Miami Mirror – True Reflections

South Pointe Continuum

SOUTH POINTE OR BUST

December 25, 2004

by David Arthur Walters
THE MIAMI MIRROR
South Beach

THE TRASHY CLASS

I met a European businesswoman several years ago in Manhattan. She had flown in from Paris
and was about to continue on to Cartagena. She said she had taken care to book a flight without a
stop in Florida. Even when she had business interests in Florida, she said she preferred to have
an agent handle it there rather than travel to Florida herself. Why? I asked. Because, she claimed,
"Florida is full of trashy people. They disgust me. I don't like them."

Her bias against Floridians reminded me of the Arab attitude when Arabs dominated a large
portion of Europe: they preferred to have their slaves or Jews handle their business in Europe.
Europe was uncivilized, they thought, and its infidels were too vulgar. I didn't think too much of
that European woman, not because of her remark about Florida, but because she insisted that
Cleopatra was of African-Egyptian descent. She is a Euro-trashy lady, I thought.

I am somewhat trashy myself. I love being in Florida. I lived in South Miami Beach many years
ago, before it was called South Beach and when the Art Deco hotels were run down and
occupied mostly by old folk and roaches. North Beach was more popular with the younger set
and mink-coated visitors back then. The run down areas of North Beach have been recently

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rehabilitated. The coast for miles above South Beach sports many new luxury developments,
along with older, more or less affordable condominium complexes. Now prices are more
reasonable north of South Beach, but you had better hurry up if you want to make a good deal
and live the good life before the whole coast sinks into the Atlantic from the sheer weight of the
swarm to get warm, or is flooded in biblical proportions.

South Beach was warm and cheap in the good old days, the late 60s and early 70s before the
sewage backed up and the beach got really trashy. Visitors who had known me in Manhattan said
the placid Floridian attitude I had assumed was evidence that I was a lot better off on South
Miami Beach than on the West Side. They recommended that I never leave Miami Beach, but I
did. I returned a couple of times for vacations since then. But now I have relocated to Miami
Beach because of a dream I had in 1997 - some time after pastel South Miami Beach was
touched up and became a world-class Kasbah replete with stunningly beautiful models.

I was in downtown Miami in my dream, talking to a German real estate developer named
Manfred Cieslik. We we're doing a big real estate deal on the beach. That's all. I felt good about
it. I often remembered that dream. Later on I started watching CSI Miami every week, and the
show subtly worked its allure, adding to my dream wish - perhaps the producers are using
subliminal suggestions: move to Miami paradise now move to Miami paradise now buy real
estate move to Miami paradise now buy real estate. Of course there are other crime-scene
investigation shows. Las Vegas crime scenes are all right, but I have been there, and found Las
Vegas is much too crass and cold for my taste. Manhattan has its brainy appeal if you can stand
the crowds, while New York crime scenes are gratuitously gory.

Now that I am actually in Miami, Manfred has not shown up. But I am still very keen on Miami
real estate. It's going faster than hotcakes, so fast that the laundries can barely keep up with the
money velocity. I have a nice place picked out, in South Pointe. My tower has not been erected
yet, so my main worry is that it will be sold out before I can make an aggressive bid with the
help of a knowledgeable real estate broker. Yes, the unit I want is a bit pricey for me at this time.
I am almost flat broke, have no income, and am three months away from sleeping on the beach if
I do not get some money. But that is not an insurmountable problem, or issue, as they say, for
there is always OPM (other people's money); nothing is impossible; one can make something out
of nothing in paradise.

And Miami is definitely a paradise, at least as far as many foreigners rich and poor are
concerned. The new "world-class" city attracts not only the newly rich but people who
desperately want to get rich quick. And there are other, less ambitious folk who just want to
serve those for whom nothing is enough. Ambitious dishwashers, milkmen, and truck drivers
have in fact risen from barely speaking English to fortunes valued in the hundreds of millions of
dollars. Others have risen to high positions in local and national government.

One often has to speak Spanish to get a job in Miami. And if you do speak Spanish you will
probably be paid less than English speakers who have jobs, rather than an extra dollar an hour for
the additional language. Sometimes it is better not to be a citizen, as many employers prefer
immigrant workers. I was just turned down for a job, not because I do not speak Spanish, but
because I am a U.S. citizen. One of my neighbors, a student from France with a working visa,

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found two minimum-wage jobs right away and is doing an excellent job at them, although she is
sometimes tardy because she has difficulty waking up after only four or less hours of sleep.

Miami's glittering attractions provide a pretty contrast to the fact that Miami is one of the most
impoverished and crime-ridden cities in the country. For those of us who live here and the
hundreds more who are flocking into the area on a daily basis, Miami is in fact the place to be,
the ambiguous ground zero out of which the eclectic future of the United States shall proceed
apace, as the gap between rich and poor widens,. Wherefore we speak about the miamizacion of
the United States.

CHEAP LODGING IN A WORLD-CLASS CITY

I have a bad habit that I am now breaking, the habit of wanting something nice, then picking
something else out, usually because it is easier or cheaper or easier to get to, or simply not what I
want. I mentioned the dream that brought me to Miami. Instead of going directly to Miami
Beach, I flew to Ft. Lauderdale, where everything went to hell, starting with my arrival at the
airport: I made a call from the baggage claim area and was told that my reservations for lodging
had been cancelled because a hurricane was due to arrive in two days. To make a miserable Ft.
Lauderdale story short, I wound up, seemingly by accident but probably by destiny, on South
Beach, right smack dab on Washington Avenue and Espanola Way.

I walked around a bit after I checked in to an old Capone hideout, The Clay Hotel and Hostel.
My first impression of South Beach? "South Beach is really trashy!" Of course I was used to
Honolulu. Should I stay? Well, the South Pointe real estate on the far south end of South Beach
is very, very attractive. And more importantly, the bare-bellied women of all sizes, shapes and
colors are far more fabulous than the colorful but rigid towers at South Pointe. Manfred had not
shown up for the deal - maybe he was delayed? I'd better stick around awhile, I thought, and see
what I can make of Miami along with the rest of the people on the make or take.

After hunting for inexpensive, temporary lodging for two weeks, I found a cash-only deal; it was
a hotel room that many tourists would pay triple the rate I am paying knowing that they would
only be there for a week or so. I actually wanted something nicer; for instance, the nice little
studio for which an agent for Chrisken Real Estate Management Company was asking $750 per
month for. I offered him a one-year lease: the first six months at $600; the second at $750 per
month. I figured I would find work soon enough to make the rent, and enough money besides to
have him to make an aggressive bid for a South Pointe condo.

"No," he said haughtily, as if the whole of Miami Beach had just been insulted by a low-ball
offer, "Our terms are non-negotiable."

"But it is out of season now," I said, "and you will wind up getting more this way."

"No," he insisted, "We will get $750. This is a world-class city."

Wow, I thought, this is a world-class city! And I was told that Chrisken Real Estate Management
Company is a “world-class redevelopment company!”

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My budget was too pathetic for world-class accommodations. Dave Muhlrad, a nice Jewish boy
from New York City, got my business. I cannot complain about the location: my room is a block
from the beach, a block from Lincoln Mall; a block from the Convention Center and Jackie
Gleason Performing Arts Center; four blocks from the center of the Miami Beach Cultural
District, which is home to the Miami Ballet Company, a brand new library, and the Artecity
condominium development amongst other attractions.

Dave Muhlrad has many apartment buildings, and caters mostly to Hispanic immigrants. He is
just managing the Plaza South Hotel which I moved into. Only cash is accepted; he comes by in
his Cadillac to pick it up every so often. The owner is his relative, real estate developer Russell
Galbut, who was involved in a scandal with Miami Beach Mayor Alex Daoud, who was
imprisoned for corruption in 1993. Both are said to be members of the “Jewish mafia,” whatever
that is.

Most of the bottom floor of the Plaza South is operated pursuant to a borrowed nursing home
license –the licensee is never on the premises, but his license is posted there. Old folks pay
around $3,000 month for crummy rooms and inexpensive fare such hot macaroni, tuna salads,
peanut butter sandwiches and the like. They are tended to by unlicensed nurses, mainly Haitian
immigrants who dole out drugs and whom are constantly accused of stealing from their charges.
The rest of the place is inhabited by a few working class people, including myself, a carpenter, a
man who handles advertising at the Sunpost, and two very attractive European women in the tour
business; travelers in need of cheap accommodations; a couple of drug dealers; two prostitutes
who work on two beds in the same room just above mine as their pimp stands watch; several
welfare clients, including a guy with a huge goiter whose room is packed with junk, garbage and
dozens of flies, a guy who sets fires in stairwells and once in his room, and a once-beautiful and
vivacious entertainer whose life has been ruined by crack.

Dave Muhlrad said a landlord has to be nuts to be in his business. He is a bit of a nut case, come
to think of it. I could make a long list of the nutty things but I won't, because the rent is dirt
cheap and he does make a sincere effort to keep the place up. The simple key to getting
something right away is to make him feel guilty. Just mention that something is needed right
away; he will fly off the handle, then feel guilty about it and get things done.

Lincoln Road Mall a block away used to be trashy and bohemian. It was fun for everyone,
including starving artists and writers. The merchants liked it too, but they were going bankrupt.
Today, upscale Lincoln Road Mall competes with Ocean Drive as the virtually perfect place for
the sophisticated epicures of the world to lead la dolce vita. There are a few relatively new
luxury hotels along Collins Avenue near Lincoln Road, most notably Loews Hotel, which is
credited by some with the most recent economic salvation of the area. Most of the older Art
Deco high-rise and low-rise hotels have been renovated or are in the process of renovation: many
shall be converted into condominiums, hotels or condo-hotels.

Owners of existing hotel properties are using condominium conversion to cash themselves out,
hopefully for big capital gains, spreading the new burden of ownership on the small buyers. The
selling parties sometimes take lucrative hotel management contracts as part of the conversion
deal. The buyers will not necessarily occupy their hotel rooms for a certain period to time as do
time-share buyers. For many investors, the conversion is just another investment vehicle on

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which they speculate for higher returns than other modes. Very few analysts today believe that
the properties are being dumped by major holders onto individuals investors while the getting out
is good, or that the new pool of money is inflating yet another real estate bubble. Relatively low
interest rates, retiring baby boomers with bulging nest eggs, the Republican's stealthy supply-
side program favoring the wealthy, the fall of the dollar that amounts to a deep discount for
foreign buyers, and the dollar-flight from socialism in Latin America are some of the factors
expected to hold the market up, especially on the high end, for some time to come.

PROGRESS AND POVERTY IN PARADISE OR HELL

Progress and poverty are in stark contrast in my transitional neighborhood. The entranceways of
many tourist shops as well as the walkways between smaller hotels double as bathrooms and
sleeping quarters for vagrants after business hours. A man with one leg and another man with no
legs - probably veterans - get out of their wheelchairs and sleep in entranceways or on bus-stop
benches at night. Tourists dole out money to aggressive panhandlers - many panhandlers come
down from the North and over from Miami because the pickings are good.

I observed a man staking tourists and reported him to a policeman, but the officer was not
interested in my report because he was busy talking to someone on his cell phone. The police did
remove a man from the bus at Washington and Lincoln one evening, after the bus driver got off
the bus, ran out into the street and flagged down a patrol car. He is a huge, wild-eyed man,
sporting long dreadlocks, dressed in filthy clothes and carrying an enormous backpack from the
bus. He is known as The Masturbator because he masturbates in public. The cops got him off the
bus and left without searching or questioning him. He went into the Cybercafé nearby and
proceeded to terrorize the patrons. The poor fellow did not seem to know where he was - it was
as if he had stepped out of a jungle into civilization. A foot patrolman was summoned; he
ushered the man back onto the street and told him to keep moving. A drunken woman happened
to be sprawled out on the sidewalk at the time: she had passed out; a stream of urine formed a
small creek coming from between her legs - the patrolman walked around her to attend to
business elsewhere. Tourists did not pay her much mind either, except to shake their heads.

South Beach certainly has its regular lost souls, many of whom are simply too far gone to
panhandle; for instance, the towering blond fellow who wears a blue caftan, darkened by sweat
and grime. He is apparently harmless although his shouting alarms tourists who have not
encountered him before. I listened to one of his outbursts one day: he was arguing with his
superego, insisting that his caftan was "regulation issue." Another fellow, a heavy set guy, and
artist addicted to crack, threatens people who do not give him money. There is the little old lady
who sleeps under a blue tarp in front of the elementary school, and she can sometimes be seen
eating tuna with her fingers right out of a can. One man and one woman are given to loud
cursing; they got together for a while and quieted down.

A city commissioner said the pitiful scene is part of the reason tourists love South Beach. The
city says it reaches out to the hapless derelicts and vagrants – the assistance helps them stay on
the streets even longer. The sight tourists most often gawk at is the deeply tanned, muscular man
in pink high heels, dressed in a pink flowered dress, wearing a pink bonnet adorned with plastic
fruit. He carries a large pink purse, in which he keeps his long-stemmed, pink-plastic champagne
glass. He likes to hang out at Burger King on Collins Avenue and Lincoln Road – known as the

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worst Burger King in the world for its bad service, fostering of teenage prostitution, and the
racism of its Hispanic staff – where he pours his soda into his champagne glass, powders his face
pink, renews the wide swath of red lipstick over his lips, and steps out for a smoke from time to
time. He sleeps on the beach. He is usually clean, and appears to be happy. Someone said he was
an insurance salesman who lost his mind and murdered his wife, whom he now has become.

There are many others besides, who are beside themselves with grief and despair, moaning and
crying and making gestures of profound hopelessness. One fellow who apparently had enough
wits to get some public help - he wears his public identification card around his neck - is a real
stinker, although the beach and its showers are a block away. El Stinko, as he is called, has lately
been habituating a particular bus stop near the entrance of Lincoln Mall in the mornings. The
stench is noticeable a block away. Those of us going downtown to work or to look for work have
learned to avoid the smell by going to the next bus stop. But the next stops often have their own
situations. Yesterday morning, just as the prostitutes were going home from work, we found a
man half-asleep on the bench at the next stop - he had his hand in his pants and was
masturbating. The next bench was occupied by one of the wheelchair men and his baggage.
Police cars were passing by, and a Hispanic woman wondered out loud why they did not do
something about the neighborhood. I speculated with the usual cliché, that there was not much
they could do since the Republicans kicked mentally ill people out of hospitals and the
Democrats gave them more civil rights.

POLICING SOUTH POINTE

Apparently the police can do something in elegant South Pointe, where I intend to live as soon as
soon as I find a crooked mortgage broker. Or at least they try to do something. Three cops were
recently suspended for allegedly beating up a man who was bounced out of the Opium Garden at
136 Collins –quite frankly, many of us wish the cops would beat more people up. On December
9, 2004, the Miami Herald reported that a long-time resident said the improvements were
"amazing", and "now we have an increased police presence." Furthermore, the paper reported
that a new police substation will be built in South Pointe, a few blocks south of the main police
station. "City of Miami Beach officials see an increased police presence as a way to sustain and
enforce safety and order." The enforcement however is selective, since patrol cars are constantly
present in my neighborhood a few blocks north, around Lincoln and Washington; yet the area
around that intersection remains a troublesome mess - perhaps it is a designated "safe area" used
to keep unsightly conduct away from the rest of the beach.

However that might be, South Pointe, the area south of Fifth, used to be so dangerous many
years ago due to a lack of police enforcement that Miami residents avoided driving through it.
But now - WOW! South Pointe is the high end of the world-class, South Beach luxury real estate
market. In 1992, German investor Thomas Kramer bought up 35 acres on the south point; after
squabbles with locals over the height of his planned towers and the like, Jorge Perez saved the
day and bought Kramer out. Where people were once afraid to drive are now lodged the super-
rich.

South Pointe! That's the place I want to live, and I thank the powers-that-be for the excellent
examples being set for us all to aspire to, such as the Continuum South Tower, the Portofino
Tower, and the older, Southpointe Tower. And now New York developer Ian Bruce has broken

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ground on the 38-story Continuum North Tower. The cabanas alone at the already completed
Continuum South fetched $850,000, or $3,148 per square foot, which is, much to the amazement
of a New York Times reporter, 4.5 times the price of Manhattan apartments! Jorge Perez will
soon begin marketing another tower to be erected soon, called the Apogee. The starting price for
a condo is $2.5 million. A penthouse will go for $15 million.

MY SOUTH POINTE MISSION

That's where my aggressive broker enters the picture. I want a unit in one of those last two high
rises to be built, if not a unit in one of the existing towers. I will settle for a modest apartment for
around $3 million, including a butler for one year, although I prefer a penthouse or something
approaching it, something higher up with an ocean view. I envision myself in my rowboat-bed,
waking up in the morning, looking out on the Atlantic as if I were at sea, turning on the ocean
music, taking the oars on each side of my bed and doing my morning rowing exercise. Then I
will get up and have my usual roll and coffee while studying, write another brilliant essay, then
attend to business relative to the further application of My Three Memes. I shall have lunch on
my 11-foot deep lanai, where I shall wave at the cameraman for the CSI Miami production, in
the chopper outside my window - finally, after all these years, I might qualify for a Screen
Actors Guild card.

I will also devote some time to charitable projects such as the establishment of free paperless
libraries for the poor and homeless and for anyone else for that matter. The computer usage
policies at the Miami-Dade Public Library, incidentally, are backwards, sometimes referred to as
'anal retentive,' although appreciated for what they do provide, still tend to unduly constrain
personal access to the potentially revolutionary information tool to the upper classes, which is
the antithesis of the reason that public libraries were established in this country with the help of
such pioneers as Matthew Lyon, in contradistinction to the private libraries of the aristocrats,
usually Federalists. Guests and residents without identification or proof of address, for example,
are not shown much Southern hospitality at the downtown Miami library: there is no paper or
electronic sign-up schedule hence they must crowd around two computers to get a number in
order to access four 15-fifteen minute computers.

I shall also devote some time to public physical and mental hygiene by means of the
establishment of large free public toilets, showers and bathhouses, perhaps in the basements of
the paperless libraries. Public toilets were an important feature of Roman social life, a place to
gossip and to discuss local news and politics at length; every citizen was welcome to sit in.
Today one has to be a paying customer at the establishment in question to use the facilities: this
morning I observed a security guard in suit and tie question a man in the restroom of an office
building; the man admitted that his office was in the building across the street, therefore the
security guard reprimanded him and told him he was not welcome to use the facilities if he had
no business in the building. I informed the guard that I was a customer of the copy shop in his
building, so he let me do my business. Again, such anal retentive policies on behalf of strictly
commercial interests are unproductive in the final analysis.

After I move into my condo, I will convert my amazing critical ability into a positive force to
save a few people if not humankind from negative attitudes. As for the vast estate that will arise
from my public image, I will not own a bit of it: the foundation will own it and take care of all

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the dirty details. The only flaw in my vision is what to do with the two spaces in the garage,
since I do not want to drive. But what am I talking about! Think positive! My limos will be
parked there - I hope the spaces are deep enough. My limos will pick my friends up at the
airport, all of the friends who gave me a hand up no matter how rich or poor they might be. A
foundation airplane will fly them in.

Miami Beach Mayor Dermer won office in part by opposing such tall developments, but he liked
South Pointe when interviewed by the Miami Herald on October 26, 2004: "It is hard for any
mayor to claim that these one million dollar and two million dollar condos are bad things.... It is
extraordinarily pretty down there below Fight Street."

TRAVERSING THE CONTINUUM

If I were mayor, it would be even harder to complain about such things, especially if I were
interested in higher offices in the private or government sector. Alas, I do not have time to hold
political office. Still, who's to complain about South Pointe, even if it does have an 'e' on its end?
Hey, not me. I walk down there every Sunday and on holidays. I love it. That is the place meant
for me to live. I feel sorry for the people who live there and are still not happy. A man nearly ran
me down as he pulled his Mercedes into the Continuum on Thanksgiving Day. He did not seem
to know that I existed, although I am six-foot tall and was in front of his car in broad daylight.
He had an awful, painful and angry look on his face, as if someone had hit him with a hammer.
What a shame, I thought, that he has all this to be thankful for and is so miserable. He reminded
me of a movie I saw: an elegantly dressed woman got out of her limo, went into her luxurious
Manhattan townhouse, walked through several elegantly appointed rooms into her huge
bedroom, threw herself down on her four-poster bed and burst into tears. What? Hey, get some
therapy, or find a new friend, like me, for instance - my few wealthy friends have called me "a
therapeutic person."

As I was traversing the Continuum grounds to visit the pier nearby, a "beach bum" passed me by.
He was pulling a large cart filled with an assortment of things which can best be described as
junk. His dog was running out ahead. The man smiled broadly at me, tipped his straw hat, and
said "Howdy." I said "howdy" right back, pointed at the Continuum tower, and said, "Pardner,
your quarters are ready for you." He came right back with, "The first thing I'm gonna do is take a
hot bath."

Well, times are tough for many people rich and poor, yet sometimes the rich have good reason to
envy the smile of the beach bums. Anyway, who in their right mind can complain about South
Pointe? Well, to be fair we should mention the criminals, the vagrants, and the decent and poor
tenants who had to move away - their landlords must have made some capital gains on the
properties involved. Where are the former 'undesirables', the ones in the way of development?
No doubt a few still live in the old residential area nearby at much higher rents - it is a cute
neighborhood. Who knows? Perhaps one old resident lives in one of new towers – nothing is
impossible in the Magic City! Some are no doubt in cemeteries or in prison. Others moved to
cheaper neighborhoods yet might be working two jobs to cover expenses. One or two of the
homeless might be sleeping in the dirty doorways of my neighborhood.

NORTH BEACH NEIGHBORS

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A few survivors might be recovering homeless people at this time. Perhaps they have income
from a job or from the dole, and are willing to sign a lease at the planned new Harding Village, a
46-unit apartment to give the homeless a hand up at the former Paradise Inn in North Beach. In
that case we can be glad for them, as North Beach is quite nice. Alas, the existing North Beach
residents do not want them there, especially across the street from the school. The Miami Herald
publishes a Neighbors section for neighbors who what to know what is going on in their
neighborhoods. On December 5, 2004, it was reported that Elena Freire, vice president of St.
Joseph's Home and School Association protested against the progressive plan being implemented
in her neighborhood without much notice, and implied that the prospective new residents were
trash if not garbage:

"Our goal is to make the community aware of what is going on here," she said. "You don't want
to wake up and find someone put a dumpster in your back yard. You want to know ahead of
time."

St. Joseph, we recall, was declared Patron of the Universal Church by Pius IX in 1870, hence the
virginal father of Jesus is the father of the numberless family of Catholics. Indeed, in 1889 Leo
XIII declared Joseph to be the modern father of all Catholic families. Pius XI proclaimed Joseph
the guardian spirit of the battle against Communism, as well as Patron of Social Justice. Pius XII
instituted the Memorial of St. Joseph the Worker to compete with the Communist May Day
celebration. Pius XII, whose delicate relationship with fascists and Nazis used to be a subject of
great controversy, insisted that personal freedom depends on the proper functioning of three
social institutions: family, private property, state. The last, the state, must not sacrifice the
interests of Catholics to the common good nor cause them to act contrary to their consciences.
Other popes as well as lay Catholics have gone so far as to claim that Joseph is the patron saint
of the poor.

Richard Schindler, member of the Biscayne Beach Homeowner's Association, was more
politically correct, at least in a Reaganomic sense, with his public assessment of the situation:
"While we are sympathetic to the plight of the homeless and mentally ill, we are more concerned
with our safety, the safety of our children and elderly, and preserving the quality of life we have
come to enjoy here in North Beach, as well as preserving our property values."

A CHOICE! NOT AN ECHO!

Many property owners of all persuasions including welfare liberalism are sympathetic to the
plight of property owners. Of course some (expletive deleted) liberals insist that the preservation
of property values and the attitudes associated with the height of those values are in fact the
major cause of the plight of homelessness and mentally illness. But have we not learned that,
notwithstanding Lady Fortune's fickle touch, American individuals deserve what they have and
that those who have are usually entitled by their virtue to get more? As for inheritance, if they
have inherited their wealth, then they have inherited the genes that got that wealth hence are
entitled to be rich. And have we not learned that those who have less deserve less, and are most
likely to lose what they have, for the very good reason that poor people are supposed to be poor?
We must have good and evil examples at both ends of the continuum, so that we may choose one
or the other, and be satisfied with our lot.

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As uncompromising Barry Goldwater said, rejecting the gray areas along the continuum, people
should be absolutely certain they are making the right choice, and not be just another echo of the
liberal consensus, which he ruptured: "A Choice, Not an Echo!" And, if economic competition is
like warfare, as certain Harvard professors claim, Goldwater's statement about keeping our
fortunes secure might be aptly paraphrased: "Extremism in the defense of our property is no
vice! Moderation in the pursuit of our just distribution of property is no virtue!"

Incidentally, I am a liberal. I want everyone to be liberated from a lot of things, especially war
and poverty. I am also a welfare capitalist without capital at the moment - a welfare capitalist
treats people well in order to get more out of them: people who treat me right are righteous;
they're all right because they treat me right.

Still, when it comes to real estate, I choose South Pointe for the exercise of my upscale virtue. I
am not about to start blaming social ills on real estate market movers like Jorge Perez of The
Related Group, Jeff Morr of Majestic Properties, Craig Robins of Dacra, Pedro Martin of Terra
International, Alessandro Ferretti of Wave Group Development's Artecity, Louise Sunshine of
The Sunshine Group, and others - after providing thousands of people will jobs and homes, they
are highly unlikely to heed the claim that they are the cause of joblessness and homelessness.
How absurd!

Since I am a late-late bloomer, hence do not have the financial wherewithal to make an
aggressive bid on a Continuum home at the moment, I must find a backer or a quick way to make
a bundle. What better way to make a killing than the real estate business? Mind you that I
already have many ways to make three bundles, and without robbing or killing anyone at all. My
Three Memes will do the job very nicely, bringing in a net income of several millions within
three years. But I need investors or at least signed non-disclosure forms before letting those cats
out of the bag. Wherefore I openly speak of real estate for now, instead of hyperealestate. The
sky is the limit!

SEEKING AGGRESSIVE BROKERS

To my prosperous end I began my search for a knowledgeable and aggressive broker who is
connected with a crooked mortgage broker for whom unemployment and no down payment is
not an issue. The headline of a real estate article in one of the sidewalk papers struck my eye:
'Those Who Hesitate Are Lost - Serious Market Facts You Should Know'.

I was reminded of Kierkegaard's analogy in Either/Or, of the indecisive captain who passes the
point of no-return, therefore it is too late for him to steer the ship to the best destination in ethical
terms - the artist makes no such choice, but sails for the sake of sailing. The author of the real
estate article was none other than Ralph DeMartino, "one of the top 1.2% of realtors in the U.S.",
member of the Master Brokers Forum - Miami Dade's top agents - and member of various real
estate boards. Mr. DeMartino ran some numbers on the local market and came to the conclusion
that the limited inventory is being rapidly exhausted and that most price negotiations are upward;
wherefore the market is hot and will get hotter since we are almost fresh out of real estate.

~ 10 ~
 Miami Mirror – True Reflections

"The smart buyers who want to buy," avers Mr. DeMartino, "decide to buy, then get associated
with a knowledgeable realtor, they do their homework together, find their best choice and
proceed with an aggressive offer to get that property under contract...."

If you have questions about real estate and want to get a piece of the action before the prices
soar, contact Ralph DeMartino at Ocean International Realty. He is ideally located in North
Beach, on Arthur Godfrey Boulevard, in case you are interested in the golden "corridor." I have
invented a little theme for his company based on his article: "Get your real estate facts right at
Ocean International." The negative one that came to mind, "Hesitators are Losers" is not
advisable, although the fear factor is a great motivator.

Why, Ralph DeMartino might be my man, I speculated, and whipped off this message to him:

Dear Mr. DeMartino:

Your article, ‘Those Who Hesitate are Lost,’ has haunted me since I read it, and I consequently
thought of Kierkegaard's remarks in Either/Or, about the point of no return.

I have been distracted by the scenery for many years. I know I must make a move before it is too
late, and I believe the real estate market is the best way to go.

I agree with your assessment of the market. I have noticed some anxiety about the possibility of
inflation, yet I believe inflation and the fear of inflation might do more to bolster prices than
deflate them, especially on the luxury end of the market.

Within two years, starting from scratch, I want to be a millionaire and to own a fine
condominium in Miami. It appears to me that my best shot at that is to sell real estate.

As you said, "smart buyers who want to buy... get associated with a knowledgeable realtor."
Your credentials look good to me, and I agree with your take on the market. Whether I am a
smart buyer or not is something you might know, wherefore I hope we might get together for a
chat, at your leisure of course. Please get back to me and I will call your office for an
appointment.

Sincerely,

David Arthur Walters

MOVING UP TO SOUTH POINTE

I must be aggressive and follow up on my letter soon, drop in on him and push my way in front
of his other clients before it is too late. On second thought, he is the one who should be calling
me, for the commission on a South Pointe condo is prodigious! Sales is the highest paid
profession, and what a lucrative sales business to get into! These Miami properties are literally
selling themselves - realtors ought to consider themselves lucky to have real estate licenses to
sell them!

~ 11 ~
 Miami Mirror – True Reflections

Those were precisely my thoughts as I boarded the extended ‘S’ bus in downtown Miami,
destination, Miami Beach. Alas, the air conditioning was broken; the stench soon filled the bus
as we pulled away. People came forward, vacating the extended rear end of the bus. El Stinko
was on the bus! People grimaced, rolled their eyes, cursed under their breaths, pleaded with the
driver to let them off the bus, held their noses - one man managed to open a ventilator on the
roof, but the fresh air rushing in barely diluted the fetid atmosphere within. Liberalism is very
much alive in Florida despite the right-wing advance: the man would have been thrown off the
bus by the passengers in some parts of the world. No one was paying attention to the gleaming
towers of Miami and the ocean liners as we barreled over the MacArthur Causeway. An older
tourist woman vomited into a barf bag improvised by a stranger. Another man, getting off at the
first stop over the causeway. exclaimed, "This is the most hellish bus ride I have ever been on!"
During all the above, the bus driver hardly batted an eye let alone turned up her nose.

"I've got to move up fast and get some air, I've got to dance my way out of this," I told myself,
pushing my nose into the crack of the window of the bus. "I need a big break right away. I'm
going to the top and ask the big shots for a break. They certainly will not regret it! It’s high time
that I move up in the world!"

-XYX-

~ 12 ~