Arts & Entertainment

Those who dare upset the status quo can be dangerous (like those death-defying drivers on Interstate 95) or they can be entertaining and basically harmless, like the illegal pirate station 90.9-FM, which has shoehorned itself into a spot on the dial. Sure, it upsets folks like the legitimate stations whose signal it smothers. But it's easy to appreciate an outlet for FCC-verboten sounds (like gangsta rap with every outlawed word plainly audible) with no commercials or fund-raising drives. Founder Mark T is doing the Nine-Oh for the right reasons: He's motivated not by a desire to make money but simply by the hope that he can string together a community of microhoods across Broward County -- and have a great deal of fun in the process. This unmediated brand of lunacy, even more enjoyable because it's so naughty, reaches a party-flavored zenith with shout-out dedications, on-air freestyle contests, and a genuinely raucous, home-brewed brand of idiocy that beats commercial radio's manufactured idiocy hands-down.

Those who dare upset the status quo can be dangerous (like those death-defying drivers on Interstate 95) or they can be entertaining and basically harmless, like the illegal pirate station 90.9-FM, which has shoehorned itself into a spot on the dial. Sure, it upsets folks like the legitimate stations whose signal it smothers. But it's easy to appreciate an outlet for FCC-verboten sounds (like gangsta rap with every outlawed word plainly audible) with no commercials or fund-raising drives. Founder Mark T is doing the Nine-Oh for the right reasons: He's motivated not by a desire to make money but simply by the hope that he can string together a community of microhoods across Broward County -- and have a great deal of fun in the process. This unmediated brand of lunacy, even more enjoyable because it's so naughty, reaches a party-flavored zenith with shout-out dedications, on-air freestyle contests, and a genuinely raucous, home-brewed brand of idiocy that beats commercial radio's manufactured idiocy hands-down.

Upper-crust audiophiles in South Florida moaned December 31 when WTMI shed its 30-year tradition of playing classical music in favor of a format that caters to the younger techno-dance crowd. It morphed into "Party 93" as executives explained that classical fogies just didn't spend enough money with their advertisers to keep them going. Party now crows that it plays fewer commercials than its competition, WPOW-FM (Power 96.5). But all is not lost for those who know that Claudio Monteverdi, Michael Praetorius, and Cesar Franck are not Marlins relief pitchers. Boynton Beach's WXEL-FM (90.7) began Saturday matinees of classical broadcasts in early February. And WTMI's classical tradition continues on-line at its Website, which links to Beethoven.com's Internet radio.

Upper-crust audiophiles in South Florida moaned December 31 when WTMI shed its 30-year tradition of playing classical music in favor of a format that caters to the younger techno-dance crowd. It morphed into "Party 93" as executives explained that classical fogies just didn't spend enough money with their advertisers to keep them going. Party now crows that it plays fewer commercials than its competition, WPOW-FM (Power 96.5). But all is not lost for those who know that Claudio Monteverdi, Michael Praetorius, and Cesar Franck are not Marlins relief pitchers. Boynton Beach's WXEL-FM (90.7) began Saturday matinees of classical broadcasts in early February. And WTMI's classical tradition continues on-line at its Website, which links to Beethoven.com's Internet radio.

If you're a kid, nothing is better than going to a playground. "No, Mom, a swimming pool."

"No, Junior, a playground."

"No, Mom, a swimming pool."

"No, Junior, A PLAYGROUND!!"

All right. All right. Enough with the family disputation. Thanks to the wonders of our modern age, kids can now do both. While no one's talking about why we had to wait until the dawn of the new millennium for someone this side of Disney to figure out the intricacies of putting a playground in water, Junior doesn't care. He and/or she is/are too busy loving the features that are popping up like Yellowstone geysers in city and county parks throughout the two-county area. With water slides, water pistols, water swings, water hoses, and super spongy floors to cushion any fall, what's not to like? Placed in shallow water, the playgrounds are safe enough for toddlers and exciting enough for older kids. Two particularly stellar ones in Palm Beach County -- Calypso Bay Waterpark off Southern Boulevard in suburban West Palm Beach and Coconut Cove Waterpark and Recreation Area off Glades Road in suburban Boca Raton -- also feature meandering streams for leisurely floating and (for older kids) those big, long, twisting tube slides that used to be the sole province of private amusement companies. Now that the cost of the technology has come down, allowing public agencies like the Palm Beach County Department of Parks and Recreation to splash into the water-park business, such frolicking doesn't have to endanger the kids' college education funds. At $8 for adults, $6 for kids under 12, and free for kids under 3, the biggest thrill for parents is the price. So who's arguing now?

If you're a kid, nothing is better than going to a playground. "No, Mom, a swimming pool."

"No, Junior, a playground."

"No, Mom, a swimming pool."

"No, Junior, A PLAYGROUND!!"

All right. All right. Enough with the family disputation. Thanks to the wonders of our modern age, kids can now do both. While no one's talking about why we had to wait until the dawn of the new millennium for someone this side of Disney to figure out the intricacies of putting a playground in water, Junior doesn't care. He and/or she is/are too busy loving the features that are popping up like Yellowstone geysers in city and county parks throughout the two-county area. With water slides, water pistols, water swings, water hoses, and super spongy floors to cushion any fall, what's not to like? Placed in shallow water, the playgrounds are safe enough for toddlers and exciting enough for older kids. Two particularly stellar ones in Palm Beach County -- Calypso Bay Waterpark off Southern Boulevard in suburban West Palm Beach and Coconut Cove Waterpark and Recreation Area off Glades Road in suburban Boca Raton -- also feature meandering streams for leisurely floating and (for older kids) those big, long, twisting tube slides that used to be the sole province of private amusement companies. Now that the cost of the technology has come down, allowing public agencies like the Palm Beach County Department of Parks and Recreation to splash into the water-park business, such frolicking doesn't have to endanger the kids' college education funds. At $8 for adults, $6 for kids under 12, and free for kids under 3, the biggest thrill for parents is the price. So who's arguing now?

You can see them each sunny Wednesday evening and Saturday morning on Fort Lauderdale Beach. Six intrepid paddlers push a Hawaiian-style outrigger canoe into the surf and paddle off. Sometimes they hug the shoreline; sometimes they head toward the horizon. Maybe the opening notes of "Hawaii 5-0" will run through your head before you think, "Hey, this is the Atlantic!" Well, yes it is, and you haven't seen Fort Lauderdale Beach until you've seen it from one of these babies. Best of all, it's absolutely free to try out your paddling skills, and all levels of physical fitness can be accommodated. Show up on Wednesday around 6 p.m. or Saturday around 10 a.m. and you'll be given a five-minute lesson, then handed a paddle and life jacket. The core group is diverse in every way: age, level of fitness, and nationality. There's an easy camaraderie that becomes all the more obvious when you're in a canoe that hulies, which means it flips over. If that happens, you're no longer a newbie, and you become an official member of the Las Olas Outrigger Canoe Club. Some of the perks of membership -- if you stick with it, you'll eventually be asked to cough up $60 in annual dues -- include full-moon paddles, snorkel and dive paddles, the opportunity to participate in the Fort Lauderdale Boat Parade, and the chance to compete against other Hawaiian-outrigger canoe clubs springing up in Hollywood, Key West, and Palm Beach. But the first few times you're out, you'll just feel the thrill of synchronizing six strangers in an 18-inch-wide canoe against an unpredictable sea. If you don't try this at least once, you might as well be living in Peoria.

You can see them each sunny Wednesday evening and Saturday morning on Fort Lauderdale Beach. Six intrepid paddlers push a Hawaiian-style outrigger canoe into the surf and paddle off. Sometimes they hug the shoreline; sometimes they head toward the horizon. Maybe the opening notes of "Hawaii 5-0" will run through your head before you think, "Hey, this is the Atlantic!" Well, yes it is, and you haven't seen Fort Lauderdale Beach until you've seen it from one of these babies. Best of all, it's absolutely free to try out your paddling skills, and all levels of physical fitness can be accommodated. Show up on Wednesday around 6 p.m. or Saturday around 10 a.m. and you'll be given a five-minute lesson, then handed a paddle and life jacket. The core group is diverse in every way: age, level of fitness, and nationality. There's an easy camaraderie that becomes all the more obvious when you're in a canoe that hulies, which means it flips over. If that happens, you're no longer a newbie, and you become an official member of the Las Olas Outrigger Canoe Club. Some of the perks of membership -- if you stick with it, you'll eventually be asked to cough up $60 in annual dues -- include full-moon paddles, snorkel and dive paddles, the opportunity to participate in the Fort Lauderdale Boat Parade, and the chance to compete against other Hawaiian-outrigger canoe clubs springing up in Hollywood, Key West, and Palm Beach. But the first few times you're out, you'll just feel the thrill of synchronizing six strangers in an 18-inch-wide canoe against an unpredictable sea. If you don't try this at least once, you might as well be living in Peoria.

Imagine: A day at the races, but with you and up to nine of your closest -- or loopiest -- friends as the drivers. This dream can become reality at Moroso Motorsports Park, which is available for private rentals. But you'll pay dearly for the privilege of playing Paul Newman. Rates start at $1800 per day for up to four cars during the off-season (June 1 through August 31); during "the season" (September 1 through May 31), the base rate goes to $2000. Those extra buddies will cost you an additional $150 per car up to a maximum of ten (only one to three cars are allowed on the track at a time). Of course, there are a few other extras: A rescue unit including ambulance must be on standby, at a cost of $60 per hour, with a four-hour minimum. If you opt to have a fire truck on hand, it'll be $55 per hour with, once again, a four-hour minimum. In other words, we're talking anywhere from a little more than $2200 up to more than $3300, even more if you arrange for the park to cater your day of fun. And then there's that little matter of insurance. Moroso will help you determine the necessary amount beforehand. But hey, isn't it worth it to drive even faster than most of the lunatics on South Florida's roadways?

Imagine: A day at the races, but with you and up to nine of your closest -- or loopiest -- friends as the drivers. This dream can become reality at Moroso Motorsports Park, which is available for private rentals. But you'll pay dearly for the privilege of playing Paul Newman. Rates start at $1800 per day for up to four cars during the off-season (June 1 through August 31); during "the season" (September 1 through May 31), the base rate goes to $2000. Those extra buddies will cost you an additional $150 per car up to a maximum of ten (only one to three cars are allowed on the track at a time). Of course, there are a few other extras: A rescue unit including ambulance must be on standby, at a cost of $60 per hour, with a four-hour minimum. If you opt to have a fire truck on hand, it'll be $55 per hour with, once again, a four-hour minimum. In other words, we're talking anywhere from a little more than $2200 up to more than $3300, even more if you arrange for the park to cater your day of fun. And then there's that little matter of insurance. Moroso will help you determine the necessary amount beforehand. But hey, isn't it worth it to drive even faster than most of the lunatics on South Florida's roadways?

Built on the site of a long-defunct Japanese agricultural colony, this now-25-year-old tribute to Japanese culture continues to thrive in its unlikely South Florida locale. Perhaps the best expression of its Japanophilia are the numerous festivals it hosts, honoring the important holidays of Nihon. Of these, the Hatsume Fair, which celebrates the first bud of spring, is our favorite, what with its vendor and artisan booths, fair food both Asian and American, and three stages of entertainment. This year, the performances included a tea ceremony, martial-arts demonstrations, and, of course, the devastating rumble of the taiko drummers. The best part: All of this takes place in late February, under the cooling canopy of the towering pine trees on Morikami's beautiful grounds.

Built on the site of a long-defunct Japanese agricultural colony, this now-25-year-old tribute to Japanese culture continues to thrive in its unlikely South Florida locale. Perhaps the best expression of its Japanophilia are the numerous festivals it hosts, honoring the important holidays of Nihon. Of these, the Hatsume Fair, which celebrates the first bud of spring, is our favorite, what with its vendor and artisan booths, fair food both Asian and American, and three stages of entertainment. This year, the performances included a tea ceremony, martial-arts demonstrations, and, of course, the devastating rumble of the taiko drummers. The best part: All of this takes place in late February, under the cooling canopy of the towering pine trees on Morikami's beautiful grounds.

Harvard Square in Boston. Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. Greenwich Village's Washington Square Park. These are places to find street musicians who rock. Not SoFla. Or at least that's what we thought before running into 33-year-old Argentine guitarist Fabio Zini one sunny Sunday at a picnic shelter on Hollywood Beach. On his Takamine, he played electrified flamenco, tango, and bar mitzvah music as kids and seniors, Argentines and Quebecois, picnickers and homeless guys danced up a storm. Zini started playing guitar at eight years old in Santa Fe, north of Buenos Aires; by the time he was 13, he was picking before a crowd of 3000 people at a festival. He came to the United States in 1996; since arriving here, he has entertained crowds just about everywhere they'd let him, from Argentinean festivals to the opening of the Hallandale Beach Cultural Community Center to Tango Dreams at the Actors Playhouse. He's also opened for Lucy Arnaz and jammed on South Beach with the Gipsy Kings. To make the bulk of his living, Zini peddles two CDs -- Passion Springs, which he produced in 1999, and the recent Magic Fingers, which includes a flamenco-inspired rendition of "Flight of a Bumblebee." These days, he's a regular at Mizner Park in Boca Raton and Sawgrass Mills, as well as the Hollywood Broadwalk scene. You never know where you're going to find him, though if you must, you can log on to his Webpage.

Harvard Square in Boston. Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. Greenwich Village's Washington Square Park. These are places to find street musicians who rock. Not SoFla. Or at least that's what we thought before running into 33-year-old Argentine guitarist Fabio Zini one sunny Sunday at a picnic shelter on Hollywood Beach. On his Takamine, he played electrified flamenco, tango, and bar mitzvah music as kids and seniors, Argentines and Quebecois, picnickers and homeless guys danced up a storm. Zini started playing guitar at eight years old in Santa Fe, north of Buenos Aires; by the time he was 13, he was picking before a crowd of 3000 people at a festival. He came to the United States in 1996; since arriving here, he has entertained crowds just about everywhere they'd let him, from Argentinean festivals to the opening of the Hallandale Beach Cultural Community Center to Tango Dreams at the Actors Playhouse. He's also opened for Lucy Arnaz and jammed on South Beach with the Gipsy Kings. To make the bulk of his living, Zini peddles two CDs -- Passion Springs, which he produced in 1999, and the recent Magic Fingers, which includes a flamenco-inspired rendition of "Flight of a Bumblebee." These days, he's a regular at Mizner Park in Boca Raton and Sawgrass Mills, as well as the Hollywood Broadwalk scene. You never know where you're going to find him, though if you must, you can log on to his Webpage.

Call it "the little museum that could," although with 8000 square feet of exhibition space, the Coral Springs Museum of Art hardly lacks for room -- and what a grand display space it is: a series of spacious, interlocking galleries and a light-flooded main showplace that includes a high ceiling and huge plate-glass windows. (Amazingly, it was a gymnasium before it was completely remodeled.) Of all major Broward museums, however, this one has probably had the toughest time establishing itself. In 1994, area millionaire Max Schacknow gave the city a million and a half bucks and a slew of his own art in exchange for housing the Schacknow Museum of Fine Art. But the benefactor didn't get along with museum staff and city officials, who in 1998 basically said to Schacknow, "Here's your money back. Now go away." Since then, director Barbara O'Keefe and a few part-time employees and volunteers have put together increasingly ambitious programming featuring artists as diverse as photographer Clyde Butcher, painter Dalva Duarte, Gullah artist Jonathan Green, and metal sculptors Jane Manus and Rotraut. As a bonus, the museum offers a broad schedule of art classes. Admission is $3 for adults and free for children.

Call it "the little museum that could," although with 8000 square feet of exhibition space, the Coral Springs Museum of Art hardly lacks for room -- and what a grand display space it is: a series of spacious, interlocking galleries and a light-flooded main showplace that includes a high ceiling and huge plate-glass windows. (Amazingly, it was a gymnasium before it was completely remodeled.) Of all major Broward museums, however, this one has probably had the toughest time establishing itself. In 1994, area millionaire Max Schacknow gave the city a million and a half bucks and a slew of his own art in exchange for housing the Schacknow Museum of Fine Art. But the benefactor didn't get along with museum staff and city officials, who in 1998 basically said to Schacknow, "Here's your money back. Now go away." Since then, director Barbara O'Keefe and a few part-time employees and volunteers have put together increasingly ambitious programming featuring artists as diverse as photographer Clyde Butcher, painter Dalva Duarte, Gullah artist Jonathan Green, and metal sculptors Jane Manus and Rotraut. As a bonus, the museum offers a broad schedule of art classes. Admission is $3 for adults and free for children.

When philanthropists Robert and Mary Montgomery bought and restored a grand old art-deco movie house in Lake Worth nearly three years ago, it was a turning point for contemporary art in South Florida. The building had provided space for some adventurous work in its brief incarnation as the Museum of Contemporary Art, and during the 1980s, as the Lannan Museum, it had been home to the impressive collection of J. Patrick Lannan. But under the Montgomerys, it became the Palm Beach Institute of Contemporary Art and charted a course into even more ambitious territory. PBICA has quickly established itself as an institution willing to take enormous risks. Among the highlights: a New Media Lounge and two inaugural shows in 2000 -- a landmark examination of film and video as art and a provocative exhibition that wrenched design elements from their context and repositioned them as art; and last year's large group show of artists from Brooklyn. Oh, and did we mention it's in a really cool building?

When philanthropists Robert and Mary Montgomery bought and restored a grand old art-deco movie house in Lake Worth nearly three years ago, it was a turning point for contemporary art in South Florida. The building had provided space for some adventurous work in its brief incarnation as the Museum of Contemporary Art, and during the 1980s, as the Lannan Museum, it had been home to the impressive collection of J. Patrick Lannan. But under the Montgomerys, it became the Palm Beach Institute of Contemporary Art and charted a course into even more ambitious territory. PBICA has quickly established itself as an institution willing to take enormous risks. Among the highlights: a New Media Lounge and two inaugural shows in 2000 -- a landmark examination of film and video as art and a provocative exhibition that wrenched design elements from their context and repositioned them as art; and last year's large group show of artists from Brooklyn. Oh, and did we mention it's in a really cool building?

OK, so it bills itself as a museum. But this West Broward institution is, in concept and execution, the work of one man. One man who owns, runs, and programs it without having to answer to anyone other than himself -- no pesky board of directors, no temperamental curators, no meddlesome partners. One man who has the chutzpah to stock much of his facility with 2000 or so of his own paintings and drawings. That, to us, translates to gallery more than museum. The man in question, of course, is Max Schacknow, the notorious millionaire artist who offered a $1.5 million museum endowment to the City of Coral Springs a few years ago, then opened his own private showcase in Plantation. Schacknow's critics continually take him to task for his obsession with numbers -- he boasts of his nearly 9000 square feet of display space, his shows of as many as 300 pieces by dozens of artists -- and for an approach to art that can be characterized as catholic, in the sense of comprehensive and all-embracing. But those qualities are exactly what make him an ideal gallery owner. Who else has so much space to show off his own work (much of which is admittedly ordinary but some of which is also quite respectable)? And who else has the temperament to embrace so much work by so many artists in so many highly varied styles? That a lot of the stuff -- both his own and others' pieces -- is mediocre is beside the point, because Schacknow inevitably stumbles onto some gems. So let's let him call his big building a museum, but let's hope he continues to run it more like a gallery.

OK, so it bills itself as a museum. But this West Broward institution is, in concept and execution, the work of one man. One man who owns, runs, and programs it without having to answer to anyone other than himself -- no pesky board of directors, no temperamental curators, no meddlesome partners. One man who has the chutzpah to stock much of his facility with 2000 or so of his own paintings and drawings. That, to us, translates to gallery more than museum. The man in question, of course, is Max Schacknow, the notorious millionaire artist who offered a $1.5 million museum endowment to the City of Coral Springs a few years ago, then opened his own private showcase in Plantation. Schacknow's critics continually take him to task for his obsession with numbers -- he boasts of his nearly 9000 square feet of display space, his shows of as many as 300 pieces by dozens of artists -- and for an approach to art that can be characterized as catholic, in the sense of comprehensive and all-embracing. But those qualities are exactly what make him an ideal gallery owner. Who else has so much space to show off his own work (much of which is admittedly ordinary but some of which is also quite respectable)? And who else has the temperament to embrace so much work by so many artists in so many highly varied styles? That a lot of the stuff -- both his own and others' pieces -- is mediocre is beside the point, because Schacknow inevitably stumbles onto some gems. So let's let him call his big building a museum, but let's hope he continues to run it more like a gallery.

Sure, every gallery and museum has little soirees when they introduce artwork to the public, but most of these consist of violin quartets and a bunch of people dressed in black talking about stuff you've never heard of. Lalush's exhibit openings we can understand. A variety of local bands, from the Livid Kittens to Cous Cous, have played at the gallery, and wine and beer are available by donation; that is not, however, an excuse to only drink for free, wise guy. Couple these advantages with the fact that Lalush features cutting-edge artists -- not the palm trees and sea gulls junk that dominates SoFla art -- and you have a great gallery that offers up some pretty wild times to boot.

Sure, every gallery and museum has little soirees when they introduce artwork to the public, but most of these consist of violin quartets and a bunch of people dressed in black talking about stuff you've never heard of. Lalush's exhibit openings we can understand. A variety of local bands, from the Livid Kittens to Cous Cous, have played at the gallery, and wine and beer are available by donation; that is not, however, an excuse to only drink for free, wise guy. Couple these advantages with the fact that Lalush features cutting-edge artists -- not the palm trees and sea gulls junk that dominates SoFla art -- and you have a great gallery that offers up some pretty wild times to boot.

The West Palm Beach-based Helander remains one of the foremost advocates and practitioners of collage, a mixed-media art form pioneered by Pablo Picasso nearly a century ago. His subtle, complex compositions continue to demonstrate that this widely misunderstood medium is far from exhausting its possibilities. Unlike some of the well-known figures who have dabbled in it and moved on -- including Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg, David Hockney, and Larry Rivers -- Helander has been tenaciously devoted to collage for decades. And his efforts have paid off. His work has been featured in more than 100 solo and group shows over the past two decades, including two notable retrospectives in Broward County, one at Fort Lauderdale's Museum of Art in 1996 and another at the Coral Springs Museum of Art in 2000. Not surprisingly, he has pieces in the collections of such major institutions as the Guggenheim, New York's MoMA and Met, and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, as well as in the private collections of other artists such as Rauschenberg, Rivers, James Rosenquist, and Dale Chihuly. He's also in constant demand as a designer of stage sets, murals, and posters, including, most recently, the official poster for the Palm Beach International Film Festival.

The West Palm Beach-based Helander remains one of the foremost advocates and practitioners of collage, a mixed-media art form pioneered by Pablo Picasso nearly a century ago. His subtle, complex compositions continue to demonstrate that this widely misunderstood medium is far from exhausting its possibilities. Unlike some of the well-known figures who have dabbled in it and moved on -- including Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg, David Hockney, and Larry Rivers -- Helander has been tenaciously devoted to collage for decades. And his efforts have paid off. His work has been featured in more than 100 solo and group shows over the past two decades, including two notable retrospectives in Broward County, one at Fort Lauderdale's Museum of Art in 1996 and another at the Coral Springs Museum of Art in 2000. Not surprisingly, he has pieces in the collections of such major institutions as the Guggenheim, New York's MoMA and Met, and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, as well as in the private collections of other artists such as Rauschenberg, Rivers, James Rosenquist, and Dale Chihuly. He's also in constant demand as a designer of stage sets, murals, and posters, including, most recently, the official poster for the Palm Beach International Film Festival.

In a town where crossing a busy street is more dangerous than the art scene, the loss of Master Jeffrey Holmes is significant. Last October, when Holmes finally made good on his threats to abandon Fort Lauderdale for New Orleans, the small outcast community he helped unite lost its strongest tether. Holmes's fascination with macabre and eerie images (tombstones, bloody roses, black cats, skeletons) manifested itself in some of the most intriguing and challenging art the town had to offer. His Sailboat Bend apartment/gallery, L'Art Noir, was even patronized by Jimmy Page during his convalescence here. But at least the Master went out with a bang at his going-away bash. Anytime a guy creates a life-size, nude self-portrait, sets it on fire, then skips town for good, we're the poorer for it.

In a town where crossing a busy street is more dangerous than the art scene, the loss of Master Jeffrey Holmes is significant. Last October, when Holmes finally made good on his threats to abandon Fort Lauderdale for New Orleans, the small outcast community he helped unite lost its strongest tether. Holmes's fascination with macabre and eerie images (tombstones, bloody roses, black cats, skeletons) manifested itself in some of the most intriguing and challenging art the town had to offer. His Sailboat Bend apartment/gallery, L'Art Noir, was even patronized by Jimmy Page during his convalescence here. But at least the Master went out with a bang at his going-away bash. Anytime a guy creates a life-size, nude self-portrait, sets it on fire, then skips town for good, we're the poorer for it.

Now in its eighth year, this all-purpose, free-form artists' collective is still a gathering spot for whatever avant-garde there may be in the West Palm Beach area. Housed in three connected, enormous Quonset huts -- big enough to be airplane hangars -- on a dead-end street off the Florida East Coast railroad tracks in newly gentrified Flamingo Park, the UA is an umbrella for a rotating menagerie of fabulous freaks. Sometime residents include working artists, an ongoing stream of theatrical productions, the irregularly scheduled Purple Door nights (a performance evening rooted in the Anglo-American expat/draft evader community of '70s Copenhagen), and whatever off-the-wall anomalies may wander through town (like a young anarchists' convention not long ago). Founding patron Alan Patrusevich holds title to the real estate, but as long as something creative is happening, the beer is cold, and nobody's fighting, one and all are welcome. The evenings of theater are often interrupted by passing freight trains, but that's just part of the charm.

Now in its eighth year, this all-purpose, free-form artists' collective is still a gathering spot for whatever avant-garde there may be in the West Palm Beach area. Housed in three connected, enormous Quonset huts -- big enough to be airplane hangars -- on a dead-end street off the Florida East Coast railroad tracks in newly gentrified Flamingo Park, the UA is an umbrella for a rotating menagerie of fabulous freaks. Sometime residents include working artists, an ongoing stream of theatrical productions, the irregularly scheduled Purple Door nights (a performance evening rooted in the Anglo-American expat/draft evader community of '70s Copenhagen), and whatever off-the-wall anomalies may wander through town (like a young anarchists' convention not long ago). Founding patron Alan Patrusevich holds title to the real estate, but as long as something creative is happening, the beer is cold, and nobody's fighting, one and all are welcome. The evenings of theater are often interrupted by passing freight trains, but that's just part of the charm.

Haig's performance in Someone Who'll Watch Over Me (at the Mosaic Theatre in Plantation) was little seen but indelible. An insular literature professor imprisoned in war-torn Beirut, chained in place for the entire play, Haig could barely move, not even stand, but still managed to conjure a moving, nuanced portrait of a limited, conflicted man who discovers a well of strength he never knew existed. As a medieval scholar, Haig's character initially seems the frail one, a man living through his ancient texts in an ivory tower into which harsh reality never makes its way. But Haig reveals a man capable of something more and shows us a strength derived from words, not force. Haig has always chosen intelligent roles, so it's worth your while to choose his performances whenever they pop up.

Haig's performance in Someone Who'll Watch Over Me (at the Mosaic Theatre in Plantation) was little seen but indelible. An insular literature professor imprisoned in war-torn Beirut, chained in place for the entire play, Haig could barely move, not even stand, but still managed to conjure a moving, nuanced portrait of a limited, conflicted man who discovers a well of strength he never knew existed. As a medieval scholar, Haig's character initially seems the frail one, a man living through his ancient texts in an ivory tower into which harsh reality never makes its way. But Haig reveals a man capable of something more and shows us a strength derived from words, not force. Haig has always chosen intelligent roles, so it's worth your while to choose his performances whenever they pop up.

As Max, a spoiled rich kid turned film critic, Tei turned in an over-the-top performance that stole the show, no small feat in a strong cast and strong play. But Tei's done it before, in the fabulous Popcorn last year at GableStage and other productions around town. It was time, however, for Tei to break mold, and this year he did, pushing into new emotional territory in his own Mad Cat Company's dark tale Portrait and as the tortured, sarcastic, vodka-swilling Sergio in New Theatre's Smithereens. Yet Tei's ability to wring humor out of twisted situations is one of his best assets, and as the terminally juvenile Max, he did just that, giving South Florida a genuine treat.

As Max, a spoiled rich kid turned film critic, Tei turned in an over-the-top performance that stole the show, no small feat in a strong cast and strong play. But Tei's done it before, in the fabulous Popcorn last year at GableStage and other productions around town. It was time, however, for Tei to break mold, and this year he did, pushing into new emotional territory in his own Mad Cat Company's dark tale Portrait and as the tortured, sarcastic, vodka-swilling Sergio in New Theatre's Smithereens. Yet Tei's ability to wring humor out of twisted situations is one of his best assets, and as the terminally juvenile Max, he did just that, giving South Florida a genuine treat.

Roza was memorable as a tightly wound professional woman in Manhattan being stalked by a would-be suitor. Her emotional range and willingness to explore the character's ugly sides helped turn Rebecca Gilman's issue-driven potboiler into a dark, troubling character study. We've seen Roza before in other psychological dramas, such as Extremities, where she played a rape victim who turns the tables on the perpetrator, literally and emotionally trapping her tormentor; and in her disturbing performance in Medea Redux (the title tells you something), one of three plays in Bash by Neil Labute, where she revealed a simultaneous vulnerability and hardness that made us remember why watching live performances by talented actors is a riveting experience.

Roza was memorable as a tightly wound professional woman in Manhattan being stalked by a would-be suitor. Her emotional range and willingness to explore the character's ugly sides helped turn Rebecca Gilman's issue-driven potboiler into a dark, troubling character study. We've seen Roza before in other psychological dramas, such as Extremities, where she played a rape victim who turns the tables on the perpetrator, literally and emotionally trapping her tormentor; and in her disturbing performance in Medea Redux (the title tells you something), one of three plays in Bash by Neil Labute, where she revealed a simultaneous vulnerability and hardness that made us remember why watching live performances by talented actors is a riveting experience.

You don't see Bill Cruz around very much anymore. In fact, the last time we spotted him (November 2001), he opened a Little Havana concert for difficult ingénue Cat Power, who suffered an on-stage breakdown that created a most uncomfortable evening for performer and audience alike. But her rather unglamorous self-implosion served to illuminate Cruz's polish and effortlessness. His 1998 release, Three Shades, still stands among South Florida's best indie-folk albums of all time; it's studded with Cruz's poignant, pin-prick guitar work and introspective but never self-obsessive lyrics. The guy can make himself sound like Mark Eitzel or Jeff Buckley, but he's best when he just sounds like himself. If only the cheerfully obscure Cruz would come out of hiding more often.

You don't see Bill Cruz around very much anymore. In fact, the last time we spotted him (November 2001), he opened a Little Havana concert for difficult ingénue Cat Power, who suffered an on-stage breakdown that created a most uncomfortable evening for performer and audience alike. But her rather unglamorous self-implosion served to illuminate Cruz's polish and effortlessness. His 1998 release, Three Shades, still stands among South Florida's best indie-folk albums of all time; it's studded with Cruz's poignant, pin-prick guitar work and introspective but never self-obsessive lyrics. The guy can make himself sound like Mark Eitzel or Jeff Buckley, but he's best when he just sounds like himself. If only the cheerfully obscure Cruz would come out of hiding more often.

Thomas was outstanding as Libby Price, a world-weary black woman adrift in the Southern racial struggles of the 1960s in this interesting production. ("Bee-luther-hatchee" is early 20th-century African-American slang for a faraway, damnable place, the next station after the stop for hell.) This was the New York City-based actress's first stop in South Florida, and her emotionally compelling work was a model of simplicity and clarity and left an indelible mark on the memory. With more such roles, maybe we'll be fortunate enough to see more of Thomas on our stages.

Thomas was outstanding as Libby Price, a world-weary black woman adrift in the Southern racial struggles of the 1960s in this interesting production. ("Bee-luther-hatchee" is early 20th-century African-American slang for a faraway, damnable place, the next station after the stop for hell.) This was the New York City-based actress's first stop in South Florida, and her emotionally compelling work was a model of simplicity and clarity and left an indelible mark on the memory. With more such roles, maybe we'll be fortunate enough to see more of Thomas on our stages.

And the winner is.... Once again, the award goes to Adler for his range of work and the professionalism with which it is produced. From gritty naturalism in the creepy and mind-bending Boy Gets Girl to lyrical musical drama in The Dead to the brilliant absurdism of Edward Albee's The Play About the Baby, Adler moves all over the stylistic map and handles each stop with assurance. His direction is marked by clarity, energy, and a palpable love for the actor's craft. It's no coincidence that many actors shine in his productions. Until someone else manages all this in one season, the crown remains firmly planted on his head.

And the winner is.... Once again, the award goes to Adler for his range of work and the professionalism with which it is produced. From gritty naturalism in the creepy and mind-bending Boy Gets Girl to lyrical musical drama in The Dead to the brilliant absurdism of Edward Albee's The Play About the Baby, Adler moves all over the stylistic map and handles each stop with assurance. His direction is marked by clarity, energy, and a palpable love for the actor's craft. It's no coincidence that many actors shine in his productions. Until someone else manages all this in one season, the crown remains firmly planted on his head.

Who's afraid of putting on Edward Albee? Not GableStage. And this production of the playwright's mind-bending verbal labyrinth was a dizzying, enigmatic tour de force. Strong all around, from Joseph Adler's crisp staging through the tight and engrossing performances (including some nifty work from John Felix and Cynthia Caquelin). Add to the mix the excellent work of Jeff Quinn, Daniela Schwimmer, and Nate Rauch -- for sets/lighting, costumes, and sound, respectively -- and what you get is hard to beat, even if it were competing in a theatrical capital.

Who's afraid of putting on Edward Albee? Not GableStage. And this production of the playwright's mind-bending verbal labyrinth was a dizzying, enigmatic tour de force. Strong all around, from Joseph Adler's crisp staging through the tight and engrossing performances (including some nifty work from John Felix and Cynthia Caquelin). Add to the mix the excellent work of Jeff Quinn, Daniela Schwimmer, and Nate Rauch -- for sets/lighting, costumes, and sound, respectively -- and what you get is hard to beat, even if it were competing in a theatrical capital.

Somogyi gets the nod for her droll, inventive 1950s design scheme, in itself a hilarious social critique. From nightmarish polka dots and pony skirts to her big-shouldered suits for men, the New York City designer brought Red Herring an added level of comedy and social commentary. Somogyi has tailored her craft to this era before. She was the one who dressed up Kathleen Turner as Tallulah Bankhead at the Coconut Grove Playhouse and sent us back, through ball gowns, to 1940s post-war America.

Somogyi gets the nod for her droll, inventive 1950s design scheme, in itself a hilarious social critique. From nightmarish polka dots and pony skirts to her big-shouldered suits for men, the New York City designer brought Red Herring an added level of comedy and social commentary. Somogyi has tailored her craft to this era before. She was the one who dressed up Kathleen Turner as Tallulah Bankhead at the Coconut Grove Playhouse and sent us back, through ball gowns, to 1940s post-war America.

Using an all-white set and a series of mobile screens, Becker created an ever-shifting funhouse of mobile space, a perfect setting for Lee Blessing's elusive, dreamlike comedy that offered director Michael Bigelow Dixon plenty of staging opportunities. The space allowed the play itself to expand into the marvelous production that it was. If you wanted to see how it's done, this was the perfect learning ground.

Using an all-white set and a series of mobile screens, Becker created an ever-shifting funhouse of mobile space, a perfect setting for Lee Blessing's elusive, dreamlike comedy that offered director Michael Bigelow Dixon plenty of staging opportunities. The space allowed the play itself to expand into the marvelous production that it was. If you wanted to see how it's done, this was the perfect learning ground.

More kudos for the little Florida Stage that could. And here's why: Stephen G. Anthony, Patricia Dalen, Suzanne Grodner, Kendra Kassebaum, Johnathan F. McClain, and Gordon McConnell. This outstanding cast served up an endless stream of hilarious yet sometimes touching characters in this black comedy, from Anthony's tortured G-man to Grodner's wacky Mrs. McCarthy (wife of Senator Joe) to Kassebaum's smoldering, sex-hungry good girl. This romp of a production included romance and intrigue, spies and bagmen, nuclear secrets and red scares, hard liquor and clever parody. The cast took the basket of outrageous thematic goodies and ran with spirit, hilarity, wit, and panache. Can't wait for more.

More kudos for the little Florida Stage that could. And here's why: Stephen G. Anthony, Patricia Dalen, Suzanne Grodner, Kendra Kassebaum, Johnathan F. McClain, and Gordon McConnell. This outstanding cast served up an endless stream of hilarious yet sometimes touching characters in this black comedy, from Anthony's tortured G-man to Grodner's wacky Mrs. McCarthy (wife of Senator Joe) to Kassebaum's smoldering, sex-hungry good girl. This romp of a production included romance and intrigue, spies and bagmen, nuclear secrets and red scares, hard liquor and clever parody. The cast took the basket of outrageous thematic goodies and ran with spirit, hilarity, wit, and panache. Can't wait for more.

This Palm Beach County company serves up challenging productions with a nice blend of local and New York City actors and a welcome infusion of talented directors and designers from across the nation. Artistic director Louis Tyrrell has an excellent instinct for play selection and maintains close relationships with several important playwrights. The result is a sophisticated level of theatrical artistry that sets the standard in South Florida. Some highlights this season: the sly and sophisticated comedy Red Herring, set during the McCarthy era (hey, red baiting can be a hoot!), and Lee Blessing's Black Sheep, also a dark comedy that takes aim at racial relations, the idle rich, and insipid pop culture.

This Palm Beach County company serves up challenging productions with a nice blend of local and New York City actors and a welcome infusion of talented directors and designers from across the nation. Artistic director Louis Tyrrell has an excellent instinct for play selection and maintains close relationships with several important playwrights. The result is a sophisticated level of theatrical artistry that sets the standard in South Florida. Some highlights this season: the sly and sophisticated comedy Red Herring, set during the McCarthy era (hey, red baiting can be a hoot!), and Lee Blessing's Black Sheep, also a dark comedy that takes aim at racial relations, the idle rich, and insipid pop culture.

In the old days, the relationship between dining out and a movie was clear and quite sequential. A matinee might lead to dinner, or an 8 o'clock show to a late-night meal, but ne'er the twain met. Videos changed that, however, and the pleasures of chewing and viewing during Hollywood blockbusters are now a living-room standard. Cinema Café is a logical extension of that merger, bringing, in essence, kitchen or restaurant to the screening room. Think you're satisfied with popcorn and Twizzlers? That's like limiting yourself to a lifetime of G-rated films. Try the café's platter of chicken fingers, wings, mozzarella, fried mushrooms, and onion rings for $11.95; it's enough for a small party. For the more veggie-minded, order the spinach and artichoke dip with tortilla chips. Main courses include chicken (BBQ, Cajun, and parmigiana), burgers, and pizza. Wash it down, if you wish, with theater-sanctioned beer or wine.

In the old days, the relationship between dining out and a movie was clear and quite sequential. A matinee might lead to dinner, or an 8 o'clock show to a late-night meal, but ne'er the twain met. Videos changed that, however, and the pleasures of chewing and viewing during Hollywood blockbusters are now a living-room standard. Cinema Café is a logical extension of that merger, bringing, in essence, kitchen or restaurant to the screening room. Think you're satisfied with popcorn and Twizzlers? That's like limiting yourself to a lifetime of G-rated films. Try the café's platter of chicken fingers, wings, mozzarella, fried mushrooms, and onion rings for $11.95; it's enough for a small party. For the more veggie-minded, order the spinach and artichoke dip with tortilla chips. Main courses include chicken (BBQ, Cajun, and parmigiana), burgers, and pizza. Wash it down, if you wish, with theater-sanctioned beer or wine.

Yeah, yeah, we know you've heard it all before: As we've declared for the past two years, the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival is tops. And as the festival approaches its 17th season, that's truer than ever. Organizers like to cite numbers -- how it has grown from 7 days to 28, from 20 or so films to more than a hundred, from 20 screenings to 300, from 1500 in attendance to nearly 70,000. Despite those impressive stats, however, what really distinguishes the festival is its continuing commitment to movies you're highly unlikely to see at any of the megaplex chains. Where else, for instance, could you have seen last year's Soul Bowl, a funky little documentary about a longtime rivalry between two Broward County high school football teams? Or such defiantly noncommercial movies as The Zookeeper, which casts Sam Neill in the title role of a drama set in a war-torn Eastern European country, and The Old Man Who Read Love Stories, which plops Richard Dreyfuss into the Amazon rain forest as an aging Hispanic explorer? Or, for that matter, the extraordinary Australian flick Lantana -- with a startling ensemble cast featuring Anthony LaPaglia, Barbara Hershey, and Geoffrey Rush -- that went on to receive rave reviews nationally but never caught on with audiences or the academy? That's what an international film festival should give us. Let's just hope ours doesn't settle into complacency.

Yeah, yeah, we know you've heard it all before: As we've declared for the past two years, the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival is tops. And as the festival approaches its 17th season, that's truer than ever. Organizers like to cite numbers -- how it has grown from 7 days to 28, from 20 or so films to more than a hundred, from 20 screenings to 300, from 1500 in attendance to nearly 70,000. Despite those impressive stats, however, what really distinguishes the festival is its continuing commitment to movies you're highly unlikely to see at any of the megaplex chains. Where else, for instance, could you have seen last year's Soul Bowl, a funky little documentary about a longtime rivalry between two Broward County high school football teams? Or such defiantly noncommercial movies as The Zookeeper, which casts Sam Neill in the title role of a drama set in a war-torn Eastern European country, and The Old Man Who Read Love Stories, which plops Richard Dreyfuss into the Amazon rain forest as an aging Hispanic explorer? Or, for that matter, the extraordinary Australian flick Lantana -- with a startling ensemble cast featuring Anthony LaPaglia, Barbara Hershey, and Geoffrey Rush -- that went on to receive rave reviews nationally but never caught on with audiences or the academy? That's what an international film festival should give us. Let's just hope ours doesn't settle into complacency.

From the outside, it still looks like a church -- which it was when it was built in 1926. Sixty years after opening, the First Methodist Church was renovated and rechristened the Vinnette Carroll Theatre, an intimate space devoted to showcasing small theatrical productions. In the past two years, with the assistance of Broward County and the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival, it has undergone another transformation, emerging as a sanctuary for those who worship at the altar of offbeat movies. At first, Cinema Paradiso -- the name is an homage to the Oscar-winning 1988 Italian picture about a small-town theater -- had only occasional screenings. But now the upgraded facility features a full slate of weekly programming. And a recently formed partnership with the independent gay and lesbian newspaper the Express led to showings of such acclaimed gay-themed films as the documentaries The Celluloid Closet and Daddy and Papa. Classic foreign-language titles such as Jacques Tati's Mon Oncle, Akira Kurosawa's Ran, François Truffaut's Day for Night, and Eric Rohmer's My Night at Maud's and Claire's Knee have been resurrected, along with such landmark American movies as Nashville and Raging Bull. The theater, which bills itself as Fort Lauderdale's only nonprofit year-round art house, also schedules monthly screenings of the works of local moviemakers trying to break into the business. And to further its cosmopolitan image, Cinema Paradiso includes a tiny café that serves beer, wine, champagne, and light snacks.

From the outside, it still looks like a church -- which it was when it was built in 1926. Sixty years after opening, the First Methodist Church was renovated and rechristened the Vinnette Carroll Theatre, an intimate space devoted to showcasing small theatrical productions. In the past two years, with the assistance of Broward County and the Fort Lauderdale International Film Festival, it has undergone another transformation, emerging as a sanctuary for those who worship at the altar of offbeat movies. At first, Cinema Paradiso -- the name is an homage to the Oscar-winning 1988 Italian picture about a small-town theater -- had only occasional screenings. But now the upgraded facility features a full slate of weekly programming. And a recently formed partnership with the independent gay and lesbian newspaper the Express led to showings of such acclaimed gay-themed films as the documentaries The Celluloid Closet and Daddy and Papa. Classic foreign-language titles such as Jacques Tati's Mon Oncle, Akira Kurosawa's Ran, François Truffaut's Day for Night, and Eric Rohmer's My Night at Maud's and Claire's Knee have been resurrected, along with such landmark American movies as Nashville and Raging Bull. The theater, which bills itself as Fort Lauderdale's only nonprofit year-round art house, also schedules monthly screenings of the works of local moviemakers trying to break into the business. And to further its cosmopolitan image, Cinema Paradiso includes a tiny café that serves beer, wine, champagne, and light snacks.

John Wayne was a fag. He was too, you boys. I installed two-way mirrors at his pad in Brentwood. He came to the door in a dress!

John Wayne was a fag. He was too, you boys. I installed two-way mirrors at his pad in Brentwood. He came to the door in a dress!

Sure, there's the $10 cover charge, and the place is BYOB. But how many other strip clubs are open Monday through Thursday, 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. (and even 9 a.m. Friday and Saturday)? Just be sure to bring enough liquor to last you through the night, and enough cash as well. Lap dances in the back rooms run $25 a pop, and if you bring your girlfriend for a little 2-on-1, they'll still charge you $25 apiece. What's this world coming to? Still, we keep going back to that 8 a.m. number. There's just something to be said for leaving the dance clubs at 4 a.m. and still having someplace to go. Someplace where the women are friendly -- sometimes a bit too friendly -- and the bartenders are still serving. Admittedly, it's your beer they're serving to you, but hey, it's cheaper that way. And yes, you should still tip your bartender. She went through all the trouble of finding your beer among all the others and popping the top. And besides, she's awfully cute. The dance parties on Friday and Saturday nights, plus the 18-and-older age limit, as opposed to the tight-ass 21-and-older limit imposed on most bars, makes this a reasonable after-hours spot for guys and girls alike.

Sure, there's the $10 cover charge, and the place is BYOB. But how many other strip clubs are open Monday through Thursday, 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. (and even 9 a.m. Friday and Saturday)? Just be sure to bring enough liquor to last you through the night, and enough cash as well. Lap dances in the back rooms run $25 a pop, and if you bring your girlfriend for a little 2-on-1, they'll still charge you $25 apiece. What's this world coming to? Still, we keep going back to that 8 a.m. number. There's just something to be said for leaving the dance clubs at 4 a.m. and still having someplace to go. Someplace where the women are friendly -- sometimes a bit too friendly -- and the bartenders are still serving. Admittedly, it's your beer they're serving to you, but hey, it's cheaper that way. And yes, you should still tip your bartender. She went through all the trouble of finding your beer among all the others and popping the top. And besides, she's awfully cute. The dance parties on Friday and Saturday nights, plus the 18-and-older age limit, as opposed to the tight-ass 21-and-older limit imposed on most bars, makes this a reasonable after-hours spot for guys and girls alike.

Broward County boasts more gay bars than Palm Beach and Miami-Dade counties combined, and while most of them welcome lesbians as well as gay men, it's rare to find a place geared primarily to gals. The market is so precarious that when one lesbian bar opens, it seems another closes. That makes Kicks, which opened in 1999, a relative old-timer. It lives up to its claim, "'Sports' is our middle name," by offering four pool tables and four dart alleys. And sporting events are regularly shown on eight satellite TV screens. You'll find ladies of every stripe in the rainbow flag here, from lipstick lesbians to girl-next-door types, coexisting (or competing, as the case may be) in harmony. Men are welcome too, and more than one gay male has confessed to using Kicks as a refuge from male-oriented bars -- as a place where they can have good man-on-man conversations without the distraction of other men cruising them.

Broward County boasts more gay bars than Palm Beach and Miami-Dade counties combined, and while most of them welcome lesbians as well as gay men, it's rare to find a place geared primarily to gals. The market is so precarious that when one lesbian bar opens, it seems another closes. That makes Kicks, which opened in 1999, a relative old-timer. It lives up to its claim, "'Sports' is our middle name," by offering four pool tables and four dart alleys. And sporting events are regularly shown on eight satellite TV screens. You'll find ladies of every stripe in the rainbow flag here, from lipstick lesbians to girl-next-door types, coexisting (or competing, as the case may be) in harmony. Men are welcome too, and more than one gay male has confessed to using Kicks as a refuge from male-oriented bars -- as a place where they can have good man-on-man conversations without the distraction of other men cruising them.

Turnabout is fair play. Strip clubs for men dot the South Florida landscape like royal palms; La Bare is a gutsy attempt toward evening out that number. For those of the fairer sex who crave the sight of buff dudes in scanty duds, your day has come. Consider Israel, a 6-foot-2-inch dancer with dark hair and eyes, whose shtick involves a fur loin cloth and broad sword. Turn-ons: sunrises and champagne. Turnoffs: bad breath. (Girls: pop a minty for that confident feeling.) Groups of ten or more women on Fridays get a complimentary bottle of champagne to go with all the six-packs. Admission is just $10 if bought in advance through the club's Website.

Turnabout is fair play. Strip clubs for men dot the South Florida landscape like royal palms; La Bare is a gutsy attempt toward evening out that number. For those of the fairer sex who crave the sight of buff dudes in scanty duds, your day has come. Consider Israel, a 6-foot-2-inch dancer with dark hair and eyes, whose shtick involves a fur loin cloth and broad sword. Turn-ons: sunrises and champagne. Turnoffs: bad breath. (Girls: pop a minty for that confident feeling.) Groups of ten or more women on Fridays get a complimentary bottle of champagne to go with all the six-packs. Admission is just $10 if bought in advance through the club's Website.

The comfortable songs of Remember the Ocean soothe and calm -- and how many South Florida bands can you say that about? The ochre corridors and smooth wood floors of Ruth, the band's debut, sprawl out like a grandmother's house with a warm scent of home-cooking and a hint of 10,000 Maniacs or the Innocence Mission. Remember the Ocean has clearly come a long way. Earl Coralluzzo's jangly Rickenbacker and Kristin Larkin's full-throttle soul create an inviting coffeehouse acoustic-folk for the new century that's unlike the rest of South Florida's musical tableau. We keep returning to "Warm," with its unforgettable chorus, and the swirling "Summer," the band's de facto theme song. Ruth's nothing if not a square peg in a round hole, but we like the way it fits.

The comfortable songs of Remember the Ocean soothe and calm -- and how many South Florida bands can you say that about? The ochre corridors and smooth wood floors of Ruth, the band's debut, sprawl out like a grandmother's house with a warm scent of home-cooking and a hint of 10,000 Maniacs or the Innocence Mission. Remember the Ocean has clearly come a long way. Earl Coralluzzo's jangly Rickenbacker and Kristin Larkin's full-throttle soul create an inviting coffeehouse acoustic-folk for the new century that's unlike the rest of South Florida's musical tableau. We keep returning to "Warm," with its unforgettable chorus, and the swirling "Summer," the band's de facto theme song. Ruth's nothing if not a square peg in a round hole, but we like the way it fits.

His is not a household name -- not yet, anyway -- but James Paul Wisner's golden ears have certainly made for happy households wherever he has bestowed his magic touch. The crystalline purity of Broward's wonderful Rocking Horse Winner was buffed to a blinding perfection on the band's debut, State of Feeling Concentration, and Wisner extended that courtesy on the sophomore effort, Horizon. The inventive multi-instrumentalist, producer, and engineer (who runs Wisner Productions, his own Davie studio) also suffused Boca Raton's Dashboard Confessional with the translucent elegance that has catapulted its emo-acoustic songs onto the national charts. Stick with him, kids, and you'll go places.

His is not a household name -- not yet, anyway -- but James Paul Wisner's golden ears have certainly made for happy households wherever he has bestowed his magic touch. The crystalline purity of Broward's wonderful Rocking Horse Winner was buffed to a blinding perfection on the band's debut, State of Feeling Concentration, and Wisner extended that courtesy on the sophomore effort, Horizon. The inventive multi-instrumentalist, producer, and engineer (who runs Wisner Productions, his own Davie studio) also suffused Boca Raton's Dashboard Confessional with the translucent elegance that has catapulted its emo-acoustic songs onto the national charts. Stick with him, kids, and you'll go places.

An incredible artist literally peddles his goods in our own back yard but is woefully underappreciated. Par for the course, unfortunately, where bled-dry standards and even less-interesting mendacity can be passed off as jazz music. Recognized internationally as one of the most promising avant-jazz alchemists, Kenny Millions, a.k.a. Keshavan Maslak, is accustomed to performing highbrow gigs abroad. Here at home, however, he spends most of his time at Hollywood's Sushi Blues offering raw fish with an occasional skronk. But the wildly inventive saxophone/clarinet whiz, who has meshed brainpower with the likes of Philip Glass and John Zorn, did offer locals a look and listen this summer with a series of rare live performances on local stages beyond Sushi Blues. The light fare Millions serves with his own Sushi Blues Band is certainly better than a sea urchin surprise but no match for the out-there records he's made with his far weirder pan-Asian trio.

An incredible artist literally peddles his goods in our own back yard but is woefully underappreciated. Par for the course, unfortunately, where bled-dry standards and even less-interesting mendacity can be passed off as jazz music. Recognized internationally as one of the most promising avant-jazz alchemists, Kenny Millions, a.k.a. Keshavan Maslak, is accustomed to performing highbrow gigs abroad. Here at home, however, he spends most of his time at Hollywood's Sushi Blues offering raw fish with an occasional skronk. But the wildly inventive saxophone/clarinet whiz, who has meshed brainpower with the likes of Philip Glass and John Zorn, did offer locals a look and listen this summer with a series of rare live performances on local stages beyond Sushi Blues. The light fare Millions serves with his own Sushi Blues Band is certainly better than a sea urchin surprise but no match for the out-there records he's made with his far weirder pan-Asian trio.