely,
--Janine Zeitlin

P.S. I miss you already. Tuesday when 395 was closed, a muscle head in a pink polo on South Beach backed his car into a man and flipped his body a few feet into the air. The driver didn’t even apologize to the man he splattered on the pavement. I paused to see if the man needed help and a gentleman behind me started honking and yelled, “Nothing you can do about it.”

Little did Theo Grimes from Miami Gardens know that when he stepped out of the shower he would come face to face with Jesus. Well, it was the image of Jesus on his bathroom wall, but that was still a creepy sight. Just imagine, you’re toweling off and next thing you know Jesus' visage is staring you down.

Grimes calls the mildew Jesus a miracle, according to the NBC 6 story posted March 25.

I'm sorry, but the fact that a person sees the image of Jesus on a bathroom wall is just not a miracle. Don't you think Jesus has better things to do than show up at random in people's bathrooms, or maybe Heaven is just that boring.

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Brain cancer, unemployment, and love -- is this the recipe for a fulfilling life? According to a New York couple, making it through the week alive and under a roof is enough to say they're blessed.

"Every single week we make it by I have a laugh," said Virgilio Castro, a Bronx native who was diagnosed with brain cancer six years ago.

"My grandmother said there's no such thing as complete happiness but I've found it," said Virgilio's wife, Elouisa Castro.

Some time ago, Virgilio needed to fill a void, which he tried doing by searching for people on the Internet. He met many and traveled all over the world, but nothing satisfied him. In 2002, he logged on to MiGente.com, a Latin American oriented site. At the same time, Elouisa, a recently divorced mother from Rockland County was looking for company too.

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Joe Ferrero says goodbye to his locks on the radio.

Yesterday the entire cast of El Show de Enrique y Joe on La Kalle 98.3 FM shaved their heads on-air to promote world peace.

"With the violence reigning in Colombia and Venezuela, the war in Iraq and the fact that the Dalai Lama has threatened to resign if peace in Tibet is not restored, I ask that as my birthday wish, my colleagues join me in shaving our heads," said Joe Ferrero, who turned 40 years old.

Shock jocks with sensitive souls? Howard Stern's acclaimed sweetness has nothing on the goofy and popular radio jocks that returned to Miami airwaves last week. See the other reasons why the New Times hearts Enrique and Joe in this week's story.

--Janine Zeitlin

It’s nearly the weekend. Choose wisely.

Blogger Gabriel Caro ranks the sexual accolades of countries in this “Latin American Fuckability Index." An excerpt: “no doubt about it, there’s an implicit hierarchy among countries that influences whether legs will open or close in your proximity.”

Big surprise. Argentina and Brazil are near the top.

--Janine Zeitlin

Alright everybody, I have a new cause. I will not take solid food until this song -- “Big Alligator” by Chief Jim Billie -- wins a Grammy. In fact, I vow to kill myself if this doesn’t win, like, all the Grammys. Do you hear that Grammy people? Do you hear that Kanye West?

I know your Mom just died. But this guy’s dog got eaten by a gator. OK? A fucking alligator. Let’s all just take a minute to think about what that means. --Calvin Godfrey

And some poor bastard comes out and asks them to keep it down. So they kill him. They fucking kill him and eat him. They move right in and start getting his mail. Before long, they’ve assumed his identity and taken over the house.

After the neighbors get used to having them around and suspicion dies down, they try to sell and move on to the next town.

Luckily the housing bubble’s burst. And I’ve figured out their lil’ scheme. Don’t worry. I’ve tipped off the Feds and local cops. These chickens are gonna swing for this. --Calvin Godfrey

Hialeah is a mystery. It’s like God took a suburb, put it in a boggle box, shook the shit out of it, and out came this plucky little town.

Luckily, these two High School students have come together to produce this magical number –one that lends understanding to the baffling maw that is The City of Progress. --Calvin Godfrey

During a recent interview with radio host Ed Schultz, Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly ridiculed John Edwards for asserting that nearly two hundred thousand vets are homeless.

“If you know where there’s a veteran sleeping under a bridge,” O’Reilly proclaimed, “you call me immediately.”

We thought we’d do our part: Bill, meet Tex.

He's the guy pictured above. He's a vet, and he sleeps under a bridge, just a block away from the Veterans Administration, here in Miami. He’s a helluva nice guy.

The VA, by the way, estimates that the number of homeless veterans is about 196,000. According to a report issued by the Interagency Council on Homelessness, one-third of all adult homeless men have served in the armed forces.

Too bad, Bill – we know you meant well. If you get tired insulting veterans, there’s always women, minorities, and the elderly. I mean, are they really that old? Or are they faking it . . .

-- Isaiah Thompson

I want to start the Burn Down the South Dade Justice Building (after everyone goes home) Club. But in the interest of diplomacy, I’ll settle for re-naming the place The Castle of Poop and Inconvenience. Any takers?

Frankly, I feel like all of my constitutional rights and bodily orifices have been violated in that terrible, terrible hole in Cutler Ridge. Here’s why:

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Back Alley Turf Wars 2 sounds like a no-holds-barred wrestling match held in someone’s backyard. Actually, it's a boxing tournament.

I figured that this would be a small event with a couple of people rooting for their favorite fighters, but once I stepped in to the gym, I found it was packed with people. A distinct odor of sweat and a little B.O. wafted by -- not a killer smell, but it wasn’t daisies either. Thankfully the back gates were open.

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Police supervisors in a city in Mexico are translating great works into cop talk in hopes of making the force better communicators and softening their brutish image. A fascinating Washington Post article relates how Gabriel García Márquez’s classic, One Hundred Years of Solitude, was reframed in radio code for the blue of Nezahualcoyotl.

The before version: "‘Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Col. Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice," García Márquez wrote.

After: "Many alfas later, in front of a 44 squad, Col. Aureliano Buendía had a 60 about that distant afternoon when his father 26 him to 62 ice."

If only Miami Police Chief John Timoney was assigned some reading. Translating Henry David Thoreau’s essay on civil disobedience could be a good start. –Janine Zeitlin