Ron Dupont doesn't want to be known as the roach guy, but these days, he just can't help it. Dupont says his is the only pet store he knows of selling roaches -- live roaches -- something desperately needed for owners of most reptiles. And what's worse, Dupont's roaches are notoriously tasty. "We call them 'tropical cream-filled roaches' because they're so juicy," he says. Dupont sells thousands of the little buggers every week at 8 to 39 cents apiece, and soon, he fears, he'll likely be known for them. Really, he'd rather be known for his reptiles. Dupont's been in the reptile business since he started catching snakes at 15 years old in his back yard and selling them to pet stores. Now at 63, he imports reptiles from around the world at his shop, Wild Cargo Pets & Supplies. He sells about 2,700 lizards a year. Usually, boa constrictors start from $119 to $149, and monitor lizards can be found for at least $40. Dupont will also special-order, like yellow phase tree pythons that run about $700. Dupont also sells tarantulas ($20 to $150 for rare ones) and an odd assortment of reptile food, including bloodworms, mealworms, and crickets. But more than anything, Dupont can't keep the roaches in the store. "People will come back and say, 'Man those roaches are juicy.' They can't get enough of them."
A great vet becomes truly noteworthy after you've had a few bad ones. Arch Gordon's tableside manner is so effortlessly kind, benevolent, and caring, it's worth giving him his due. We know a certain cat terrified of thunderstorms, vacuum cleaners, doorbells, and even its own shadow that regularly melts into Gordon's capable hands during checkups, purring contentedly. Feline and canine office visits run around $40; rabies shots are $15 extra. He seems to have a way with dogs too -- from the little yappy lap dogs to the poodles-as-fashion-accessories and the pampered pooches belonging to the high-class ladies living near the beach. Be you one of the bejeweled set or just a normal sort with a normal pet, Gordon's comforting, compassionate aura of concern makes a visit to the vet as painless as possible.
OK, you've got Fido on that special vegan diet, and his mock turtleneck sweater is made of hemp. So what's next to make your dog a true reflection of your hippie roots? Holistic medicine, of course. It's sure to restore your mutt's inner peace -- which does not require a pooper scooper. At Friendship Animal Wellness Center, veterinarian Carol Falck will give your pet a holistic checkup for $125, followed by a recommendation for treatment from Chinese medicine to traditional veterinary care (which runs about $42 per visit). For some animals, the prescription is for acupuncture ($50 a visit), which can especially aid with arthritis. Follow it up with an aromatherapy bath with slippery elm and rose geranium. Top it off with a spritz of doggy cologne made from nutmeg and lime. The center also offers Reiki, an ancient form of medicine that, according to its website, involves moving energy, restoring your pet's "natural state of wholeness on all levels -- mental, physical, emotional and spiritual." That's right, spiritual. Don't you know what dog spelled backward is?
These things just don't look like they should fly. A powered parachute is no more than a shopping-cart-sized craft with a big fan on the back, attached to a parachute fluttering above. But somehow, it can glide along at 30 mph, 800 feet above the hard, unforgiving Earth. Larry Littlefield, a retired airline pilot and powered-parachute instructor, promises it's not as precarious as it looks. Littlefield gives lessons at the Lantana Airport and sells the powered-parachute crafts, which cost about $17,000 new and $13,000 used. Lessons cost about $100 an hour and require about 35 hours before students can go off on death-defying -- uh, we mean safe -- trips on their own. Littlefield says the trips are worth the constant questions about whether he's nuts. "Ever seen the movie E.T. ?" he asks. "Remember the kids gliding over the houses on bikes? That's what it's like." The slow, careful glide of the powered parachute allows its pilot and a single passenger to take everything in, he says. "You just watch the world drift by. Slow and low is where it's at." Hopefully, just not too slow or too low.
Eduardo, the short aerobics instructor who is trying to kill you, looks at you with zero sympathy as you lift the medicine ball above your chest, looking not unlike a dying cockroach. "Get stronger!" he says. And you do. Tough and unsmiling as Eduardo is, you still manage to feel very happy, very healthy, and very buff by the end of his Circuit Sculpt class, during which you'll race from station to station lifting weights, doing squats, and performing a sick amount of lunges. The other instructors -- like kickboxing coach/Japanese drummer Roy or cute little bendy thing Tara -- also make exercise a good time at the Zoo. It's not a big place, but what it lacks in space it makes up for in homey quirks. The bottom floor of this Fort Lauderdale beachside institution fits only the check-in desk and a smoothie bar. The second floor has just one aerobics room and a modest assortment of free weights, exercise bikes, and machines. But the roof is like a ghetto penthouse. Sure, the free weights are a little rusty from the weather, but here, you can join a cycling class, get a tan, watch kiteboarders, take in the sunset (or sunrise), and feel superior to all the fatsos down below. Membership (about $45 a month) includes a parking pass.
At first, Dewing's Fly & Gun Shop may look a bit out of place, sandwiched between a doggy bakery and an upscale seafood joint in downtown West Palm Beach. But a look at the 2,700 guns inside -- and their price tags -- reveals why Dewing's does so well. The guns, with inlays of ivory and gold and encrustments of rare jewels, can run as much as $1.5 million. That's a rare price; most cost several thousands of dollars for rifles that often took years to make. Dewing's is one of three gun shops in the country selling a large collection of high-end, handmade shotguns, owner Adam Trieschmann says. Palm Beachers looking to stock their hunting lodges out west or gazillionaires flying in on private jets to pick up rifles is common. "I can never have enough unique pieces," Trieschmann says. "I got a $50,000 rifle in yesterday, and it sold yesterday." Despite the high prices of some of the guns, the store is surprisingly approachable. The place has the feel of a hunting lodge with mounted animals, comfy leather couches, and wood paneling. Most of the guns can be picked up, although the more expensive ones are behind glass. And its neighbors appreciate the business; women hit the doggy bakery while men browse the rifles, and then together they hit Spoto's Oyster Bar next door for lunch.
You did her wrong. You were being a total guy when you said that, and you didn't realize it would offend her. She's upset. You need a second chance. You need a miracle. You need Walt Zelasko and his wonder workers at Poopie Doll Florist. For the past 20 years, Zelasko and his team of expert florists have been putting together bouquets and combinations of flowers, most from Colombia and Ecuador, in north Fort Lauderdale. Unlike at many florists, where price-gouging seems a lucrative side business, Poopie Doll keeps prices reasonable, from a dozen mini-carnations with a rainbow selection of colors for just $3.45 to a dozen daisies or carnations for $7.95 to a dozen deep-red roses with long, thorny stems sturdy as an elm for $39.95. What's more, every purchase is individually wrapped with care and professionalism. Heck, if it weren't for the flower power available at such places as Poopie Doll Florist, procreation would likely come to a startling halt.
There are a few essential traits for an outstanding gift store. First, its inventory must provide for occasions as diverse as weddings, birthdays, Valentine's Day, and hope-your-dog-gets-better. Second, there must be a wide price range -- after all, a bridal shower present for your uncle's sister-in-law doesn't demand the same wallet juice as does your nephew's bar mitzvah. So Abe's is your answer. This store has enough turnover of merchandise that there's something new to discover each time you visit. Cookware is plentiful, from a set of six glass tumblers for $6 to a set of six Victorinox steak knives for $30 or a fancy 22-piece tea and dessert set for $100. Plenty of wall decorations, in particular Florida-themed fish sculptures from $20 to $70. For the person who has everything, there's the kitschy: two-foot tall Laurel and Hardy figurines for $250 each.
After that failed attempt to manufacture wine in your bathtub, there's a way to escape the shame of defeat. Instead of bottling the rotgut you pressed with your feet, try bottling your own vino at Let's Make Wine in Delray Beach. This soon-to-be-national chain that started right here in South Florida lets customers mix their own wines to come up with unique blends, packaged with original labels. Owner Ann Rosenberg has plans to franchise her Delray Beach store across the country using the success pioneered by her late husband, Bill, founder of Dunkin' Donuts. Already, Rosenberg has opened a second store in Deerfield Beach and another in Colorado. The store allows customers to mix their own wine using pure juice or grape juice concentrate that's mixed with filtered water and bottled. The mix, which ranges from $160 to $319, makes about 25 bottles. Then the amateur winemakers create their own labels. Mostly, the idea has taken off as gifts for weddings and such, but Rosenberg says some customers just like having their own bottle of wine, without grapes between their toes.
You could chuck an anvil from one side of Kyoya to the other and a brick from its entrance to its end. In between, this wee shop stocks enough Asian culinary curios to require repeat trips. The front displays origami paper and a library of Japanese videos; the middle holds tea sets, bags of wasabi mix, canned Thai bamboo, ready-to-eat dried squid, frozen edamame, and pickled ginger; the rear features perhaps the smallest sushi bar in South Florida. No frills means cheap prices and generous portions that belie the store's small size. The $17 sushi combo for two includes ten pieces of sushi, two ample rolls, and a choice of salad, soup, or drink. The $8.50 volcano roll itself is enough for two people. Eat fast; the restaurant seats but six.

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