A story in The Palm Beach Post Wednesday on the history of cross-dressing included a reference to former FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover as 'a closet cross-dresser.' Most historians have concluded that Hoover was not a cross-dresser, despite the rumors that have circulated for years. The story appeared on the front page of the Accent section."

That's pretty darn good. But check out the original text from the October 1 article, which -- we swear -- actually read: "J. Edgar Hoover: He gave a whole new meaning to the word dragnet when declassified documents showed that the FBI chief was a closet cross-dresser. Makes you wonder who 'America's 10 most wanted men' really were."

Best Journalistic Restraint Sun-Sentinel Travel editor Thomas Swick Swick described this delicious scenario on March 28 in a story titled "You Can't Hop a Jet Plane": The editor is late to catch a plane to Thailand. A delay at the Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport means he has only a narrow window to make his connection. When his jet touches down at LAX, he tries to push past the other passengers to the front of the plane. Some let him through, but one man refuses to move out of the way and says, "We've got a plane to catch too." Swick whines that he has only 20 minutes. Then the other guys responds: "I wish we had 20 minutes." Our itinerant master of modesty doesn't just snap back, "Do you know who I am?" Oh no. "I hold back the fact I am a travel writer and that there are dozens of people (at least) back home waiting for my stories." (Actually, our sources report, the true number of interested parties is 16.)

Eye Doctor Helped Blind Patients."

All we wanna know is, did he hold 'em down or actually poke out the poor bastards' peepers.

Reality shows became so ubiquitous there for a while that it became second nature to ignore them. And that would have been the case with The Surreal Life, an utter time-waster starring Ron Jeremy, Tammy Faye Messner, Vanilla Ice, Erik Estrada, and some other losers. Above their mugs, brief descriptors floated, identifying Jeremy as "the Porn Star" and Tammy Faye as "the Evangelist," etc. In a January issue of City Link, until it was corrected, the item provided an interesting description of Davie's own Vanilla Iceman, the one-hit Wonder-breader whose real name is Rob Van Winkle. For seven glorious days, he was "The Vanilla Raper."

There's no doubt that carrying a gigantic cross on your back makes for a damn good workout. And it's undeniable that Jesus Christ had a handsome physique. Need proof? Check out the life-size statue of him at 6007 Garden Ave. in West Palm Beach, which clearly shows the benefits of his workout regimen. It has rock-hard abs and a Lou Ferrigno-esque chest. The statue -- standing under the awning of a pink, Key West-style cottage -- seems to lend credence to the Dead Sea Scrolls' claim that Mary Magdalene introduced the J-man to the Galilee Gold's Gym. In addition, the able-bodied Savior displays details from the lost stories of Christ. While many portrayals of Christ show him in white, on this statue, he sports a loincloth painted a handsome lilac. And the Savior is supported by two crutches to illustrate the days after an injury ended his run as a point guard for the Messina Messiahs. Animal lovers will admire the accompanying two brown mutts, which are clearly a rebuke of the blasphemous claims that Christ was a cat person. And his forlorn expression, head cocked slightly to the side, implies that Jesus is reciting that famous verse, John 3:17, in which he promises disciples, "Thou will gain naught without pain."

You can't drive along the best mile of Palm Beach County; you have to walk or ride your bike. The town of Palm Beach is located on a barrier island, and tucked behind the mansions on the Intracoastal side, you'll find the Lake Trail, a paved path where you might bump into trust-fund kids on rollerblades or island residents walking immaculately groomed poodles. Pick up the trail from any of the cul-de-sacs that branch off North Lake Way and head north. To your right, you can catch a sneak peek into the backyards of fabulous estates; to your left, see captains parking their yachts and get a panoramic view of West Palm Beach's sherbet-colored skyline. If you follow the trail to its miles-later end at the Sailfish Club and zigzag along the residential streets, you will reach a small dock overlooking the Palm Beach Inlet; you can't go any farther without swimming. Drink from the water fountain that greets you like an oasis, have a seat on the dock, and watch ships roll past Singer and Peanut Islands.

A handsome man with a slim figure and kind face, Dean Trantalis in many ways represents the new Fort Lauderdale. In a city where the mayor is openly homophobic, Trantalis in March 2003 defeated the wife of County Commissioner John Rodstrom (also homophobic) to win a seat on the City Commission. He became Fort Lauderdale's first openly gay commissioner. He won, thanks in part to his career of fighting for gay rights. In 1990, Trantalis successfully lobbied the Broward County Commission to pass a human-rights ordinance protecting gays from discrimination. Seven years later, he coordinated an unsuccessful effort to stall the passage of a Florida law banning same-sex marriages. Yet Trantalis stands up for more than gay rights. A successful attorney who has studied in England, Eastern Europe, and Russia, the commissioner has proven in his first year on the job to be a thoughtful, deliberative man unwilling to make rash decisions. He refuses to sacrifice natural beauty to fatten developers' wallets, frequently voicing his belief that Fort Lauderdale Beach, in particular, should be protected from overdevelopment. And when every elected official in Fort Lauderdale seemed to want to blame former City Manager Floyd Johnson for the fiscal crisis, Trantalis kept his blade sheathed, loathe to strike the wounded scapegoat. But maybe that also speaks to Trantalis' greatest political fault: He's too kind. In the rough-and-tumble world of politics, nice guys don't last. But we hope Trantalis does. Readers' Choice: US Rep. Clay Shaw

Best Mile of Broward County Hollywood Blvd. between City Hall and Young Circle Wings n Curls and Burger King; billiards, spas, and realty

CPAs for income tax; suitcases for luggage racks

Firestone glows neon red; wheelchairs and Murphy Beds, limos and Argentango; karate and aikido...

Subway, Kodak, Papa John's; dinette sets and Fancy Paws. World World Corp. is fun to say; as is Ginger Bay Café...

Sushi and upholstery; Melina's has lingerie

Zombie Café, magic shops; it's even where the Greyhound stops, Harpoon Harry's, Texaco; check cashing, OXXO.

Young people come out at dark; tykes dig Annivers'ry Park

City Hall to A1A reads like a mismatched Yellow Page with nothing cooler there to see than Young's huge, gnarly baobab tree.

Best People-watching Worth Avenue, Palm Beach See Dick leave his mansion in a blazer, a bow tie, and velvet slippers! See Jane in her Botox and new nose! See Spot drink from the Spanish-tiled "Dog Bar" (water fountain) that's built into the street. See Don King, Rod Stewart, Rush Limbaugh, Jimmy Buffett, Donald Trump, and Venus and Serena Williams flit from Tiffany to Nieman Marcus to the yacht broker's office. See the pale little tourists who haven't realized that jeans and fanny packs in Palm Beach are wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Readers' Choice: Las Olas Riverfront
Best Scenic Drive Riverland Road between State Road 7 and Davie Boulevard Apologies to the good people of this central Broward neighborhood, for they don't deserve gawking motorists puttering around their sleepy side streets. They clearly have invested well in old, varied houses. And they have resisted the conventional temptation to eradicate all vestiges of nature along the way. They have let their 40-foot live oaks ease and stretch and rise and billow above beds of Boston ferns in front lawns. They cherish shade, drawing it from sleek sabal palms and bristly Norfolk island pines and banyans overhanging slender streets. They have fostered massive royal palms and gumbo limbos and cypress trees in an unassuming jungle that would make a landscape architect swoon. This is a neighborhood engulfed in overgrowth yet untouched by overdevelopment. Proceed with care.

If those dumb-ass kids from Bully had known about this place... well, Brad Renfro never would've had occasion to steal that boat, put it that way. Trust me, this is the place. Unless you own an airboat, this is as remote and inaccessible as it gets. Take Alligator Alley (I-75) west. Go past the Miccosukee Reservation into Collier County and exit at Highway 29. Go south about 14 miles to Wagonwheel Road until you reach 841. Go north on 841 about three miles until you reach 837. Turn right on 837 and go about three miles to 839. Turn north on 839 and proceed on what is one of the most desolate and unforgiving patches of pavement in all of South Florida -- a place where, should you run out of gas or break down, you are most certainly fucked. This road actually passes back up underneath Alligator Alley (though there is no way to access it) before it just disappears in a morass of muck and sawgrass. You're in the East Hinson Marsh, somewhere north of Deep Lake Strand. You're outnumbered by alligators approximately eleventy-zillion to one. It gets so dark at night. Anywhere around here will do.

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