Shopping & Services

Who the hell would want to open a record store in the Age of the Digital Download? It's pure masochism. At least, that's what everyone told Backbone Music's Nunzio and Rafael Esposito before they opened the place in late 2005. But they didn't listen, and you can thank the vinyl gods for that. Backbone is one of the few joints around that still peddles that format. Yeah, thrift stores have plenty of them old things too, but at Backbone, you don't have to toil through rows of dollar-bin-worthy junk just to find one halfway decent record. You can buy a Pink Floyd master recording of Atom Heart Mother for $155 here or a Coco Rosie release of The Adventures of Ghost Horse for $18.99. While it may not have the biggest selection in town (the place stocks about 3,200 albums), it's quality that matters here. Backbone delivers the goods, whether you're looking for rock, punk, funk, hip-hop, trip-hop, metal, hardcore, post-hardcore, dance. Oh, and it's all top-of-the-line stuff, not dust-covered trade-ins from ten years ago. And yes, there are plenty of CDs, T-shirts, DVDs, and other music-related merch. Located just off Atlantic Avenue in downtown Delray Beach, Backbone Music gets its share of foot traffic. But when that's not enough, Esposito plays host to live all-ages concerts at least once a week. Let's see you try to pack all that in your iPod.

For years, Amanda Magnetta-Ottati helped her husband Tate run Tate's Comics, but it wasn't until the couple decided to expand the popular comic book store this year that she quit her steady gig in advertising. Magnetta-Ottati now runs an eclectic hideaway, Bear and Bird, in the store's loft space. Call it an alternative art gallery. "Something that's been sorely lacking in Broward County," she says, "is a space for emerging artists that are focused in pop culture." Her space is a kind of "curated boutique," she says, staying intentionally vague about the edgy work she prefers. "Basically, it's all filled with stuff that I think is neat." The Bear and Bird's first art show "For the Love of Munny" – a collection of peculiarly compelling art toys with personalized designs -- drew a crowd of 1500.

New Times: What kind of spy gadgets could I buy at the Bear and Bird?

Magnetta-Ottati: Ooh! We have these cool cameras called Lomos. One of the styles takes sequential shots that capture pictures at fractions of a second's difference. That's a great spy tool.

What exotic destination would you like to travel to?

Japan! I've always wanted to go. Just because I know that my head will explode from all the cool stuff. I think that I'm drawn to it in part by the awesome pull of their shopping and bizarre characters and signage! I know my husband Tate would really enjoy seeing a sumo match and eating uni!

How would you prepare for the Bond experience?

I'd love a super-fabulous bag of spy disguises. It would be interesting to blend in to any situation and learn as an insider. I can't wait to try out my bald cap and beard disguise. I actually have a dynamic duo of attack dogs. Both are adorable, scruffy mutts from the Humane Society. They are always there to remind me to take time out of my all too busy life for a good belly scratching!

Yes, that's a huge glass case filled with toothpicks mounted on the east wall of the Take a Byte showroom in downtown Hollywood. To answer your next question, there are exactly 1 million of them. As to the questions of why someone collected them and who that someone is, let's all agree not to ask, OK? You may not want to know. Besides, you came here because you have an ailing or outdated computer. Fact is, most of us don't know what hardware we need, nor what's compatible with our machine, and even if we did, we don't trust ourselves to install it without breaking the thing. There's a better way. Drop off the laptop at Take a Byte and let Mike get his mitts on it. By the same day, he'll list all the hardware you need to modernize your computer. He can order that hardware at wholesale prices, then install it for you. And as a complimentary gift, he'll cure your system of all those viruses and spyware that slow it down. You get an old computer that runs like a brand-new model — at a fraction of the price. Just don't ask about the toothpicks.

You can hock Granddaddy's watch in any old shop, but rare are the pawn shops where a fellow can pawn in bulk. Like his helicopter. Or his bulldozer. They buy it all at Casino Pawn & Jewelry, located across Stirling Road from the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino — a short stroll for the inveterate gamblers among us. Buyers can find a whole fleet of four-wheelers, choose from among a tool section that rivals the Home Depot, or pick up a slew of musical instruments — the detritus of so much misspent ambition. Prices are competitive with eBay, and the manager, Mark, claims his shop pays the highest price for goods in an area strewn with pawn shops.

Any health-food store can sell stuff that claims to be good for you. But go to the counter at Simply Natural and you're liable to find Richard or Shahrooz, the husband-and-wife owners who have been known to offer free meditation classes, free guest lecturers, and even free samples of vegan foods. They can draw upon their vast expertise on all matters health to recommend an herbal remedy or nutrition supplement for whatever ails you. Or they can set you up with one of the many practitioners who rotate through the shop's back office: an acupuncturist, masseuse, reflexologist, iridologist, or CardioVision analyst. Plus, it's a short walk next door to the Simply Natural Café, which boasts the area's cheapest and most truly organic menu around. The meat is grass-fed and hormone-free, and even the beer and wine are organic.

So there's this guy, Books. He won't say his real name. He does some graffiti, but he can't talk about that either because, you know, it's illegal. He and his business partner, Dr. Black (don't ask him his real name either), have taken stencil to an artistic level. Remember stencils from grade school? These ain't them. Books and Black have made intricate stencils and engravings carved with a CO2 laser onto metal, wood, and even mirrors. They've been hired to create business cards, poker tables, and wedding invites. They'll even engrave the windshield of your tricked-out ride. While they're both very mysterious about what they do, they're open about one thing: MasterCard is accepted.

Sub Zero Gaming Center is a mix of Internet café and video arcade, with a twist of home gaming. It's got all the comforts of gaming at home (a snack bar, comfy chairs, individual glass desks, and headsets) without the solitude. The Greenacres joint has 17 computers equipped with 19-inch LCD gaming monitors and a half-dozen console stations, all connected via a high-speed network. (What better way to savor the looks of frustration and despair on your fellow players' faces as you blast them into oblivion?) And there are a lot of games to choose from. Whether it's first-person fare like Counterstrike, Xbox-fueled warfare with Gears of War, or Hobbit-esque excursions in the World of Warcraft, Sub Zero has your fix and probably a new gaming addiction you haven't found yet. Players can become members for a one-time fee of $20, which gives them access to reduced rates and a host of other goodies, like free play time and entry into special tournaments and events. But the best membership bonus is this: Sub Zero packs in nearly 200 hard-core members a week, so you'll always have someone to play with.

Babies are stupid. Many of them can't even talk. So they're in no position to complain if all their toys serve some ulterior parental motive, like education. Rather than letting the TV set play babysitter, pop in Brainy Baby, the DVD that teaches junior how to access his right brain (for creativity) and then his left (for logic). As the kid grows up, a parent can continue heading to downtown Hollywood for raids on the Kids-n-Science merchandise. A talking microscope, for instance, beats any talking doll. And if the kid insists on a doll, buy him or her the "Human Undercover Body," a science kit that promises a "human skeleton and organs inside!" (It's never too early to start med school.) Eventually, the little runt will go through a phase where he's fascinated with gore and destruction. Don't fight it; feed it with the "Horrible Science" series of toys. There's "Explosive Experiments" for the kid who would build his own fireworks and volcanoes and "Bloody Bones & Body Bits" for the youngster who would practice heart surgery on a life-like plastic model — which is far better than practicing it on the neighbor's cat.

So you need to buy some turquoise jewelry created by local craftsmen, pick up a chunk of petrified dinosaur dung, and relieve that pesky itch via a holistic earwax-removal candle, but you don't have time to run all over town. Lucky for you, the Hollywood Beach Resort has just the one-stop shopping mecca you seek. Walk into the giant building's main entrance and past the Farfr¨mp¨ken T-shirts (yes, they still sell them), beyond the kiosk specializing in incense and used watches, and up to the sandwich-board sign that reads "Sticks and Stones — The most unusual gift shop in a hotel anywhere!" Single animal teeth stand up next to neatly inscribed labels — "seal tusk," "bison tooth — 7800 years old!" — making a menagerie of dentin solders. The shop's soulful-eyed bohemian owners (and nondenominational preachers) can also up-sell you with a funeral, wedding, or commitment ceremony either on the beach outside or in the tiny wedding chapel they have fashioned out of bamboo and tapestries in the corner of the shop. The John Lennon Wedding Chapel holds enough instruments to outfit an entire band and has a hand-painted sign hanging from its ceiling: "All you need is love." Whether you're looking to spend a little (bunny pelts are only $6) or a little more (the 400-million-year-old dinosaur dung rings in at bargain price of $31), Sticks and Stones has the perfect nonregistry wedding gift for any occasion.

Thanks to the enterprising folks over at Rose Vine Winery, you can now do in a Federal Highway shopping plaza what it took Robert Mondavi acres and acres of expensive Napa Valley real estate to do: make your own wine. First, a winemaking specialist lets you sample a range of flavors and explains concepts like fermentation, clarification, and aeration. Do you want to make a fine Merlot? A peach Chardonnay? Something more akin to Boone's Farm? Once you've decided, mix different varieties of grape juice concentrates, which makes the potion more oaky or as sweet as you please. Add yeast (yeast + sugars = alcohol), take the temperature, and leave the mixture at the shop for about 45 days. (A winemaker will monitor it.) When you come back, you bottle your wine using high-tech electric bottling equipment, design your own labels, and stick corks in each of the 24 bottles your batch has produced. It costs $249 — just over $10 a bottle!

Over the past 20 years, this boutique has evolved from humble roots: It started as the Stock Exchange in Wilton Manors, a tiny closet of a shop jam-packed full of vintage textile treasures. Now (and for the past 16 or so years), it calls the Gateway Plaza home and has expanded its inventory to include every adorable shiny trinket you could possibly desire for your nest. From dishes cartooned with pictures of bad girls with even worse tattoos to atomic-print diner-style napkin holders, Jezebel turns your low-rent hellhole of a kitchen into a charming '50s diner. Need to add a little joy to that dank, windowless bedroom? Browse through sunshine-yellow blankets or snag any number of hanging paper lanterns. Sniff your way through tables of sweet and savory candles or take home feng-shui friendly room diffusers. Finally, scrub your whole pad down with aromatherapy cleaning products, sit back, and relax. Your digs will look, feel, and smell so good.

We all know that the softest, most sublime, and supple leather comes from Italy. Whether it's shoes, a jacket, skirt, pants, or even chaps, the Italians can make even the most loyal vegans want to wear it. And at Minimalista Furniture in the Gateway Shopping Plaza — where Sunrise Boulevard and Federal Highway converge/diverge — you'll want to strip off whatever you're wearing right there in front of the salespeople and the giant windows facing that busy intersection just to get as close as possible to the leather. Most everything in the elegantly and purposefully sparse showroom is featured in white and black — in true minimalist fashion. The prices aren't minimal, however. When you spend upward of $4,000 for that upscale leather sofa, can you really afford that extra end table?

He could have said it was the flux capacitor, and sadly, I wouldn't have known the difference. So you can imagine my surprise when the vehicle that I had nervously abandoned only 15 minutes earlier was already prepped for surgery, diagnosed, and broken down into words that even I understood. Nick said the "scary gasoline smell" that needed to be checked out was legitimately "A Scary Gasoline Smell" and that its cause was a laceration in my fuel line (then the term death trap was tossed around lightly). Instantly, cartoon dollar signs replaced my pupils, I clutched a nearby window ledge for support, my knuckles went white, and I asked the question that every owner of a wounded vehicle must ask: "Soooo, how much?" His response floored me even further, "How's $13.50 for parts and labor? Oh, and we can have it ready in about 20 minutes. Oh, and hey! Congratulations on quitting smoking — it must feel good knowing that you would have exploded if you hadn't!" Was I really getting my car fixed for less than the cost of an oil change and in about the same amount of time — as well as receiving moral support on a major life decision? Yes! But that's because I brought my plush whip to Rothe's. The Rothe family, Nick, and the rest of the crew at this busy little shop approach auto repair with an uncommon Zen-based flair: They not only see the inner beauty in every hoop-ride but they feel it deserves to live (and occasionally die) with dignity. So if your beater just quit beating or you're not emotionally ready to pull the plug on your '87 Pinto or hell — you're just scared of slick-talking grease monkeys, take it to the wrench-wielders who will give it to you straight. Take it to Rothe's.

Outside Competition Cycle Center, a hulking doorman sits on a chair, his vest appliquéd with rock 'n' roll patches and an embroidered outline of a middle finger. Inside, rows of gladiator-style body armor hang from waterfall racks like a daredevil army. Across from them, a weathered man in sun-faded denim and a beard worthy of a ZZ Top roadie examines the 40-foot-long, double-sided shelves of polishes, waxes, and soaps — searching for just the right combination of potions to make his first love glisten and shine. But it's the staff that really sets this joint apart. Competition's hog doctors know the best solution for every motorcycle dilemma. (Question: "Should I get real leather saddle bags or fake?" Answer: "Fake. Real leather cracks and falls apart. You only think you want it.") And they patiently dole out their knowledge to the newbies with credit cards and old-school highway hustlers who use only cash. So whether you're born to be wild or mild, Competition can help you look good doing it.

For a place with sand instead of soil, South Florida's got some persistent native plants. And if the long drive west on Griffin Road is any indication, there's no shortage of businesses that want to sell those plants to you. But the question you have to ask yourself is: "What kind of Eden do I want my yard to be?" And then, consider why you put so much work into maintaining grass — you can't eat grass. Start making your yard work for you by turning it into a lush mingling spot for edible plants, fruit trees, and sweetly fragrant night bloomers. To do that, you've got to go to the right nursery, and Flamingo Road Nursery has got your back (yard, that is) with the best selection of snackable plants in town. Increase your yard's cocktail-hour garnish potential by picking out a kumquat bush, a key lime shrub, or a lemon tree. Score an instant vegetable and herb garden from the mini potted starter plants. And when the grass-to-delectables transition is complete, pick up an Adirondack chair from the furniture section, take it home, relax, and enjoy the fruits of your labor by sipping on some homemade lemonade.

To get voted Best Pet Store, a place has gotta have pizzazz! It needs spunk, it needs that certain something that really puts it over the edge, it needs (drum roll here) "Parrotphernalia." Yes, that's right. Chippy the Pirate is as authentic to Florida as margarita lunch breaks, because at Chippy the Pirate, you can pick up any number of new, shoulder-clutching sidekicks and more dangly-rope pecking toys than even the most well-versed avian enthusiast could have predicted exists. Tiny suitcase-shaped cages are nested captives inside of giant bell-shaped ones and are then hung together from the ceiling or stored on shelves, snacks for the peckish that resemble trail mix or breakfast cereal wait patiently in their bins, and far in the back, hatchlings in incubators warm themselves in front of tiny light bulbs. While walking laps through the shop, browsers get more catcalls than are worthy of a New York construction site; but here, the flirtatious whistlers in question are the dozen or so parrots, each one lookin' for a little love. A braver shopper extends a forearm offering to a massive African grey and waits nervously as the creature wraps one, then two, talon-tipped feet around the makeshift perch. Others find themselves bobbing their heads along with the bebopping cockatiels and look as though they're sharing an iPod. Still others have discovered the endearing traits of the caique parrots, who cheerfully roll on their backs until someone scratches their bellies, then casually pick the pockets of the would-be adopter. It's so easy, in fact, to become enamored of the personality-rich companions that the shop's employees often have to double as the voice of reason. As far as their birds are concerned, impulse purchasing is discouraged. "If properly cared for," one girl explains, "many parrots will outlive their humans, and it isn't uncommon to include them in a will." So if you're ready to commit ("Polly wanna legacy?") or just prefer to visit — this pet shop has exactly what it takes to ruffle your feathers.

Musicians know that one of life's greatest pleasures is to plug in and turn on an amplifier: The hum as it warms up, a familiar sound promising future tones and harmonics served up loud. Knowing that she has a willing slave, the glowing red beacon of an LED bulb beckons the musician on. But she's a cruel mistress, that power-driven siren of rock — especially when nothing comes out of the speaker, the light goes off, smoke rises from the machine, and everyone in the venue is staring. A pain matched only by the frustration of knowing that the amp had already been "fixed" three times before, by some wanker who supposedly offered a good deal. Alpha Kinetix was created by Gary Philips in 1979 and has since grown out of its home in a cubbyhole at Ridenour to take over a bay on Dixie Highway (just north of Cypress Creek). Philips wields his massive knowledge of tube amplifiers, speaker cabinets, solid-state technology, advanced electronic circuitry, and history of power-driven music like a finely honed surgeon's scalpel. He fixes anything and everything that lets musicians make their music louder, and he does it expertly. More to the point, the stuff Philips fixes stays that way. He is at home with everything from superexpensive vintage Blackface Fenders to ultramodern boutique hybrids and doesn't turn his nose up at run-of-the-mill, workhorse solid-state circuitry. Don't expect the cheapest prices; do expect expert craftsmanship with incredible attention to detail and a severe lack of bullshit.

This Deerfield Beach discount store, between a Pier One outlet store and Costume World, is one of about a dozen in a locally owned chain. If the little girl in you can resist the pink plastic "Fancy & Cutie" comb-and-mirror set, perhaps the grown-up you could use the TGI Friday's hurricane glasses or a pack of three shower caps featuring colorful bowties. There are other gems mixed in with the usual dollar-store fare of cleaning supplies, toilet paper, and fruit baskets — like the decorative wall hanging that defines the word forever as "for all future time." Best deal in the house is the ceramic vase with Jesus smiling on the front — it's 99 cents for two of them. If you can't find something, the friendly staff will enthusiastically escort you through 12 giant aisles. Don't be surprised when a member of the crew of octogenarian regulars stops them to catch up on the neighborhood gossip. Debit and credit cards are accepted, and gift cards are available. So you can keep your cash tucked away. Try securing that cash with this impulse buy currently next to the register: a wallet chain.

As Gen Xers age, they take their love of thrift-store scavenging with them. The only difference now is that nobody has the time to dig through rack after rack of hideous garments to find the real treasures: sexy '50s hot pants, girly '60s swing coats, or coy '20s sheers. Time is too precious a commodity to run all over town, so hip kitties hit the ultimate shop for modern multitaskers: House of Vintage. This fashion nook is inside a '50s-era cottage, and from the foyer to the kitchen, every room is themed and its walls painted with bright retro murals. The living room acts as one giant jewelry box: dangly, heart-shaped, Lucite earrings hang above deco metal-mesh necklaces and bakelite bracelets with unlucky insects trapped inside them. The boudoir holds closets and racks of adorable dresses, neatly stacked vintage sweaters, and '50s circle skirts. Need a snack pick-me-up? Head back to House of Sweets, the shop's original (now revamped with black-and-white tile) 1950s kitchen, where sweet-tooth shoppers refuel with glass-bottled Coca-Colas and homemade cupcakes, cookies, and candies. So pop in, find an outfit, accessorize it (or let owner/stylist Michele Parparian do it for you), grab something slinky in case your date goes really well, and then stay perky with a sugar rush — because, after all, at House of Vintage, they understand that you're a busy gal.

Covenant House Florida has helped thousands of displaced kids each year since opening in 1985. The Fort Lauderdale Beach crisis shelter is famous throughout SoFla for its open-intake policy, which provides food and shelter to youth with no place else to go, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. These kids have recently been kicked out of their homes or else they've been living on the street for days or weeks; some are young teenagers whose families have recently found themselves homeless. Regardless of the circumstances surrounding their arrival at CHF, these kids don't have a lot of luggage — quite often, they arrive with nothing but the clothes they're wearing. This makes going to work, school, or GED classes difficult — not to mention embarrassing — and makes successful job-hunting almost impossible. For this reason, Covenant House Florida is continually on the lookout for threads appropriate to youth, 13 to 20 years of age. A full wish list can be found on the shelter's website, www.covenanthousefl.org

Click your heels together three times and say, "I want to go to the $9.99 Shoe Warehouse." Once you've made it to this bonanza of delight for the feet, you'll find ruby red slippers and more. Got a hard-to-match outfit of orange, lime green, purple, or electric blue? No worries — there's a strappy sandal, mule, or pump here for every color in the crayon box. And at this Oakland Park treasure-trove, if you can't find just the right shade of magenta, there are plenty of clear Lucite kicks that go with everything. There's a pair of three-inch-heeled slides, six-inch stilettos, four-inch wedges, and even a more modest two-inch pump. Most of the insoles are silver or gold. Not all are $9.99 as the bright red sign out front suggests. In smaller print is this notation: "And up." But the highest-priced sticker seen on a recent trip was $19.99. The shop's array of fuck-me shoes are for women and, apparently, men who want to be women — sizes run up to 12 or 13 in most cases.

Inside the Lauderhill staple Tate's Comics, girls jog up a sturdy wooden stairway to a living-room-sized wooden loft where a metal sign on the wallpapered perimeter reads: "Bear and Bird." The space radiates vibes of being part boutique, part girly clubhouse. Toward the front, sterling-silver necklaces dangle in two vintage armoires. In another corner, plush jester-colored couches form a nook in which to relax and gossip. Bear and Bird's owner, Amanda Magnetta-Ottati, is sweeping the floor with a Scottie dog broom, and hundreds of its little bristle feet shimmy across the ground. Other brooms are stacked in the corner, each waiting for a new owner to take them to a good home, while metal toy robots (reissues resembling the rigid, original '50s tin windups) angrily stare down the silk-screened T-shirts on the opposing shelf. But this boutique serves as more than a home for personality-rich trinkets and accessories. It's also a gallery space. Amanda's ambitious goal is to bring new alternative eye candy to the B&B each month, and that's led to innovative shows like the popular "For Love of Munny." In it, local and national artists customized hundreds of Munny dolls into both the adorable and the gruesome. Other scheduled exhibits include May's "Sideshow Show," August's "Sex and Science," and September's "What a Fun Guy: The Mushroom Show." The combination of art and merchandise, seclusion and accessibility, and all-around good taste makes this little boutique a peaceful hideaway. So let the boys play with monster magazines downstairs; you've got some shopping to do.

When Tate Ottati opened his comic book store, he wanted it to be an alternative to the cutthroat, high-priced comic book retailers in town. The then-17-year-old high-schooler used money he'd invested in Marvel stock to buy the place. Now, almost 15 years later, Tate's has become the one-stop shop for a person's comic book needs, already winning the honor of best comic book store twice. But it doesn't sell just comic books — there are toys, videos, and all kinds of collectibles. This year, Tate's expanded its already mammoth shop by adding another 2,800 square feet of space devoted to an assortment of vinyl toys, Greek statues, giant metal skulls, novelty books, and graphic novels. Tate's new Bear and Bird gallery, which made headlines when it opened in February, showcases alt-art with themes like customizable Munny dolls and pop prints by artists like Skot Olsen and Terribly Odd. Rounding out the one-stop-shopping experience is Tate's Gaming Satellite store a couple of doors down, which offers all kinds of gaming equipment, tournaments, and snacks.

Before the advent of Larry Flynt's 17,000-square-foot porn emporium, local sex freaks had to slum it. Try as they might, local triple-X video joints never shake their sketchiness. They may claim to be couples-friendly, but there's always a supercreepy dude behind the counter or shady characters pawing through the bargain bin. Worse, those cheap vibrators they sell are notorious for conking out at the exact moment you and your lovely are most desirous of their dynamo hum. For starters, the Hustler store — which took over the old Peaches record store on Sunrise Boulevard in Victoria Park — is open, bright, and inviting. It looks a lot like a frickin' Barnes & Noble in there, but with butt plugs instead of lattes. And that makes customers comfortable, which takes the edge off purchasing something so... naughty. Inside, you're surrounded by baby T's, sexy pajamas, and rows and rows of hot little G-strings. Within the inner sanctum, you've got two walls stocked with every faux phallus the universe has ever known — and then a few more. Instead of some plastic piece of crap made in Taiwan, the Hustler store carries a wondrous array of super-high-end sex toys. Some of these jellied wonders are so colorful and eye-catching that they look like everlasting gobstoppers — several are as aerodynamic as a low-slung Lotus, and almost all are reassuringly expensive (up to $100). The room is like a Sharper Image devoted to penis envy. The sprightly employees are young and hot, and they'll happily unpackage your toy, pop some AA batteries in there, and give it a quick buzz-test to make sure the damned thing's revvin' properly. That way, when you get home with your brand-new Doc Johnson's Lucid Dreams #42 — or whatever candy-colored gizmo has caught your eye — rest assured that lotsa good moaning is in store.

Have you ever wanted a sandwich, a bottle of wine, a seven-inch dildo, and some beef jerky all at once? If so, then Rio Vista in southern Fort Lauderdale was designed exactly for you. This well-stocked porno/convenience store has all the goodies of a 7-Eleven but with a sex-toy department in the back. Butt plugs and gangbang videos are in abundance here, but so are potato chips and cold beer. Shopping for cheap thrills on a Friday night has never been easier. Hungry for chocolate ice cream and a bukkake video? Maybe some cold cuts and a life-size molding of John Holmes' schlong? And since it's a local stag shop, it's good to see Miami's Bang Bros. line carried here in full stock — as well as local gay models featured in some of the men's magazines. At least they're giving back to the South Florida porn community. They've also got an almost identical replica of Jenna Jameson's crotch and an extensive dildo section with everything from fleshy cocks to double dongs for girl-on-girl action. The shop is manned during the day by Frank, who looks like an enforcer but is nicer than most adult film store operators in the area. And there are customers who shop exclusively in the food aisles, so don't think that anal beads and nipple clamps are mandatory purchases. Then again, if you opt for those items, it's good to know that cotton swabs and peroxide are available here as well.

Perhaps the crown jewel of the Crown franchise, this exquisitely well-stocked pantry at the corner of Yacht Captain Row and Cruise Ship Lane caters to those with a need for the finer things in life. Landlubbers and regular wage slaves come in and gawk at the kind of victuals a real-life Thurston J. Howell III would bring along for a sea-faring journey: fig jams, black currant spreads, truffles for miles, gourmet cheese up the yin-yang, and expensive European cigarettes and rare cigars. Oh, and the place has a few bottles of booze too, but not only does it have your Johnny Walker Blue and such-not but gallons of high-end tequilas and some pretty rare and fancy mixers. And since this store is frequented by boaters plying the Caribbean, there's eleventy-million kinds of rum — rums you've never heard of or dreamed about, rums from aged barrels of charred oak, rums from tiny organic sugar-cane plantations, rums evidently blended from God's private stash. And while South Florida is historically microbrew-shy, this Crown maintains a classy, coast-to-coast six-pack selection. Far from snooty or stuffy, the staff here is fun and knowledgeable without being snobs about it. They'll see if they can't make you feel like king for a day, or at least a well-heeled Parrothead, even if the closest you're getting to a boat is in your bathtub.

It looks like an airy loft apartment and is so smartly urbane that forward-thinking stylists like Gina Zompa won't let you settle for just a trim if what you really need is a re-'do. Even if you've got perfectly long, straight, blond locks or fabulous cork-screw curls waving throughout your strawberry-blonde mane, owners Luann and Andrew Alorro and their half-dozen or so stylists can glam up those tresses several notches. The Alorros have been working out tangles on or around Las Olas for more than 20 years. Haircuts start at $45 for women and $35 for men. A full range of color services is available — and Zompa trained with Aveda's global color trainer when she worked at the now-defunct Salon 808 Las Olas. Ascend the suspension staircase and get one of the neatest, shiniest, and longest-lasting manis or pedis you can find in South Florida — particularly at $55 for both. Refreshments are free, and the friendly workers always offer to let you in on their lunch order if you happen to be there getting that new color to sink in. Grab a gumball on your way out the door, and don't forget to make sure you remembered your parking stub — Tease validates.

Forget about leaving here without spending at least $20. If you have a nail-polish fetish so severe that the vast subtle difference in pink from "Ballet Slippers" to "Sugar Daddy" means that you have to buy them both, then this warehouse-in-a-strip-mall is your mecca. You've got $7-a-bottle access to the full lines and most current seasonal offerings from OPI, Essie, and China Glaze. Professional-grade cuticle and callous removers come in every size, starting at $4.95 and up to $40 for the larger containers. Files in every grade, from fine to coarse, are available. So are nail brushes, foot files, and scrapers. There are also two rows the length of an Olympic swimming pool full of hair products — one devoted exclusively to shampoos, conditioners, and styling products and the second to color and permanent solutions. Every shape, size, and style of curler hangs on the back wall, and lightning-fast hair driers and straightening irons are also available. Proprietor Diane Browne is nice, helpful, and as enthused about the full-spectrum color wheel of polish as you undoubtedly are. When a customer complained that she couldn't find "Cherry Pop," a pink-tinted clear polish by Essie, Browne knew it by name and found it quicker than you can spray on that fast-drying topcoat.

Women used to be so striking. Look at Billie Holliday's pin curls, held taut with gardenias. Or Lucille Ball's slicked-up, lacquered-down poodle cut. There were soda-can bouffants, beehives woven into architectural wonders, and, of course, more sexy, bad girl, and rockabilly up-dos than you can wag your wrench at. So, when did things get so... flat? Well, for Riviera DeCordova, time never lapsed. An addict of black-and-white, Turner Classic Movies, Riviera has a soft spot for the hard times of Depression-era fingerwaves and a sweet tooth for the Sugar Pop days of 1950s malt-shop curls. And while she's gathered armfuls of awards from mainstream salons like Regis and Yellow Strawberry for her more modern styles, our gal is whispered about in fancy lady circles for her period work with the Broward Opera House, Atomic Betty's pinup photo shoots, and the Delray Beach vintage trunk fashion shows. She just has a knack for turning ordinary ladies into engine-revving hotrods. So you're feeling limp and need a perm 'cause your locks have just lost that lovin' feeling? No problem; visit Riviera, and let her turn your hair-don't into a hair-do.

Men aren't always that comfortable pampering themselves. Most guys are more likely to buy spa packages for their spouses than expect one as a gift for themselves. Theories abound on why that is, but it's important for certain male-only day spas like ManKind in downtown Fort Lauderdale to pick up the slack for this underserved demographic. Let the name say it all. Every inch of this spa oozes manhood, from the mahogany wood décor and pool table to the twin barbers on staff who look like auto mechanics. They have a bar on site that can pour as much complimentary Dewars scotch as you can handle and have free Killians and Michelob on tap for paying customers as well. ManKind specializes in Swedish and deep-tissue massage and has three certified massage therapists on staff to cut down on wait time. There's an executive feel to the place, and everything on the inside is legit. The only happy ending you can expect is to kick back and get a pedicure while sipping on an espresso.

Don't let the name fool you. At Surf World, you'll find supplies for everything you can do in South Florida that requires putting both feet on some sort of board and holding your body in balance while moving. In the back of both of these Broward County locations, past that hollow black $1,049 Lost surfboard, is an entire array of skateboards by Venture, York, and Gravity, to name a few. Some of the boards still look like the first one Mom and Dad bought you in middle school (plain with the black top) while others are shapelier (there's one resembling a fish, and another is an ode to the shark). Save a little wear and tear on your joints and pick up Pro-Tech knee and elbow pads, which range from $16.95 to $31.95. Surf World stocks plenty of skater kicks — try a pair of the Ryan Smith edition from Globe Shoes for $49.95 or some killer Reefs at $45.99 for the Point Break Series. For the flip-flop skater boy or girl, strap on a pair of Reef thongs that double as a flask — because those ones with just the bottle opener on the bottom are so last year!

At about $115 a month, the Midtown Athletic Club in Weston is about triple the cost of Gold's Gym or L.A. Fitness. But those other places don't have 25 tennis courts, three pools, and classes on how to dance the zumba. Bring CDs and DVDs to play while you're burning calories on the elliptical trainer, bike, or treadmill, each of which comes equipped with its own 15-inch LCD screen. As they say at the Midtown, "It's not just a club, it's a community," which may explain why they also host wine-tastings, a movie night, and even a junior fashion show.

It's advertised as "a country club for scuba divers" and, less humbly, "the best damn facility on the planet since 1972." Those claims are hard to argue with, because the Scuba Club has everything you need, from wetsuits and regulators (for rent or sale at the pro shop) to a classroom (basic certification costs $250 and includes five dives) to a swimming pool for practicing to a dock with the boat parked right there. Did we mention the steam room, the photo lab, or the hotel room (with kitchen)? "You pull in the parking lot and you're pretty much done," instructor Wayne Shoemake says. He, like much of the staff, has been here "since the Jurassic era" (20-plus years), and General Manager J.D. Duff even has a college degree in diving. In other words, they're folks you can trust with your life.

American hardware stores bore witness to three distinct evolutionary stages: First came the mom-and-pop epoch, where a kindly soul would take you by the hand down dusty aisles to find exactly the eyehook or hose bib you'd been searching for. Next came the Ace/TrueValue era, which began to outshine small family-run stores with their bright fluorescents and abundantly organized overstock. Finally, the Home Depot period (in which we're currently "existing," not "living") has all but reduced the hardware-store experience to a degrading, dehumanizing solo search-and-rescue mission followed by a long, slow slog to a faceless automatic scanner. Riverland Hardware not only looks, feels, and smells like a small-town hardware store from the 1960s, it's run by a real-life mom and pop. If you're looking for something, no one has to scroll through SKU numbers on a computer screen to see if it's in stock — they'll actually go and pull it off the shelf for you. Sure, Riverland Hardware is tiny. It's mostly there so you can go about fixing your toilet, unclogging your drain, and replacing those sprinkler heads. It doesn't sell riding mowers or gas grills, and it might not be as cheap as the orange, big-box monstrosity with the ocean-sized parking lot. But during those panicky, last-minute trips for hurricane supplies, you'll be so glad you're here instead of there.

Much like the National Beer Pong League and the American Beer Pong Association of America, the Cloud Nine takes its beer pong seriously. Not only does the bar have its own custom-built plywood competition tables, house rules, and referees; it knows how to draw hardcore "athletes" — with weekly $150 prizes leading up to the May championship (which comes with a $500 award). For the uninitiated, beer pong is a game in which a pair of two-person teams face off over a Ping-Pong-style table. Each team sets up six plastic cups half-full of beer, with the objective to toss the Ping-Pong ball and land it in one of your opponents' cups. After taking a hit, the player drinks the contents and removes the cup from the table. The team with the last cup standing wins; the loser wins a real nice buzz. All this for a $6 entry fee — enough to cover "equipment" like Miller Lite.

Everyone knows there isn't a legitimately cheap thrill to be found in money-mad Palm Beach County, so we decided to focus more on the thrill aspect of this award. And what could be more thrilling than driving your car as fast as you damned well please? Although you can achieve this cheaply on the highway if you so desire, there's a legal way. That would be at the quarter-mile drag strip at Moroso Motorsports Park, located off the Beeline Highway just north of Indiantown Road. Here's the drill: You pay $20, pull into the 330-foot concrete launch pad, rev your engine, and zoom down the drag, all the while being timed by a Compulink. If for some reason, your testicles haven't dropped yet, this may be just the thing. Wussies can pay $13 just to watch.

At press time, luxury car-rental shop Gotham Dream Cars had seven shiny machines in its fleet: a Lamborghini Murcielago with scissor doors ("as loud and as screaming a car — visually and acoustically — as you can get," according to the company owner, 28-year-old Noah Lehmann-Haupt), a Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder ("the baby Lambo"), a Ferrari 360 Spyder ("a classic"), a Ford GT ("an engineering marvel... underrated... by far the best car in the fleet"), a Porsche 911 Turbo Cabriolet, a Corvette GO6, and a convertible 2007 Bentley Continental GTC. Gotham can provide insurance or work with yours, and they'll bring the car to you on a special delivery truck. They'll even forgive you for returning it with an empty tank or leaving your McDonald's bag on the floor (you have to take this sucker to the drive-through!). But at these prices — the 'Vette costs $495 a day, the Bentley $2,250 — they better. Says Lehmann-Haupt: "If someone crashes the car, we make sure no one was hurt and then give 'em a new car. They'll end up having to pay for the crashed car, but we wouldn't want that to ruin their weekend."

They came for the spot of subtropical sand with an orange tree in the backyard. That's the way Florida was built: countless bungalows on drained swamp with fresh citrus at near arm's reach. Then came the canker scare and the state's disastrous killing spree, wherein the dream was turned into a horror show of arboreal carnage. That unfathomable, shameful, and incredibly costly slaughter is over now. Since it appears to be safe to have a juice-maker in the backyard again, Spyke's Grove is the place to find one for you. They've got citrus trees of all stripes: lemons, limes, oranges, tangerines, tangelos, grapefruits, limes, kumquats, you name it. And, most extraordinarily, they sell "cocktail" trees. No, these don't come with tequila inside the limes. They're spliced to grow different varieties of fruits on the same tree. We just got one with five different fruit varieties, including lemons, oranges, grapefruits, tangelos, and tangerines (all of them seedless). These are a bit more expensive (a 15-gallon is gonna run you about $225, whereas a regular tree goes for $140), but man, are they cool.

When you show up for your appointment with Stevie Moon or his cohort, Todd K., you realize one thing the moment you step inside the new, cathedral-ceilinged studio: You are not about to get beaten up. This may seem like an obvious point, but it's not. Most tattoo parlors are fetid swamps of masculine aggression, where the artists and the patrons seem at least as interested in seeming badass as they are in tattoos. Not so at Stevie's: Just like in the duo's old digs in Gateway Plaza, there is a couch, there are shelves overflowing with books about art (and not just tattoo art— Stevie and Todd are as into Marcel Duchamp as in Don Ed Hardy, and probably more so), and there are the two artists, quick with smiles and pats on the back and excited as hell about what they're about to do to your epidermis. Their work is as technically proficient as anybody's and vastly more proficient than most, but the difference is all in the ethos. These folks want to talk to you, want to find out what you're really interested in, and they want to make sure you get something you'll be happy with in ten (or 50) years. That's why there's no prefab flash art on the walls, and it's why the books on the shelves cover so many bases — the statuary of Oceania, lesser works of Flemish masters, it's all up there. And though the guys at Stevie's are always happy to stick some old Renaissance fresco on your thigh, they're quick to tell you that their real passion is for custom work — a concept they approach with a wide-eyed sense of happy adventure that is entirely refreshing and very nearly unique. They know that being an original is way more exciting than being a print.

We may have been in a port-wine-induced haze, but we could have sworn that Macabi's has something that so many modern establishments lack: an aura. It wasn't just a cloud of delicious cigar smoke. We recall dim lighting, a couch in the corner, and endearing piles of clutter behind the bar. There were chatty businessmen with shirtsleeves rolled up and glammed-up ladies taking pins out of their hair after stopping in for the last drink of the night. And then there was gregarious, opinionated owner Ashokkumar Motibhai "Pat" Patel and his wife, Kit Kirti, talking about growing up in Uganda, discussing city politics, and tipping the bottle for us again and again. (The only person who's unwelcome here, they say, is the city official who cost them $175,000 to defend a dispute about parking. "If she comes in here," yells Kit about Commissioner Cindi Hutchinson, "I kick her out!") So, politicians aside, you can enjoy 15 types of clove cigarettes, Pirates Brew and Spaten on tap, Silver Oaks cabernet ($225 a bottle), and more than 600 kinds of cigars ($5 to $50). You can enjoy all this, that is, if you're lucky enough to snag one of just 11 seats at the bar.