
Markie Dee concedes that interacting with happily screaming listeners is his favorite part of the job. Hearing the notoriously chunky radio jock say "Beyoncé weighs 927 pounds!" is just good fun.

The listener who correctly adds the weights wins cool prizes like concert tickets and CDs. Listeners can hear the glee in his voice during the "Fat Four at Four," the giveaway segment of his daily show where he assigns arbitrary weights to the most requested songs. Markie Dee loves giving the people what they want. "I'm a regular jock, you know? Every once in a while we'll play the old-school joints, but I just play what people wanna hear," the erstwhile Fat Boy explains. And although he sometimes goes back in time and spins tracks from the era when "Wipeout" was in regular rotation on MTV, more often Markie Dee is introducing tracks by Ne-Yo, Nelly, and Dem Franchise Boyz. These days Markie Dee is better known as the prince of 103.5 The Beat, jamming the airwaves from 2:00 to 6:00 p.m. Tracks by Shabba Ranks, Destiny's Child, Mariah Carey, and Mary J. In the Nineties, Markie Dee took off the goofy glasses and racked up some major music-producing credits. Aficionados of the old school will recognize him as an original member of the Fat Boys, one of the first groups to inject self-deprecating humor into hip-hop. Mark "Prince Markie Dee" Morales has serious street cred. He concluded his diatribe against Miami's only daily with the following excerpt: "Despite all its Pulitzer Prize-winning glory, the Herald today seems more reminiscent of a cheap supermarket tabloid lacking the vision and the wherewithal to mature alongside the rest of Miami." We suggest that Miami's only daily hire Arriola, whose mouth is more than big enough to fill the void left by the now dearly departed columnist who once worked at New Times. "How this business deal was spun into the city cavorting with and giving land to communists is an interesting story - it's what happens when cheap McCarthyism, lazy reporting, and brainless editorial decisions intermingle," Arriola wrote. In the January 2006 edition of Miami Monthly magazine, Arriola showed off his screed-writing ability in a column lambasting the Miami Herald's coverage of Hong Kong-based Shangri-La Hotels and Resorts' plan to open a five-star hotel on Watson Island. On June 1, when Joe Arriola surrenders the illustrious job of Miami city manager, we recommend he try his hand as a media critic. If documentary can help change the world, it's good to have these two workhorses shepherding the way. Cofounder Juan Carlos Zaldvar is a New York University-trained director and video installation artist whose work has appeared in galleries and on PBS and the Independent Film Channel.
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Cofounder Rhonda Mitrani, who worked in postproduction for Miramax, is also a director whose film Cuba Mia aired on PBS plus she's a busy video artist and a screenwriter. In other years, festival themes have tackled identity and diversity, politics and unsung heroes. This year it was "The State of Our Water." The acclaimed PBS Point of View film Thirst and other films such as Bottle This! and The Miami River told stories about the privatization, pollution, and politics floating around the water issue.
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Unlike the better-known Full Frame Festival in Durham, North Carolina, The Florida Room handpicks its films along a theme.

This winter festival concentrates on socially conscious documentaries, the kind of fare that often otherwise goes unseen in the local community. It's way better than another cookie-cutter condo. Despite the troubles and costs, residents and art lovers are happy to have it back. In order to highlight the exquisite façade, the entrance was shifted to face Lincoln Road, and the lobby was redone, including restoration of murals. The renovations were extensive: The floor was restored and a new three-story wing was added to the backstage area.

Instead of $1.5 million and one year, the project stumbled over obstacles that set the final price tag around $6.5 million and pushed back the opening date three years. Unfortunately, as often happens with government contracts, the renovation went way over budget and schedule. But it fell into disrepair again until a new fixup was approved in 2002. After renovations in the Seventies, the 465-seat theater became a focal point for performing arts groups as well as films. It was built for the Paramount chain at the quiet end of Lincoln Road, which probably saved it from the wrecking ball. The small 1934 Art Deco structure is demure by Beach standards. Demolition-by-neglect appears to be a favorite tactic of property owners, so when the City of Miami Beach promised to renovate the Colony Theater, interested residents and artists emitted a collective sigh of relief. For a town that prides itself on its architecture, Miami Beach often seems to have lost its way in historic preservation.
