Goods & Services

Yuriy Elimelakh is a craftsman. He learned the skill of cutting, stitching, stretching, and forming the hides of animals into leather shoes, purses, wallets, and upholstery back in his homeland of the Ukraine. For 43 years, he has practiced this art. Five and a half years ago, Elimelakh fled to the United States, and in November 1997, he and his brother, Igor Rozov, set up a shoe repair shop in Gateway Shopping Center. You can trust them to replace a worn heel or put a new half-sole on your favorite pair of boots. They will also make handmade shoes (around $200 a pair). "Just bring a picture," Elimelakh said. They make orthopedic shoes and can repair leather jackets, upholster leather sofas, and even sharpen scissors and knives.

OK, so you have to brave the maze of stop signs and curvy streets known as Oakwood Square to get to Movies 4 Sale. And yes, you must navigate Oakwood's seemingly endless array of strip malls until you find the one that houses this little hole-in-the-wall store. (Tip: Enter the complex from Stirling Road instead of Sheridan Street.) That's a small price to pay to enter movie heaven. We're talking roughly 40,000 titles on VHS, another 10,000 on DVD. Some are new, for those of you who have to be the first on your block with the latest releases. But the vast majority are used, and the prices on most are insanely low. We're talking low as in 99 cents for VHS movies missing their original packaging. The real bargains are in the bins right up front, where you'll rarely pay more than $2.99 per title. The rest of the inventory is arranged both alphabetically and by price, with the most expensive DVDs topping out at $24.99. And the selection is vast, from mainstream blockbusters to obscure independent features to foreign-language films. If you don't see what you're looking for, just ask. One of the friendly clerks will check to see if it's in stock, and if it's not, you can special-order it. Oh, and you can also sell your used videos here.

Cary Hoffman and his wife, Robin, started this family-owned biz back in 1992. Robin went back to teaching physical education at West Hollywood Elementary, but Cary just kept on swimmin' and sellin'. They took on one partner in 2001, another early this year, and they now run Tony's Pools in Cooper City, as well as Downtown Pools in Fort Lauderdale. They also service about 1,400 pools through a separate business. The prices are reasonable -- a 2.5 gallon jug of chlorine runs you $2.90 -- and they have just about anything you need, from cheap paper filters to pump motors. They'll resurface your pool too. But the best thing about Pool Depot is Cary. Give him a few ounces of water and he can tell you what's wrong in a flash. Several times, we have tried to buy expensive widgets or chemicals, and he's stopped us cold. "You don't need that, bucko. Try the cheap, um... make that 'reasonably priced' one." Even better, he has a sense of humor that would make Morey Amsterdam blush. "Put that in your Beemer," he tells us on each and every visit as we walk toward our broken-down Honda. "Nice caaaaaaar." Asked for a joke recently, however, he would say only, "I can't. I can't. My wife would kill me, ladies and germs." The place is open 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Saturday, and 9 a.m. to noon on Sunday.

Living in Florida, you've probably got a neighbor or an aunt or just some old retiree you see all the time with a dog hanging out of her purse. Trust me, she didn't like those leather pants you bought her last birthday. What she wants is her little pooch in a mini fleece cowboy hat, with a matching corduroy jacket and a rhinestone-studded collar imported from Paris. You can get all that at Paws on the Avenue, which caters to the rich Palm Beachers who treat their dogs better than they do their children. The store is a haven for those obsessed with Fido's comforts. For god's sake, the place has aromatherapy sessions for dogs, holds a Halloween contest for dressed-up pets, and arranges birthday parties with canine-only guests. This year, buy that dog-obsessed friend the newest fad: raw dog food. The chunks of veggies and raw animal parts are supposedly more like what dogs would've eaten if (gasp) out on their own. Just skip the gift wrap.

If you like video games, if you're a serious user, you're looking at serious bucks going to that addiction. It's never good enough, and the marketers are geniuses at creating the "next best thing." It's done in a laboratory in some secret location. The day you buy the next best thing, the next next best thing is three days from hitting the market. In a numbing whirlwind, you go from Sega Genesis to Nintendo to Super Nintendo to Nintendo 64 to Playstation to the Xbox to Game Cube to Playstation 2. And it all started with Atari, if you go back that far, which at the time seemed so harmless, a simple recreational toy. It's time to break the cycle. Give it up. Hold onto your Sega or your Nintendo 64 and swear off the Playstation 2 mainline. GameStop is there to help you. It's got hundreds and hundreds of used games to choose from -- dating all the way back to Sega Genesis -- and those games you never played are still good enough to get you through that dark night. Better, they go from $5 to $40 tops, instead of the standard $75 or more you pay for the new ones. It's a national chain, and the hole-in-the-wall stores can be found all over the place. There are like a dozen in Broward (the above address is simply the most centrally located) and a handful in Palm Beach. To find the store nearest you, look it up at www.gamestop.com. It's the first step to recovery. But it's tempting -- the store also has a killer collection of all the newest shit. Walk by it, man, just walk by it.

Remember those old Impulse commercials? "When a man you've never met before suddenly gives you flowers..." Recall that scene for a moment: Busy street, neighborhood florist, woman with great legs, a kicky skirt, and a convenient gust of wind, blushing as she receives an unexpected bouquet. Now remember the inside of that flower shop. A smiling florist behind a cash register hurriedly hands the would-be suitor a bunch of long-stemmed blooms. Romance would never have blossomed had it not been for that neighborhood florist and his quick, bouquet-wielding hands. The Posie Patch in Wilton Manors is that neighborhood florist. Well, maybe not that neighborhood florist, but it's a neighborhood florist, and a damn good one at that. It's small and unintimidating but has a great selection. The employees are knowledgeable and friendly both in person and over the phone. The floral creations are expertly rendered and, for those not-so-impulsive types, they deliver anywhere in Broward County. But if you start chasing strangers down the street with flowers, be ready to explain yourself. Some might consider that behavior not so much impulsive as it is creepy.

There are only so many places a man can talk about a 5/8-inch male pipe going into a 1/2-inch female fitting with a straight face. "We just need to find an adapter for the female end," concluded the conversation recently at George's, a hardware store whose employees thrive on such dilemmas. Here, you won't find any employees wearing orange smocks or aisles taller than your house. In fact, the whole store, at 8,000 square feet, is probably smaller than the average Home Depot aisle. But George's has survived for 64 years by positioning a pool of long-time employees by the front door who will go get that hammer you need rather than sending you down some cavernous aisle on a two-day search.

True to its name, this furniture and accessories store is an assault on the senses. Walk into this massive space and you're bombarded with the sounds of fountains, the scents of potpourri, and all sorts of tactile temptations. And the sights? Well, let's just say the store, which spans 6,000 square feet, carries about an item per foot. This space, located in the Festival Flea Market, brims with character. It's sort of an interior designers' tropical theme park, with everything from towering silk trees and the largest selection of room dividers that we've seen to wooden bedroom sets with dressers that resemble stacked suitcases. There's also lots of fun stuff that no one needs but everyone wants, like a miniature London phone booth and a Blues Brothers statue. Or miniature flower carts, mosaic mirrors, little seedballs, bamboo trays, and animal carvings. The best part is the price: You'll find stuff here from 99 cents (a funky keychain) to $5,500 (a sleigh bed). Visit often -- new inventory arrives almost daily.

In a nondescript building on Broward Boulevard, Habitat for Humanity of Broward County opened a nifty thrift store of home repair, building supplies, and interior furnishings about two-and-a-half years ago. Boxes of bathroom tile, ceiling fans, interior and exterior doors, some as cheap as $10, are lined up along one wall; sinks, tubs, and patio furniture fill an outdoor area; and a changing mixture of lamps, coffee tables, headboards, and such are displayed in a cluttered showroom. Sometimes stuff is marked down to move, like the day a sign scrawled on a sheet of paper announced a sale on paint: two gallons for $5. A bargain, no matter how you paint it. Furniture stores and contractors drop off stuff regularly as donations, so it pays to check in periodically. For a long time, one aisle in the outdoor yard was a tangle of wrought-iron patio tables (minus the glass). Then they were all gone. On another occasion, a surfeit of pretty white linen lampshades spilled through the interior, stacked on television consoles and dining room tables and filling overstuffed chairs.

Every dog owner at some point has faced the following dilemma: Leave the party early or let Spike poop on the Pergo. Ergo, not only is pet-sitter extraordinaire Shirley Mitchell your pet's best friend -- she's yours too. Mitchell, who daily wakes at 5 a.m. and sometimes works until midnight, began creature-sitting in 1987, after throat cancer took her beloved cat, Sammy. Heartbroken, she vowed never again to love another animal. Then a friend, a vet technician, called Mitchell for help: The office had no room for boarding. Could she dog-sit? "She thought I'd find it therapeutic, and I did," says Mitchell, who per day charges anywhere from $25 to $40, depending upon services and location. "Soon, I was getting all sorts of referrals from people, and it took off from there." Flash-forward 16 years: Mitchell has walked, fed, and otherwise pampered not just dogs and cats but fish, turtles, birds, ferrets, and the occasional skunk. She takes pets to the vet and drops them at the groomer; plays with them and takes them for car rides; administers medicines and changes wee-wee pads. Then there are those crazy Malteses: She once had to rock one to sleep; she rescued another after it tangled its leash in a second-floor stair railing and nearly became a fur rug. The bottom line: The woman is trustworthy. Want proof? She's got more than 75 keys to clients' homes on her ring. And she's busy, busy. Which is why squeezing into her schedule is as likely as teaching a gerbil to moonwalk.

In times like these, we could all use a big honkin' hit of peace. In fact, one has to imagine that if a few of our fearless leaders were content to curl up on the couch in front of the tube (preferably a nice handmade double-blown color-changing glass tube!), there might be a lot less trouble in this world. So when we need help facilitating that peaceful, easy feeling, we turn to the small and friendly Peace Pipe, where you'll get a free lighter, screens, or pack of papers with your purchase. To its credit, the Pipe isn't clogged with non-necessities that have nothing whatsoever to do with dope-smoking: Colorized dancing bears, crystal unicorns, and their useless ilk are kept to a bare minimum. Instead, the store augments its killer pipe 'n' bong selection with more than 200 brands of rolling papers, so you can twist up a variety of doobies to take to your next PTA meeting, Lamaze class, or protest rally. Peace out, brothers and sisters.

Ironically (conveniently?) located alongside I-95 in a strip of stores that includes three bridal shops and Scarlett's strip club, from the outside, Spice of Life Novelties is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of place. But inside, it's an emporium of sexual delights worthy of late-night Amsterdam. The front section of the store holds an array of Spencer Gifts-style trinkets -- dirty greeting cards, Hop-a-Long Peters, boob sippy cups, that sort of thing. But as you wander deeper into the store, the merchandise gets more risqué. In the costume section, it all seems kind of cute at first: French maid uniforms, modified military get-ups, and tiger-striped cat suits. But before you know it, your fingers are dancing across racks of strap-on-ready unitards and dominatrix uniforms complete with cat-o'-nine-tails and whips. It's a fetish paradise. Emboldened by all that you've seen, you mount (tee hee hee) the stairs, at the top of which you find thousands of vibrators, butt plugs, and anal probes. Synthetic vaginas vie for your attention. Penis pumps, make-your-own-dildo kits, double dongs, ben wah balls, and flavored body spreads sit in boxes bearing boastful statements like "With Real Hair" and "Feels Like Real Skin." It's enough to transform a plain, vanilla orgy into one with lots of batteries and a few guys in priest frocks. Or enough for wayward brides and strippers to, well, spice up their lives.

From the pull-up driveway area outside the Patio Verde food court, covered for rainy days, to the emergency call boxes throughout the sprawling parking lot and the children's play area, these are some of the conveniences that are hard to come by at local malls. The newest full-size mall in Palm Beach County greets you with its Mediterranean-style grand lobby dotted with leather sofas and roomy armchairs that rival those found in the lobby of a five-star hotel. Meander through the spacious, multicolored marble-tiled hallways and use one of the many crossover walkways to get to a store without having to circle an entire wing of the mall. Sniff out bargains beforehand with the mall's weekly e-mail bulletin on its website. The e-mail gives you a heads-up on sales and promos from the mall's stores of your choice. Bring out-of-towners who've trekked at least 50 miles and you both get a "Passport to Happiness" savings booklet.

Just moved to Florida from Alaska and fallen in love with that cloud-like purple flowering tree you see everywhere? Got spots on the orchids? Worms in the tomatoes? Scared of repotting? Need some advice on salt-tolerant landscaping? Or on native plants? Volunteers at the state's county extension service to the rescue. Master Gardeners have completed an intensive course of study and are available five days a week from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. to answer your gardening and plant questions. It's a well-used service. The office in Palm Beach took more than 160,000 phone calls last year. But when you talk to one of the Master Gardeners, you never feel rushed. They treat you as though you are the only tragic plant killer in the world, and then they give you advice that just might be life-transforming.

OK, we're all just a little sick of Van Gogh, Klimt, that French poster with the black cat on it, and the black-and-white photograph of workers high above New York City while building Rockefeller Center. Don't get us wrong -- these are all wonderful little pieces of art and history, but they're spent like the latest radio track from Coldplay. We're looking for something unique and new (as possible in this corporate mass-produced world) to throw up on our walls, so we go to Art and Beyond in the Galleria Mall. The place has a huge selection of art and landscapes and photographs. There are all sorts of contemporary artists and great

vintage kitsch ads and movie posters. The last time we strolled into the store, we left with two prints that give you

an idea of the range of the place: an abstract painting of horseracing by Veloy Vigil and the Lolita poster from Stanley Kubrick's 1962 classic. But

I'm not going into any more detail

here. Half the fun is losing yourself a little while flipping the stacks to see what's next.

Bob's is crammed with books for which the public is not clamoring (witness the large section on survivalism and weaponry), laden with kinky sex material that some customers might find off-putting (see whips for sale on display above the cash register), and its shelves are fraught with arcane literary magazines and poetry quarterlies whose readership comprises a paper-thin segment of the reading public. Bob's (the store's namesake departed more than 30 years ago, leaving Sherry Steinberg and Seth and Bonnie Cohen to carry on) is the creation of bonafide bibliomaniacs, i.e., people who own their own shop and put in it what they want, best-seller lists and massive monthly returns be damned. In a place where the literary selection includes Girlyhead, Bitch, and Wonka Vision as well as Granta and Zoetrope, riffling yields gold. To find Atlantic Monthly, one pushes aside a copy of Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho and sorts through overlapping copies of Zink, Razor, Vellum, and American Cowboy before finding it in the business section near the Harvard Business Review, Vending Times, and the tantalizing Minnesota Law & Politics. And, yeah, it's true, you can find some of this stuff at your local big-box bookstore. And there you can carry the magazine to the little café, buy a latte and an overpriced muffin, take a seat, and read to your heart's content. But doesn't it bother you just a little that some wonk sensed that the predilections of bookish intellectual introverts, such as yourself, could be marketed to the masses? And that they turned out to be right? Bob's doesn't sell lattes. It doesn't have a café. There's a park bench outside the front door. And somehow, in our overengineered retail landscape, that's comforting.

We're warning you now: Loehmann's is not a place to go if you've got 20 minutes to kill. Or if you plan on "just looking." But, girlfriend, if you've got a few hours (minimum) to spare and cash to burn, well, you're in for a shopping experience bordering on orgasmic. We're talking prices slashed up to 65 percent on Valentino, Donna Karan, Calvin Klein, Fendi, Betsey Johnson, and other designers. Need a sporty outfit for next week's brunch? You'll find it here. A slick suit for a job interview? Ditto. Jaw-dropping cocktail dress? Oh yeah. Our favorite part of the store is the Back Room, where the fanciest frocks are stored. By the way, you'll also find some men's clothes, as well as designer purses, jewelry, lingerie, perfumes, and shoes. By the way, according to the store's style aficionados, this season it's all about pink, be it a T-shirt or pair of earrings. Happy shopping.

Think every Publix is the same? Well, think again. All Publixes (or is it Publii?) may have the standard supermarket fare -- a produce section, dairy, butcher, breads -- basically a section for all of the food groups, with various household goods and junk food filling the gaps. A few stores have a good deli section. But how many boast a food court and full-time sushi chefs? Landlocked Tamarac may not have a lot going for it, but the residents of this suburb can at least point to their Publix with pride. As urban sprawl begins to crawl outward, those of us who remain in the city will have to put up with ever-more-shameful excuses for Publixes as the new stores being built out west make ours look like Third World marketplaces.

There's not really anything practical about an eight-inch platform heel. It's clunky, hard to walk in, even dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. But tack that baby onto a pair of lucite slides or some go-go boots and you've got the only uniform you need to work in any of South Florida's strip clubs. Daniel Rose realizes this. The shoe designer and salesman says he worked his way across the country, selling stripper shoes from California to New York, before realizing how much money he could make down here. Rose sells both custom-made and mass-marketed Lucite, metal, and wooden-heeled shoes out of his East Commercial Boulevard shop, but only to the customers he likes. Think of him as the shoe Nazi. If you've given Rose a hard time in the past by trying to bargain him down or wasted his time by browsing but not buying, he'll remember your face and won't even unlock the door to the store when you ask him to buzz you in. But if he really likes you, he'll even let you into the back room of the shop where he sells the costumes that go with the shoes. There's nothing practical about these either, but if you're buying neon-green translucent mules with eight- or nine-inch heels, you're probably not the practical type.

If one lives in Florida long enough, he eventually crosses a line in his insufferable Northeastern or Midwestern aesthetic elitism. One marker is when you start to appreciate the cheesy excesses of tourist chic, deeply appreciate it. Have touches of Florida begun creeping into your life? Do palm Christmas ornaments seem right somehow? Seashell figurines suddenly appear cute instead of horrifying? Don't be afraid. Cheese is its own reward, and Jezebel's has a coconut load of these sorts of doodads, albeit in upscale versions, to feed your new appetite. So if you now understand why dashboard hula girls... and boys... are appropriate Florida kitsch even though they are technically Hawaiian, welcome, you've finally arrived. One of South Florida's premier vintage-clothing stores, Jezebel's also has vintage bark-cloth curtains, orange-scented soaps and candles, map-of-Florida potholder mitts, and surfer-girl nightlights. 'Nuff said?

Yes, the folks behind the counter at CD Warehouse are well-aware that their shop smells like donuts (blame the thin wall separating them from next-door Dunkin). No, you can't use the bathroom, so please don't ask. However, feel free to hit these music fiends with any and all questions -- if they don't know the answer, they'll find someone who does. CD Warehouse does an admirable job of buying mostly obscure, hard-to-find collectibles, keeping a steady stream of used stuff mingling with the big sellers. It's almost impossible for small independent retailers such as this to keep pace with department stores and online shopping, but CD Warehouse survives by taking in secondhand artifacts (we found Legendary Pink Dots and Violet Indiana on one visit) and offering them to the next savvy shopper -- keeping the circle of cool alive.

Guy pulls into a garage with his flat left-rear tire in his trunk and his "donut" spare nearly flat barely keeping his car rolling. A shaven-headed, goateed mechanic beckons him to an open bay, then jumps out with the flat-repair kit and the pneumatic thingy that removes lugnuts. (Hey, if the guy in question knew what that thingy was really called, he wouldn't be taking his car to a freakin' garage, now would he? So shut up.) The mechanic removes the offending drywall screw from the tire, patches it, then removes the donut (using the thingy, which makes that high-pitch whining noise, evoking the pits at Talladega), inflates it, and sets it aside. He then replaces the patched tire (more thingy noises), inflates it, then even puts the donut back in the guy's trunk. Guy says, "How much?" "Five bucks," the mechanic says.

"I don't have any cash," the guy says, pulling out his credit card.

"Ah, forget it," says the mechanic, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

Dumbfounded, the guy stammers, "Thanks, man," and drives off.

And that, dear readers, is how a garage wins Best Of two years in a row.

While most antiques stores are satisfied to offer the customer all manner of metal lunch boxes, dated political buttons, incomplete sets of china, and old movie and music posters, Bobby V's means business. Sure, there's a few of those outdated doodads here and there, but most of the store is given over to antiquated furnishings. Here you'll find dressers, armoires, and headboards, without all the machine-made trim on the tables and chairs you'd find at Rooms to Go. One oaken armoire dates back to the turn of the century. A chest appears to be Edwardian, while another might be Victorian, and several other pieces look as if they could be named after English royalty as well. The faint of heart, or perhaps more accurately, the faint of wallet, may want to stay away, but if you yearn for the sort of quality craftsmanship that just can't be found in today's assembly-required world, Bobby has got the furnishings for you. Just keep your grubby mitts off that tan globe in the cherry-wood setting with the stylishly old-world map on it. We've got dibs on that, as soon as we save up a paycheck or three.

Easy Rider has know-how, not attitude. And it wants to share. For the mechanically impaired novice cyclist, that's critical. The shop will sell you a bike rack and take the time to show you how to fit your bike into it -- several times, if necessary. Or explain how to make sure the wheel of your ten-speed is clamped into the bike frame correctly. Tires a little flat? Need a gel pack for your seat? Tips on cycling aerodynamics? They'll give it up. Every Saturday at 7 a.m. the shop organizes a 35-mile bike ride to Weston and back. Some speed the distance; others take it at a more leisurely pace.

What makes the Adult Video Warehouse stand out from the puerile pack of porn purveyors? It's an adult playground stocked with all the nifty little toys that the inventive minds in Hong Kong and Germany could dream up. A huge section is devoted to videos and DVDs, exploring every sexual subgenre imaginable, including amateur, antique, big boobs, interracial, fetish, foreign, gay, transsexual, spanking, girl/girl, and the ever-popular four-hour marathon compilation. For those who prefer to turn sticky pages instead of hitting the fast-forward button, magazines run the gamut from the local Pynk Pages to swingers rags to the lovingly photographed European coffeetable tomes. The selection of toys is massive and diverse. One room is devoted to instruments of bondage, with enough gadgets to stock a medieval dungeon to any marquis' or slave's contentment. No fewer than ten types of riding crops are available as well as some furniture that can never be displayed in the front parlor. For the ladies, lingerie, gowns, candles, cards, potions, and lotions are spread out in the well-lighted, clean, and airy showroom. The floor is carpeted, the atmosphere pleasant, the neighborhood safe, and the parking not only convenient but discreet. The staff is knowledgeable, and most appear to be enthusiastic users of most of the stuff on display. A couple can spend an evening wandering through the 'House in shocked delight, moving from one section to another as they repeatedly discover new ways to explore their sexuality.

Although its record section has been a bit stingy lately, what with all of the "no store credit for this CD" stickers on all the good stuff, the book section of this shop remains a bastion of hard-to-find literature. One recent foray revealed a 1950s edition of Machiavelli's The Prince, with a forward that compared Machiavellian politics to the spread of Communism. And if Red Scare literature isn't your thing, something else is bound to catch your eye. This used-book store has nearly as many topics as your local library -- gardening, cooking, travel, and many others. While some of the sections may be a bit thin (What's this? Only half of one shelf dedicated to astronomy? What would Carl Sagan say?), the more popular areas, such as sci-fi, sprawl from shelf to shelf, and rare is the book that costs more than a couple of bucks. Such a cheap way to wile away a few hours -- and haven't you already watched enough TV?

If you haven't met a bead fanatic yet, you likely soon will, because beading is a pastime/avocation/addiction that's sweeping America like t'ai chi did in the 1990s. These aficionados eschew the jewelry and handbags offered by chain outlets and now fashion their own originals. Many of the young women who've taken up beading -- and Best Beads offers an array of classes -- contend it's a type of craftwork they were never exposed to while growing up because their working mothers had neither the time for it nor interest in it. It's also a sign of the times, judging by the explosive growth of Bead Need, which claims to possess the largest inventory of bugle, stone, pony, seed, and crystal beads in South Florida. After the September 11 attacks in New York City and Washington, D.C., droves of newbies began showing up at the store to buy red, white, and blue beads to fashion American-flag brooches and pins. Many became devotees.

Here's a mystery for you: What is it about South Florida that seems to sprout mystery writers? Do they come here as poets and experimental novelists and turn to the mystery-and-murder genre after hearing of bodies wrenched from the muck of the Everglades or loads of cocaine or human cargo found in the belly of cargo ships? Or is it the heat of the climate that makes for murderous thoughts? It's interesting that one of the few independent bookstores to survive the Bordering and Barnes-and-Nobling of the book business is a niche store specializing in mysteries and suspense. Owner Joanne Sinchuck, who moved Murder on the Beach from South Beach to Delray Beach in December 2002, stocks a wealth of Florida mystery writers, including Edna Buchanan, John Lantigua, and Carolina Garcia-Aguilera. And the store hosts weekly discussions, author signings, and such.

Nestled in a most unlikely place a couple blocks north of downtown, Lauderdale Lumber is a time warp back to the days before cavernous megastores. The store is notable for what it doesn't have: dozens of aisles of patio furniture, lawn equipment, houseplants, commodes, appliances, and a glut of other items that have nothing to do with a modest building project. Instead, 20 paces into Lauderdale Lumber, you're looking at boards. Open boxes of screws and bolts are stacked according to size along a few rows. Forget prepackaged cartons that contain superfluous amounts; if you need only one 9-cent bolt, that's all you have to buy. Same with nails, which are sold in bulk out of old-fashioned sheet-metal bins. Even the building is anachronistic, a hoary brick affair with exposed wood rafters. Like that other bygone institution, the neighborhood hardware store, Lauderdale Lumber also offers a basic array of home improvement tools, door hardware, glues, and molding. Your pappy would be right at home.

All right, kids, get your minds out of the gutter! Crystal Visions creates handmade glasswares, not low-budget porn. Their 2,000-degree oven, known as the Glory Hole (hey, that's enough outta you!), heats and reheats all the prospective pieces. As one of South Florida's only glass-blowing studios, it caters to an array of customers. From stylish ashtrays and elegant dishes to stained-glass windows, this one-stop glass studio delivers speedy service at reasonable prices.

Need toys? Why visit a colossal chain store that practically requires a map to navigate (we're talking three aisles just for Barbie's shoes) when there's a cool little place like the Explorer Store? The shop, located in the Museum of Discovery & Science, sells all sorts of creative games, toys, and gadgets designed to provide challenging fun. The Build Your Own Volcano kit ($15) helps kids create actual eruptions using baking soda and vinegar. Another kit teaches children to build clocks out of vegetables. Then there's the always-popular Make Your Own Slime kit. "Kids really love that kind of thing because it's green, messy, and gross," says the store's Carol Villaverde. "And because they get to eat it." Speaking of which, the astronaut ice cream ($2.50) is rather tasty; it comes freeze-fried in a foil pouch, in napoleon and ice cream-sandwich flavors. You'll also find sea monkeys (actually brine shrimp), stuffed manatees and sea turtles, dinosaurs, books, puzzles, and the like. The shop, located across from the atrium at the museum's entrance, also sells toys that complement whatever IMAX film is showing at the time, as well as DVDs and videos of the film. The Explorer Store sees about 300 kids a day, all visiting on school field trips. But why should your child have to wait until then?

The name pretty much says it all. This store sells one thing and one thing only: bridal headpieces. Whether you favor a comb, tiara, or headband and want it beaded, jeweled or filigreed, you'll find it here. Think your mind is spinning with wedding details already? Just wait until the ridiculously patient salespeople painstakingly assess your head shape, hair style, face shape, and veil predilections to determine exactly whether you're the high ornate crown or simple barrette type. Just grin, bear it, and keep telling yourself you have to do this only once.

When Ray Oktavec was in the rag biz, he boasted $6 million sales. If Wal-Mart wanted embroidery on that sleeveless shirt, he'd get it done. But this v.p. changed shirts just after the economy tanked. Then on September 11, 2001, he was on his way to New York City to do business for Beverly Hills Polo Club clothing company. His plane was forced to turn around, and soon the company went under, taking his job with it. So now, in a building off South Andrews Avenue, gutted and remodeled into a warehouse-size space, he and his wife, Barby, deal in antiques and ornamental architectural salvage. Although the goods have changed, Oktavec still exercises a finely tuned eye in selecting merchandise and in reading the marketplace. Eastside stocks some stunning finds. From an estate in southern Dade County, he purchased an elaborately worked wrought-iron door that features an image of Cuba's patron saint Virgen de la Caridad (Our Lady of Charity). The Oktavecs gleaned a liberal range of stained glass from England, including stacks of small pub windows and a giant five-pane window decorated with delicate turquoise panes. Amid the antiques and high-end salvage are ideas a handyman could carry home for giving old objects new uses: benches fashioned from antique iron and wooden headboards, a wrought-iron horse feeder turned into a planter, and old doors given new life as murals.

Natural Selections sells strange plants. There are plants here with blossoms so luxurious they should come with parental advisories. The voodoo lily is pornography, though, plain and simple, with its thick fecund and penile-like stamen emerging from a delicately curled and vulvate flower. Other plants don't so much sex you as scare you. Natural Selections sells lurid monster versions of innocuous backyard plants so common as to have become vegetative wallpaper here in South Florida. Witness the sea grape. This protected plant with saucer-sized leaves and snarled trunk is everywhere -- growing into an impressive tree alongside A1A or taking on a tangled form close to the ground as it climbs over dunes or keeps a red mangrove company close to shore. At Natural Selections, they sell the Colossus of sea grapes, a variety whose leaves grow to about four feet in diameter. And that's not the nursery's behemoth. Nooooo. When the Borneo giant unfurls, its elephant ear plant-like leaf becomes a king-size bed of green, six feet wide and ten feet long. Natural Selections sold its wares for two years online until earlier this year. Now you can wander through the feverish greenery in a compound off South Andrews Avenue. Contemplate the 12-inch whiskers of a white bat plant. Admire the dramatic red spine of a red sealing wax palm. Languish with a vanilla orchid. Lose your dread of the corporal coil. Closed Mondays and Tuesdays.

How many places give you the chance to shop for bargains and help some kid get a college scholarship? While philanthropy probably isn't what drives the hundreds who flock to the Lake Worth High School Flea Market each weekend, it is the driving force behind the oddly placed open-air shopping court that offers everything from fresh tomatoes to foreign flags to deeply discounted name-brand clothes to irresistible garage-sale fare. One hundred percent of the money collected from vendors goes directly to the high school scholarship fund, organizer Betty Brown says proudly. Since it first opened under the towering Interstate 95 overpass at Lake Worth Road in the mid-1980s, the flea market has raised more than $1 million for scholarships, she says. But in truth, those who visit the market, open from 4 a.m. to 3 p.m. every Saturday and Sunday, could care less. Like flea market junkies everywhere, it's the chance to get a good deal on a pair of Ray-Bans, pick up some fresh produce, take home a $25 dresser, or just stroll around with a cup of coffee and chat that brings them back time and again. The rumble of 18-wheelers and the occasional squeal of brakes overhead gives the market a special appeal. The urban shade from that freeway structure makes a trip to the flea market cool, even when the weather, like the promise of bargains, is hot.

We're not about to say that it's impossible to find some chic retro threads at your local thrift store. The problem with the armies of salvation is that looking for that one choice shirt often turns into a hunt for the proverbial needle in a haystack. One must pore over piles upon piles of leisure suits just to find that one shirt that says, "I am just dated enough to be completely hip." For those too lazy for this sort of odyssey -- or for those who would rather have more options in their vintage clothes -- consignment shops are probably the way to go. After all, most folks are greedy enough to say to themselves, "Why give away this stuff when I might be able to get some money out of it?" And if you're planning on going the consignment route, you need to start with Lucille's. The store seems like the haunted mansion of the Ghost of Styles Past. Here, you'll find dresses from 60 years ago, suits from the 1970s, and a whole slew of shirts whose history stretches far back into the 20th Century. They say if you keep something long enough, it'll come back in style. Well, no matter which decade has returned to prominence, you can depend upon finding the representative clothing at Lucille's -- assuming we don't all decide to start wearing breeches and surcoats again.

Ocean breezes ruffle the yoga mats of a group of women who are kneeling and stretching, and a trainer in the bustling gym with an ocean view guides a spa guest as she does crunches on an ab ball. The immaculate 140-acre oceanfront resort seems fitting for a spa that offers 13 different massage therapies, 12 facial and eye treatments, and 11 body wraps and scrubs. Outside of Paris, this is the only spa to offer Guerlain skin care services developed by the Guerlain Institut de Beauté in Paris. Too many choices? Make it easy with a package such as the Tropical Escape -- herbal citrus bath, citrus body polish, 50-minute Swedish massage with citrus oil in the comfort of your spa suite. Or make up your own Suite Dream package that includes a body treatment, specialty bath, and 50-minute massage. The spa's pristine facilities are available to hotel guests and those who buy at least a 50-minute facial.

Stevie Moon comes by his tattoo talent genetically. He learned the art from his mother, Juli Moon, who runs a tattoo parlor in Seabrook, New Hampshire. Son Moon is a master of the technical needlework of tattooing, but he also understands it as a graphic art. He wants the image to pop. He accomplishes that through structure of the image, by using the traditional black outline. But he also catches the eye with his artistry. Moon creates his own images. He does replications from artwork clients bring to him. A sleepy-eyed bodhisattva he tattooed onto the forearm of one client in pale green is rendered with a rare sophistication.

Ow -- this hurts. A nefarious chain selected as the area's finest representative of a retail establishment where independence is a virtue? Yes, 'tis true. Since mom-and-pop record stores haven't been able to mount stiffer competition in these parts, Border's Books, Music & Café wins because: (1) it sports the most comprehensive and complete new compact disc selection in Broward; (2) the staff would be working at a cool, hip indie store if there were a decent one around; since there isn't and they don't want to wear ties, they punch a clock here; (3) if we can't have housecats lounging around on hand-built bins under blacklight posters while the new Ministry album blares from a tattered speaker, at least you can get a decent cuppa joe while you browse the clean, well-lighted big-box floor; (4) no one else carries the extensive line of music-oriented DVDs that can be found here, like Gotham, a live Bauhaus concert film, or Icky Flix, a collection of artsy videos that puts the Residents in New York's Museum of Modern Art. A record shop's only as good as the back-room purchaser who orders product, and the buyer at Border's is obviously no shrinking violet, making sure the store is stocked with edgy stuff like Richard Kern's sexploitation series Hardcore Collection. Put that in your latte and drink it.

How can you say "Broward" and "mall" without saying "Sawgrass Mills"? Sure, it's a tourist trap. It's the second-largest tourist attraction in the state, and more than 25 million shoppers will trudge through Sawgrass' stores this year alone. The parking lot holds 11,000 cars, for chrissakes. Sure, you'll get lost. The mall is more than a mile long, covers 170 acres, and is shaped like an alligator -- a design feature you're not likely to notice but apt to curse when you're looking for Saks Off Fifth and find yourself in front of Burlington Coat Factory for the 12th time. (Save yourself the confusion by printing a map of the mall off its website, www.sawgrassmillsmall.com) Still, this West Broward behemoth is a feast for the frugal fashionista. Prices here hover around 80 percent below retail. Discount versions of stores like Neiman Marcus peacefully coexist with Brooks Brothers, Theory, Kenneth Cole, St. John Knits, Calvin Klein, BeBe, Tahari, and more than 400 others. And where else in South Florida can you suck on an Orange Julius while trying on a pair of Blahniks?

You have minutes to get to that dinner party, and the old lady has sent you out for a bottle of vino. The only catch is that your knowledge of wine stops at Boone's Farm. This is where the guys at Crown come in oh-so handy. The South Florida liquor store chain prides itself on a staff that can not only steer you to a good wine under ten bucks (try the Chilean Santa Rita 120 at $5.99) but can also tell you about the variety of grapes used for the $900 bottle of Le Montrachet behind the counter. In addition to the tastings and wine classes, Crown hangs ratings next to worthy bottles as a cheat sheet for the wine-ignorant. Most Crown stores also have a well-stocked humidor and a cheese counter with moderate prices on everything from Maytag blue cheese for $12.99 a pound to a Roquefort that'll set you back $24.99 a pound. In between the rows of bottles, Crown even has a bookshelf crowded with buyer's guides and manuals on how to match wines to foods. With minutes to spare for that party, you'll walk out of Crown knowing syrah grapes produce a full-bodied red with a peppery spice. Now if you could only remember which fork to use for the appetizers.

Situated in a strip mall that is a veritable poor man's wonderland (the mall also includes a Salvation Army store, a large pawn shop, and a dollar store), Think Thrift may be the best thing going in deliciously cheap duds. Designer labels await even the casual shopper, and a discriminating eye can often pick out items that would go for $40 or $50 in a vintage clothing store, such as those old Western shirts that are all the rage among some hipsters. Dig through each rack carefully and you'll find leather and suede jackets, even fur coats. And yet, rare is the Think Thrift shirt that sets a shopper back more than a couple of bucks. A great antidote for the surprising prices at some Salvation Army stores (thanks, Huizengas).