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Sunday, April 29, 2018


      I was honored to be an artist at yesterday's Love Burn, an evening of music, fire, and poetry on the beach at Virginia Key.

    It was a six hour mini-version of the Nevada's annual Burning Man Gathering and an O,Miami Poetry Festival event.

   Like the big one in the desert, there were sculptures and costumed participants. I drew bad portraits, an art form I have perfected over many years.



I enjoyed drawing Sam the best.  His smile was infectious. 

Here's the moment when I handed him his drawing. 

   I love my two-minute chats as I draw new friends. 
    Most had never been to Burning Man and I explained, "See the wings burning behind me? They're three feet tall. At Burning Man they'd rise up thirty feet.  The flames would core a hole in the sky and probably sear your eye brows".
   When I got home l  learned Larry Harvey, the 70-year-old visionary who started Burning Man, had died a few hours earlier. I knew he'd had a stroke three weeks ago. One of his many friends sent this out,
         Larry was never one for labels. He didn’t fit a mold; he broke it with the way he lived his life. He was 100% authentic to his core. For all of us who knew or worked with him, he was a landscape gardener, a philosopher, a visionary, a wit, a writer, an inspiration, an instigator, a mentor, and at one point a taxi driver and a bike messenger. He was always a passionate advocate for our culture and the principles that emanate from the Burning Man experience in the Black Rock Desert.
As he told one of us recently, Larry liked to create “scenes” that made people consider the world in a new way. He was extraordinarily successful at doing just that.
The Burning Man Project has lost our original Founder.

   I've drawn bad portraits in the desert for the last two years. I never had a chance to draw Larry's. If I had, I expect it would have made him smile. 


Saturday, April 14, 2018


  Last night the President of the United States made a surprise appearance at Little River's Fancy Nasty Art Gallery.  He heard Grove artist, LeMaster, would be there touting his environmental art.
Grove artist, LeMaster, with his Marjory painting, and some fat fool. 

   He flashed some cheap cardboard signs and confronted the artist himself but few were paying attention.

   They've seen too much of that guy already.

Sunday, April 8, 2018


   The game was interrupted by a baby in left field. I have no idea how she got there but once she toddled to the sidelines our softball battle continued.
    This was yesterday's game between Miami's old guys ("The Young Viejos") and a group of much younger men and women  representing the local art community.  It was one of many events sponsored by this month's O, Miami Poetry Festival. 
 The players
Young Viejo Augustin Gonzalez, 95, in a pensive moment.
     As softball games go this one was a little different. Batters had to recite a poem before they stepped up to the plate. Ron shares one of his originals                     

      One Young Viejo had his bat marked, "Ode Warrior". 
   The poetry people gave us these beautiful book bags and they got

autographed softballs from us.

Our lovely announcer, Melody Santiago Cummings

      I played a little but my main job was to emcee the show  

                 The ringmaster with his coach

and to occasionally hawk peanuts and crackerjacks.   
     The teams were evenly matched, some players were very good and some (like me) could use more practice. Us Viejos marveled at the speed of "the kids". We had forgotten how fast our feet could move fifty years ago. Rarely did our throws get to first base before the runner.
We had much more experience as we play twice a week.

    This rare mixing of generations was a delight, like a group of grandfathers happily going at it with their upstart grands.  

 Quincy (and everyone else) wanted Pito's autograph

     Popular singer Cuci Amador threw out the  first pitch. Another celebrity's sibling, Mangohead (the king's brother), tossed the second.

    By the end of the game the Young Viejos were ahead, 9-8, and the team was presented with the winner's trophy, a golden chamber pot.  

It could become an annual affair.

     By the game's conclusion everyone was smiling. No one cared who won. On a perfect April afternoon we were laughing, playing ball, and hearing some pretty good poetry.

Monday, April 2, 2018


   You are invited to attend two wonderful events
coming up on Saturday and Sunday.

THE FIRST is part of this month's O'Miami Poetry Festival. 
I have put together an event I call,
It will be an exhibition game between old men (my team,"The Young Viejos)
and Miami's young poets, "The Rhyming Nine" (who could only gather seven for this shot).

     We expect to kick their butts AND poetry will be infused into every play!
One of our most exciting player/poets is Augustin who is a very young 95.
The five-inning game will begin at 1 p.m. on Saturday, April 7th. It'll be at the
War Memorial Youth Center, 405 University Drive, Coral Gables, 33134.
Free but consider bringing peanuts and Crackerjacks.            

THE SECOND is an important fundraiser to help protect the environment and
free speech.  It will take place at the historic Reno Ranch, the only wild place left in Kendall.
Join us on the back porch
   A fundraiser to help defend environmentalist, Maggy Reno Hurchalla. 
Janet's sister has spent her life speaking up for the environment. Unfortunately, she has been sued
by a vengeful billionaire developer to try to keep her quiet. 
  The event will take place on the back porch of the Reno Ranch this Sunday, April 8th.
from 4-7 p.m. 11200 N. Kendall Drive.
Park across the street and walk in (not much parking inside the ranch).
Bring a check and an appetizer. Beer and wine are good too.
Hear Maggy and her attorney, Sandy D'Alemberte, tell their stories.
More info at,   or you can
contact me (Glenn) at 305-448-3775, .

I look forward to seeing you at both events this weekend.
Tu amigo,
 Our short stop, Tony Snetro, turned 100 four months ago.  Due to minor health problems, he will watching from the dugout on Saturday.

Sunday, April 1, 2018


    They don’t call the Caribbean  Hurricane Ally for nothin’. The islands south of Miami get beat up every fall. This week we are visiting one of them, St. Croix.
     It got hit twice in 2017, by Hurricanes Irma and Maria.

Our friends who live there were without power for three months. Surrounded by the neighborhood’s generators, they said it was like living with angry lawnmowers 24/7.
     And they didn’t even get the brunt of it. The devastation in the British Virgin Islands to the north was much worse. They got what we fear in South Florida, "The Big One".  A friend who toured the BVIs four days ago told us, “It still looks like King Kong has trampled all over”. Little has changed since Maria blew through last August.

     It was like that in Christiansted, on the east side of St. Croix, in 1989. That’s when Hurricane Hugo came to town and did not leave for twenty hours. 200+ mph winds ripped it apart and now, 28 years later, much of Hugo’s destruction remains.  

    The main part of town is as lovely and timeless as was when the young
Alexander Hamilton live here.
 But when you edge away a few blocks your see the beautiful, faded, busted buildings. 

Nearly three decades have passed and they are still in ruins.  

 You witness the imperceptible dance of the rotting structures and the vines  slowly replacing them. 

  The Big One hasn't come to Miami in 92 years. When it does we may have a few hurricane memorials ourselves.

 No napping allowed
   Masked fiberglass worker, Christiansted.