Arts & Entertainment

Sports bars should have two things: drinks and TVs. Bokamper's has both in spades. Owned by and named after Dolphins defensive lineman Kim "Bo" Bokamper from the team's glory years, his fifth and newest location in Fort Lauderdale is the most overwhelming yet. A full bar includes craft beers and specialty drinks, but more impressive is the sheer number of televisions that cover the place wall to wall. You will be able to catch a glimpse of the game no matter where you sit. There are so many TVs that on an NFL Sunday, the same holds true for whichever game you wish to watch, even if the Jacksonville Jaguars are playing the Cleveland Browns. If you hate sports and are dragged here against your will, this Bokamper's sits on the Intracoastal Waterway, allowing you to root for whichever sailboat is the prettiest as you down another beer.

This party enclave caters to the hip: the chic, live-music lovers and those looking for a serious cocktail and a sexy time. The 5,000-square-foot space opened in fall 2013 and boasts gorgeous décor throughout the three-level club. Revelers are treated to two bars, plush couches, a fireplace area, and a whimsical portrait of George Washington wearing sunglasses. The impressive drink menu was concocted by Miami mixologist extraordinaire John Lermayer. Toss back classics such as old-fashioneds and Tom Collinses , or a WGA Sour — shaken with Disaronno, 100-proof bourbon, lemon juice, and egg whites. Visit during the club's weekend happy hour for a showcase of whirling nipple-tassels and hip-shimmying burlesque dancers working the stage. Dim the lights, baby; it's showtime.

The best part about a neighborhood joint is that you make it what it is. With Muddy Waters, you can make it a mental vacation to Key West or a detour to a nautical bar on your way home from the office. The place is decorated like a pirate ship, and you can eat like you're on one too — 69 cents per raw clam or oyster, all day every day. (Don't forget your rum!) Known for a homegrown karaoke night and Floribbean food, Muddy Waters is by locals and for locals. Come in with your crew when you desire the wild South Floridian vibes or by yourself when you need a bite and a conversation with a stranger. Good service, food, and drinks — it's the neighborhood bar trifecta. This place is missing only one thing: a "Locals Only" sign.

When the Black Pearl Tavern shuttered last summer, a huge pained chorus of Boston-accented sighs shook through South Florida. Since 1995, the Pearl, a storefront bar crammed into a strip mall on East Commercial, was the go-to spot for Boston sports fans living in South Florida. Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics, Bruins — the memorabilia hung from the walls. The games were on constant replay. The conversation pinballed from Tham Brahday to Bell Whalten to Hail Flutie. Then — poof! — it was gone. Luckily for these exiles, less than a year later, a new Pearl is rising from the ashes. The new location is east on Commercial in a space that once held the Gold Medal Wine Shop. The new space is no-fills — just a big square bar surrounded on three sides by stools. Boston sports continue to run from the flat screens, and it has Funky Buddha beers on tap. And the bar continues to pull in the usual crowd of neighborhood folks, off-shift restaurant-industry types, and Bostonians. Unless you want to be evil-eyed or shanked, don't walk through the door in New York Yankee gear.

You could sop up suds in bars across the land, and you'll never find It — that ineffable quality that the bards sing hymns to and bar hoppers sniff out like hounds hunting game. It — the perfect balance of down-home drinking, affordable prices, and friendly faces. It — what you'll never find inside an Applebee's or any other chain bar or restaurant named after a day of the week. But once you walk inside Walsh's Irish Sports Bar in Hollywood, the It-ness smacks you in the face. That's because owner Terri Walsh and her merry band of regulars have had plenty of time to get the whole bar thing down. Ever since Walsh worked at Hollywood's mainstay McGowan's in the '80s, she's collected around her a team of drinkers. Now, every night of the week, they pour into Walsh's own place on North Federal Highway, filling up barstools to swap stories and reminisce. But it's not a members-only affair. Strangers are greeted warmly and will likely be led through a whirlwind of intros by Walsh herself, all topped off with a tequila shot — a textbook It move.

Neighborhood bars are something special. There is nothing quite like a lack of tourist families and selfish snowbirds to know you have found your spot. Delray Beach is a place that gets down for big events but also has the comfort of offering weekly goodness that will satisfy your urge to party. On Atlantic Avenue, it's all about Bull Bar. It's a staple that's small enough to give you the neighborhood vibe but too well-run to be considered a dive. Location, location, location: Bull Bar has it and knows how to use it. It's the easiest place to pop into and avoid the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Ave. But there's more than just a convenient location and a casual vibe keeping the drinks slinging. The live music lineup is stacked with local musicians who do it right. Warning: This place gets crowded. But only because it kicks so much ass.

Like a bunker in the Interzone — gay icon William Burroughs' comic/lurid dreamscape of lost leather boys — the squat bland box with glass brick windows that is Fort Dix sits amid the grit and dust of the Georgia Avenue industrial strip just west of the tracks in West Palm Beach, rainbow flag aloft. It's more appearance than reality, though, and the name's a dead giveaway, a punny homage — knowing and sassy — to those dark days of the closet, when gay men cruised the barracks and the bus station bathroom. In fact, it's (in some ways anyway) just another place where everyone knows your name: neon beer signs and other typical tavern décor on the walls, while on a quiet weeknight, the barkeep and a single customer at the bar talk about camping and campgrounds while the sounds of Family Feud come from the large-screen TV across the floor. Another, smaller TV above the bar tells a different tale — gay porn with a vintage look, a nice match for the Tom of Finland-style prints and very macho wrestling posters on the walls. You can be anything you want at Fort Dix; you just can't pretend.

It may be considered South Florida's queer mecca, but Wilton Manors tends to swing in favor of those with something swinging between their legs. (After all, you can't spell "manor" without "man.") And while a gal can throw down at Georgie's Alibi with the best of the boys, Wilton Drive might as well be called the Sausage Strip... until you come across this little gem. 13|Even is part-restaurant, part-bar, and all about serving up good juju. Here you'll find Fiona Apple coming through the speakers at that perfect, let's-enjoy-our-conversation volume. It has a selection of suds that will make your craft beer junkie friends foam at the tap. The space glows a welcoming shade of honey, thanks to pumpkin-colored walls dotted with artwork for sale and lights crafted out of recycled Napa wine barrels (... and the occasional SEC softball tourney on TV). And while it may be a place where the girls go, that's not to say 13|Even is exclusively for women; its selection of delicious small plates paired with its extensive beer and wine menu attracts the boys and the most hetero of sexuals. Good juju does not discriminate.

Cafe 27 embodies what every biker bar should be: It's far removed from civilian life, a little rough around the edges, and absolutely massive. To find it, follow Griffin Road west until it winds down to one lane and your eyes are filled with all sky and no scrapers. Drive any farther and you're waist-deep in the Everglades (they don't call this bar "an oasis on the edge of civilization" for nothin'). It's got more than a dozen picnic benches for you and your leathery crew to lounge on as you kick back with a few buckets of beer after that 50-mile Sunday-morning joyride along U.S. 27, and two massive chickee huts with industrial fans at each corner keep the no-see-ems off your callused hands. Is that a ZZ Top look-alike or the real deal? We'll never tell.

There's a time in all of our lives when we gracefully mature from picking up strangers with three-for-ones at Capone's to actually taking someone out on this heretofore-unfamiliar thing called a date. After the kids come along, the partying doesn't end; it just moves away from YOLO. Fort Lauderdale's soccer moms and business dads still know how to live it up — but now they've got decent paychecks, loyal babysitters, connected friends... and secret hideouts. The Sun Tower Hotel, just north of the Pelican Grand, has a boring façade and anonymous name — but that's just to fake out the too-cool crowd. In the back, right on the ocean, tables are packed full of joyous parties chowing down on amazing lobster rolls or expertly grilled red snapper, while friendly worked-here-forever servers come table to table to refill the wineglasses. If kids are in tow, they can jump in the pool or munch on some of the best Angus burgers this side of Texas. Before calling it a night, the grownups might gossip about city bigwigs and jibber-jab with local young professionals who've discovered the special spot. Tomorrow, they won't be too hungover to slide into their khaki shorts and Guy Harvey T-shirts and gas up the boat. Don't fear getting to this stage of life. It happens to all of us, and if we're lucky, it happens like this.

You know what's better than drinking in any old swimming pool? Drinking in a swimming pool while checking out the wavy Atlantic after spending a long day with skilled paws massaging your neck at the W's Bliss Spa. You'll smell of lemon and sage as you dip your toesies in the heated water at the W Hotel's pools — yes, "pools" plural. There are Eastern and Western infinity pools, so you can catch the sun rise or set with booze in hand. Wet West is open only seasonally, but it's private and thus perfect for those less interested in having the paparazzi snap a pic of their damp asses. Or you can let that booty dry off at your cushy cabana spot as you watch the Kardashians do the same on a 19-inch TV while sucking on some strawberries and surfing the web for best Fort Lauderdale restaurants using the W's free Wi-Fi. And if the heated pools aren't warm enough to make your muscles melt, there are hot tubs for a postworkout soak. Or you can just kick back in the warm water after you gorge on grub from Wet's grill or from Steak 954 downstairs. But let's say this time, you have the kids with you. How can you impress your unimpressible, internet-obsessed mini-zombies? There's a dry staircase running downstairs that cuts through one of the pools. As you walk down the steps, you can see the writhing legs of swimmers as they struggle to stay afloat. After the little ones indulge in a little peeping Tom action, they can get toasty at the fire pit, or you can dance to embarrass them as the DJ spins you straight into the night.

Just a few steps beyond the automated glass doors that exit the Seminole Casino Coconut Creek rests the tiki-bar-themed Sunset Grill, a much-appreciated breath of fresh air when one is looking to escape the bells, whistles, lights, loud announcements, and smoke-filled rooms that come with the usual casino experience. Here, bartender Kristal Fletcher will greet you with her smile and friendly demeanor, happy to see you, and genuinely interested in how your week is going. This place isn't about fancy garnishes, mango/tangerine/mint-infused cocktails, or dry-ice magic tricks. This is about good, old-fashioned, personable hospitality and great service, a rare commodity these days. Need to know what band is playing that night at the bar? She doesn't need to check a schedule, and she'll tell you honestly how they are. Never heard of a certain craft beer on tap? She'll let you know if it's worth a try. If there is something you need, she'll make that happen for you and not make you feel like you're being too needy. And most important, she makes a mean drink.

Happy Hour used to mean something. It was a refuge, a place you could hide from the pressures of the outside world. A place you could get away from the wife, the husband, the kid, the boss, the dog... the world. But somewhere along the way, that all went to poop. Now, happy hour means half-priced appetizers in a stiff wooden booth, sandwiched between crying babies and coupon-wielding old ladies. But what if I told you that there's a place where Happy Hour still exists? What if I told you there's a place overlooking the deep-blue waters of the Intracoastal Waterway where you can get a beer for two bucks? What if I told you that if you ate a polar bear's liver, you'd die due to its toxic levels of vitamin A? Well, it's all true (even the polar bear stuff), and that place is called Two Georges at the Cove. Monday through Friday, from 4 to 7 p.m., the sun shines down on Two Georges' outdoor bar, and the boats come drifting in to dock. The eclectic crowd smiles, drinks, and inevitably drops their sunglasses in the water. I've never met either George, but I love them both as if they were my own George. From the bottom of our thirsty hearts, thanks, Georges.

Adam Foster expertly weaves together the finest deep house to beat its way through BroCo, and thus, he's also one of the busiest dudes in town. You could call him the king of the Las Olas dance scene. He's the overlord of sounds (i.e., entertainment director) for the Restaurant People who own S3, YOLO, Vibe, and O Lounge. In this capacity, he hosts a wild selection of blowouts for Halloween, New Year's, Carnival, even for Exxxotica and Maxim. As a DJ, he's busy ruling the road, playing gigs from San Diego to his hometown, Philly, to Grand Central Miami and Casa de Campo in the DR. Wearing his collaboration crown, he thrives as part of the Twilight Notes DJ collective that launched the popular night Dialect, once based out of the Museum of Art|Fort Lauderdale. He's a member of Prom Night with DJ Todd Stylez, crafting nü-disco and indie tracks, and works with the Urban Tribal Project and Luciano Stazzone on world-fusion, live electronica. In addition to working on really engaging mixes of his own, he's planning a traveling summertime pool party called Nightswim in Fort Lauderdale and Miami. Whatever way you look at it, Adam Foster is the emperor of EDM as it comes to you from Fort Laudy.

Boston has watering holes inspired by Irish drinkers, and Boca has a bar based on the boozing of Bostonians in the Black Rose Irish Pub. The place has the brick, it's got the green on St. Paddy's Day, it's got the wooden bar, it's got the name. It's a frat guy's dream with tons of flat-screen TVs for UFC fights, a cornhole court for fuck's sake, and darts. But the one thing that's absolutely perfect for everyone is the karaoke. Whether you believe in life after love or you're having a total eclipse of the heart, you can sing like a freaking champ or like a total dweeb at this Mizner Park-area gem. The room will cheer you on as you yelp and screech, because that's what friends at a Boston pub do when liquid courage allows you to act a fool while expressing your inner Frank Sinatra. Face it, people. There's nothing better than karaoke for a broken heart, a bachelorette party, or just a regular old Thursday night. Come after 10 p.m. with your pipes prepped.

You'd hope the band that plays songs titled "Negrodamus and His White Devils," "Crack Rock 'n' Roll," and "Headless Body Topless Bar" would bring some action to the stage. And you would be correct. Sandratz sweats out the filth of punk and smooths it over with the lighthearted strut of surf. Onstage, they whip the crowd into a frothy mess. The band consists of Ian Brown, Ryan J. Black, Jesus Arteaga, Casidy Moser, and Chuck Loose, who heads up Iron Forge Press and made your favorite local band T-shirt and that poster you got when the Dwarves played Churchill's. They're a South Florida outfit but based mostly out of Fort Laudy. They recently readied the crowd for the Dead Milkmen at Grand Central, disproving the who-gives-a-shit saying "Punk is dead." Punk's just a little older, and that makes it wiser in the ways of party and performance.

There's just something about the Culture Room that feels like home. It's not a particularly tiny venue, but it feels intimate whether the place is packed to the rafters or there are only 20 diehards out for a less popular show. But let's be real: When's the last time you saw Culture Room empty? Like never. Though you may not always be into the performers gracing its stage, there's certainly some people who are. And they've already bought tickets and are waiting in line outside. The tiki feel of the bar seems classic and not corny — which is a hard look to manage. And you can usually catch the show on an outdoor screen if you need to sneak a smoke or breathe fresh air. Seeing the stage from inside is rarely a problem since not much eclipses your view. More important, the sound system allows you to hear the acts the way they're meant to be heard. Culture Room welcomes touring acts like Built to Spill and Dick Dale and has talented locals, like Lavola and the Riot Act, open for the big dogs. It also offers tribute shows, including the darkness of Made of Metal's Tribute to Death, and stages performances by folks from around here who have crossed the threshold to the national stage. Here's to Culture Room lasting many more decades to come and providing us with plenty more quality shows.

To call Monterey Club the Best New Venue sounds asinine, right? The place is hardly new to Fort Lauderdale. But since it closed at the turn of 2012 and the lounge space adjacent to Kreepy Tiki Tattoos morphed into 5 Points Lounge and then that closed, Monterey, like Christ, has risen again. Now, it's bringing a bit of the divine to Federal Highway right by the airport. Rob Stannard reopened the live venue this year and has been booking the shit out of it with endless rockabilly, roots, metal, and punk shows, with both local and national acts. Stannard says he's made his mistakes and now he's ready to start anew again with business owner Jackson Valiente, and things are looking fine. It feels so good to have such great live music back in the 954 — and on almost a daily basis. Praise the almighty King... Elvis, that is.

The news that Miami's famed Pawn Shop club was reopening on Clematis Street got the blood of jealous 305 folk boiling but planted pleasant party smiles on the faces of folks in West Palm Beach. Trying to re-create a club that was actually in a pawn shop with an indoor school bus, an Airstream trailer, actual airplane seats, and the occasional half-pipe in the back seemed impossible. But the folks behind the new incarnation of the place managed to succeed at creating something new yet true to the old: a dance club with tons of character, an amusement park for big people, a floor that's begging to be hopped around on. The DJ booth is now set up in a Mack truck, a vintage Ferris wheel sits above one of the bars, there are pool tables, and yes, there's still a school bus. Less gritty than the old spot at the edge of Overtown, Pawn Shop now is a place where pretty people can get their butts moving in true style.

Pools halls are usually found in out-of-the-way locales. That corner slot in the strip mall? Billiards hall. Back room of that Mexican place? Pool hall. Space above tarot card parlor? A cue shooter's paradise. But breaking the trend, it's impossible to miss Mis-cue. The building in Oakland Park shouts out from the street in loud, golf-course green-and-white checked paint, with retro orange lettering spelling out the establishment's raison d'être: LOUNGE, BILLIARDS. Inside, it's all business: about a dozen pool tables pocketed inside the gloom under low ceilings. A well-scarred bar area upfront anchors the room, and this is a table top that's seen a lot of greasy elbows, spilled beers, and grease dripping off the chicken wings served from a nearby crock pot. A core corps of regulars makes up most of the Mis-cue's business, mostly pot-bellied old-timers with a serious jones for cue sports and a younger, tougher, and tattooed contingent. It can be intimidating for an outsider just strolling in for a game. But fear not.

No matter how many times you see The Big Lebowski, the classic comedy always leaves you with two urges. One of those desires you will have to travel to Washington, Colorado, or Amsterdam to fulfill, but in order to bowl, you need look no further than Davie. Sparez has a plethora of lanes to help your inner Lebowski abide. It's open from 9 a.m. to 1 a.m. Sunday through Thursday and doesn't close until 3 Friday and Saturday night. The longer hours on weekends are necessary, but weekdays usually provide no wait coupled with a discounted rate — an hour of bowling drops from $24 on weekends to $17.50. Leagues and specials are constantly rotating, so it helps to check the website for the best deals. Weekend late nights feature special-effects lighting and a live DJ from 99 Jamz who will never, ever play the Eagles.

The lights are bright at the Broward County Convention Center, and the sexual tension is high. Just about anything goes, at least for the three days the Exxxotica Expo hits town. The atmosphere is surprisingly chill and not at all creepy, even though the event features some of the biggest stars in the adult film industry and a lot of giant dildos. Chances are good that you'll meet men here. Single men. Men who are down for whatever, and in this case, whatever equals a good time. Maybe you like a little leather with your loving or perhaps feathers with your fucking? This is a unique partnering experience — a place where you can find out what the dude is into before the first date. An easy way to filter out the duds. Everything's on the table at Exxxotica, and that's why it's the best, and funniest, place to meet single men each year.

Finding a compatible, cool partner is about as hard as finding something DIY you'd actually want to buy. At Art Rock, though, the annual DIY indie marketplace in West Palm Beach, you may have less trouble finding either of those two things than you'd ever imagined. Art Rock will be packed with ladies — ladies who can make things, ladies who bake delicious cupcakes (even vegan ones for you non-egg-eaters out there) and gourmet jerky — yeah, jerky. Ladies who have tattoos and purple hair but wear aprons because they don't want to mess up their vintage '50s dresses. The affair is hosted by the folks who do Stitch Rock in Delray. It takes place at the Armory Art Center with 60 booths, swag bags, free parking, and crafty art. With all that, your chances of leaving with tons of numbers and looking like a sensitive gentleman are pretty rocking. Note: This event takes place in the springtime — mating season.

Had a rough day? Commute depressing you? The printer jamming up again? There is not a better way to remove yourself from your daily dose of bullshit than transporting yourself to an alternative universe — any event hosted by Misty Eyez. The 11-year veteran drag queen reigns supreme over a kingdom of unworthy disciples and changes lives. Her YouTube channel is off-the-chains, with tutorials and behind-the-scenes secrets that can serve as your drag queen training school (we have it on good authority that her vid on creating cleavage for skinny bitches works wonders). Her blend of humor, glamour, and general over-the-topness comes with a message of empowerment: "Let your hair down and have a good time!" says Misty. Our lives are full of serious events, but you need to have some fun. Fun is in spades at her shows, which are all over, including on the goddamned ocean with the latest Drag Stars at Sea cruise. Whether it's spreading the drag gospel with the help of the internet or hosting Bitchy Bingo at Lips in Fort Lauderdale, Misty always does it like she means it. Catch her now, lest our butterfly head for bigger and better things. She is in the process of auditioning for RuPaul's Drag Race. There is no doubt our girl will make it, but we have our freshly manicured fingers crossed just in case.

Drink specials, a packed house, and an ear full of reggae music... Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays! There are few times that the party is 100 percent guaranteed, which is what makes E.R. Bradley's weekly reggae throwdown so danged important to our collective well-being. Gracing the stage each and every Monday night, local reggae favorites Spred the Dub have good times oozing from their pores while shaking out their own tasty jams and groovy covers. The six members don't just keep all the fun for themselves; they bring in opening bands more times than not, giving two-for-one a new meaning. Spred the Dub has been picking up speed, touring the country, and playing SunFest in 2014, but it's Bradley's where the real magic happens. Over the years, the band has moved its official Monday Night Reggae party around Clematis Street, but it has never felt more at home than at Bradley's, and it shows. Drink specials, cheap late-night food that is actually good, and never a cover.

From shore to shore, the inaugural Coastline Festival made its way from Tampa to West Palm Beach's Cruzan Amphitheatre, bringing with it enough electro pop to please absolutely everyone born from 1987 to 1995. The lineup included WPB natives Surfer Blood, who — with lead singer John Paul Pitts half in the crowd — performed the Lebowski-loathed Eagles' tune "Take It Easy" for a screeching crowd of superfans. Other acts included Passion Pit and Matt and Kim, both of whom played their final shows of 2013 at Coastline, adding the liveliest music to this "musiculinary experience." There was a serious variety of both food trucks and craft beers. Brews were from the coolest spots around, like Due South Brewing, Funky Buddha, Dogfish Head, and Magic Hat. This added an air of indie to a venue that usually boasts ketchup on hot dogs as the finest feast available. You could snag a Radio-Active Records pin for your lapel or tote from an old-fashioned, coin-operated toy machine, don flowers in your hair, or get someone to cut your shirt into a unique design onsite. Colorful tattoos were displayed proudly too. It was a perfect combo of new and cool. All there was left for you to do was hold your iPhone high, wave it side to side, and sing "To Kingdom Come."

You're driving down to South Beach for the night to catch Steve Aoki smash cake in someone's face and press mad buttons, when you press play yourself, but on your iPod. West Palm Beach native Will Brennan's Prodigal Son release comes up first. And lo and behold, Brennan's also heading south on 95 in the early verses of the opening track, "RNR." The whole album has both mainstream radio appeal and a delightful enough edge to keep it interesting and memorable. Brennan is one of the few hip-hop artists signed to Aoki's Dim Mak Records. Since this free full-length, Brennan's continued to create songs influenced by South Florida — with themes like humping in the ocean and hating his job. With or without a substantial label behind him, we think Brennan's got enough flavor and skill to break the sunny glass Florida ceiling.

West Palm Beach's New Coke released a frenetic three-song EP this February that's packed with negativity and punk hysteria, and we love it. It's hypnotic, and yeah, it makes you want to sort of barf. But in a totally good way. The Slovenly Recordings recording can be downloaded online, or you can order a seven-inch vinyl for your casa. Songs include "Duct Tape Your Mouth," "I'm Not a Fan of Your Romance," and "I Am Drunk, I Have a Gun, I Want Names." This is the band's first release in two years, and the PBC trio killed it — like they strapped it to a chair and then beat the shit out of it until it died. And now the world has this incredibly intense product that was recorded in Miami with Torche's Jonathan Nunez. Slovenly's little album disclaimer says to expect a full-length this year, so we'll just sit here, hold our breath — maybe duct tape our noses too — until the LP hits the web and our record player.

West Palm Beach's beloved Surfer Blood gives us the warm and fuzzies. The band made us proud on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon. They made us proud touring with the Pixies. But what we really love is how the band has stuck to its roots; the band members' sunny, palm-tree-laden upbringing left an impression. This was made perfectly clear with the premiere of "Say Yes to Me," from their sophomore album, Pythons. The clip takes the locals home to Howley's, an essential diner that has always been close to landmark status for those in the know. Now, a little piece has been shared with the world. The video is a solid look into the band's lifestyle: Its fun side shows through, and there are tater tots. Even rock stars love tater tots. "Say Yes to Me" is a breezy jam, and the weird costumes and trippy story line make for a video worth watching. Say yes to Surfer Blood; say yes to tots.

Lake Worth's Wake Up is riding high on a big old indie awesome wave. The band is hot right now, and yet it's also as cool as can be. It's on tour with Surfer Blood, played CMJ, and hasn't even put out a full-length album yet. It does, however, have an impressive grungy and power-pop-heavy EP, Forever Home, out on Decades Records. The disc even got some love from the omniscient blog Brooklyn Vegan. It's got, among other things, a touch of Built to Spill, a tiny taste of Weezer, and a lump of Pavement. Singer and songwriter Evan Mui is a scene vet in these parts. He's played with other worship-worthy bands like Guy Harvey and the Dewars. The bandmates are the best of friends: There's Mui, guitarist Bobby Yapkowitz, bassist Austen Bemis, and now Suede Dudes' unfortunately named singer Bryan Adams as drummer. This band is gripping rock 'n' roll by the nuts right now and is sure to coast its way to stardom, and soon.

If you don't appreciate Devalued, chances are good you're an asshole. It's like all those people who didn't like Little Miss Sunshine. They're awful people. Straight up. The three guys from Broward who compose this D-beat band are absolutely charming. The music they make is as heavy as it gets, but at least two of them really enjoy Jamiroquai — Conor Barbato and Nico Suave, not drummer Matt Stoyka. Their album Plagues starts with a song called "This Town Is Full of Goobers" and includes two others titled "Crack Money" and "Coke Dick" — and of the three, only Suave isn't straightedge. You loving them yet? OK, here's one more. On their Facebook page, they describe their sound as "salsacore." Adorbs! As a group, they also have the power to deeply anger with their dark-as-fuck metal sound. They don't perform nearly enough, but you may have seen them at Churchill's opening with Holly Hunt for Jucifer or at our Green Room's County Grind Night. Last year, they toured the country with Suave's other project, Nunhex, showing 30 cities in the U.S. that brutal music can enrage and keep you smiling with glee at the same time.

When you think folk music, it's easy to go right to James Taylor daydreams or rewatch A Mighty Wind. There's a whole lot more folk than these sensitive classics, and it swims through genres in ways you have to feel to believe. When it comes to folk music in South Florida, it has an edge, it screams, it lights fires, and its home is in Lake Worth. No one exemplifies the crusty, punkabilly scene with more pride or tattoos than Everymen. The often-shirtless gaggle of string-toting dudes brings the grime to what was once an elegant scene and finally turns it into something worth listening to. More than just an interesting look, the Everymen crew knows how to play and has emerged as one of the most important bands in Lake Worth, which makes it one of the most important bands in South Florida. The guys take their craft and position in the scene seriously, but their sharp recordings and videos don't do justice to their live performance. An Everymen show is a full-body experience that involves as much theatrics and crowd participation as it does musicianship and smiling faces. This primo live-show guarantee is why they are a touring machine, road-tripping around the country and proving to everyone else what we already know: Folk has changed for good.

It's all about the string. In an area where reggae reigns and indie bands rule the night, it's been incredible to watch the rise of string music in South Florida. The true bluegrass sound being emitted by banjos, upright basses, and fiddles throughout our bubble has been startling in the best way possible. Why simply jam when you could "jamboogiegrassicana"? That's what the Short Straw Pickers call their funked-up and homegrown style of bluegrass. They've earned the right to coin their own subgenre, considering this über-talented gang grew out of the orchestra program at Boca Raton's Lynn University. Lead singer and guitarist Jack Schueler has been around the local scene and is happy to reach peak performance with the Short Straw Pickers. Their debut album, Upon That Hill, was a huge gift from the band to the world and is propelling them to the road for a string of festival gigs. Whether it's at a festival or elsewhere, these pickers take pride in physically taking their music to as many people as will listen, which is a lot. The Short Straw Pickers bring style and incredible musicianship to the genre, respecting its pure state while flipping it on its head — as every band should.

Not all local jam bands are created equal. Some seem to run laps between the Funky Buddha Lounge & Brewery and the Funky Biscuit, which is solid. We need them — they make the scene what it is. But some local jam bands break through and travel the country delivering their slice of South Florida style to every corner of the U.S. No one does it better than Fort Lauderdale's the Heavy Pets, jamming their way through your most dancetastic live music outings. Whether it's a New Year's show, full-on festi, or random run-in, the Pets always make their way back home and into your hearts, no matter how far they tour. Your friend may have watched the Heavy Pets slay it in the middle of a sweaty mob at Bonnaroo, but you get to see them up-close and personal on a breezy Saturday night at Guanabanas. What makes the Pets extra special? They have side projects aplenty, cutting up the lineup to share the love so there's constantly music coming from the guys. This divide-and-conquer technique shows that the true passion of the band is to get music out in the open and to create with one another. Fact is, when the Heavy Pets, Fat Mannequin, Lather Up!, or the Sugar Dicks announce a show, the community comes out. And the community is everything when it comes to jam.

Move over, Taylor Swift, in a totally not-Kanye way. There is a newer, younger, fresher, potentially more motivated country singer/songwriter making power moves. Fiddle prodigy Maggie Baugh is slowly but surely taking over the local country scene. A mainstay at festivals and events, Baugh picked up her first violin at 6 years old and never looked back. Now the fresh-faced teen is proving she has the chops to make it as an artist. With the release of her first album, Only Good Things, Baugh showed that country music doesn't have to just be about losing your truck, wife, and dog. She wrote a song about middle school called "Middle School" — how adorbs. The songwriter isn't just in it for the street cred — she has a good head on her shoulders too. Baugh often raises money for Glycogen Storage Disease, a genetic liver disease her two brothers have. It's endearing to see so much talent stay on a kind and generous path. Her rise is still fresh but well-established. Baugh was invited onstage to fiddle her little heart out along with the Charlie Daniels Band for its megahit "Devil Went Down to Georgia." She killed it. Did we mention she's 13?

Spin around and point — did you find a reggae band? Tends to be the case on the live music scene in South Florida. And while we embrace everyone from the Sublime cover bands to 4/20-friendly acoustic solo artists as part of our beloved scene, some bands find a way to tip the scale in their favor. Fort Lauderdale-based Army Gideon has worked its way through the rest, emerging as a reggae force from Miami to Jupiter. Throwing down monster four-hour sets, the mammoth, seven-piece band (whose members have nicknames like "Cabbage" and "Spice") leaves it all on the stage, especially its message. Playing music with a purpose comes with the territory in reggae music, but Army Gideon finds a way to make universal love and Rastafari awareness the centerpiece of every show, song, and conversation. An authentic reggae experience in a sea of "I think this is a reggae band" knockoffs.

Coffee makes the world go 'round. The little red berry contains a bean ripe for roasting that can animate even the most sleep-deprived. This brewed delight is also what motivates and inspires unusual hip-hop guy Eric Biddines. He's unique in that he's got a cool Andre 3000-type voice, and his style is just hippie enough so that mixed with his smart raps, he feels indie as hell and like no other. But these days, the Delray Beach-based rapper is actually hitting the mainstream. His video for "RailRoads Down/Unfinished" blew up on MTV Jams just a few months back. In it, Biddines addressed the totally miserable topic of slavery. Luckily, it was tastefully and beautifully executed, just like his last album, Planetcoffeebean 2.He recorded about 50 songs for the release but used only 12. Planetcoffeebean is a place that exists in the artist's mind, with its own landmarks and creatures that he continues to develop through his magnetic music and badass brand and lifestyle. It's definitely harvest time for this creative and unpretentious rapper.

Millionyoung eased off the emotional gas and amped up the groove for its side project, Chévere. The downtempo new collabo by Mike Diaz and Kristof Ryan is still chill but not chillwave like their other avenue for sound creation. Though Diaz is kind of the founder of Millionyoung, the Fort Lauderdale duo is totally equal as Chévere, cowriting their songs. And equally, they will inspire you to dance like a little kid to their twinkling beats. Though they say the music is the place where French house meets hip-hop, it's got a way-late-'90s lounge feel with a healthy splash of jazziness, saxiness, and sensual layered vocals. As Chévere, Diaz and Kristof toured in 2012, collaborated with Lex One and Lucian on a soulful project called Redrum, performed at Wynwood's inaugural III Points festival in 2013, and released their first EP, Love Changes. It's versatile as an album can be — one of the few releases you can use to party or rest. Definitely the finest electronica to emerge from the area in recent years.

Lady goes through a rough breakup. Where does she take her girls? To Cheetah, for a divorce party. Rough day at work. Where do bros go to vent? Cheetah. Dennis Rodman comes back from North Korea, gets swarmed by annoying media types. Where does he duck for cover? Thazz right — Cheetah. Each of South Florida's nudie bars has its special place in the strip-club pantheon: Some are durrty, some are clubby, some are known for Octomom appearances, and some go for the upscale-steak-house vibe. But it's Cheetah that's the most comfy, low-pretense, and accessible, like your neighborhood bar, or hell, like your own living room, complete with Xboxes, poker games, and cigars. And with $6 omelets, a happy hour that lasts from 11:30 a.m. to 6 p.m., free lunch, and smoking-hot, superfun chicks who will entertain your girlfriend with a lap dance while you eat your cheese steak, really — why ever bother going home?

To a true gambler, the best casino is the one where you win. A dirty back alley where you roll only sevens will always have a fond place in your heart, and if you go bust in a luxurious palace, you will never wish to return no matter how fine the Champagne they comp might be. But if you're going to spend serious time at the slots or the poker table, better to do it in a hygienic location, and since the 2006 renovation, no casino is less seedy than Gulfstream Park. The racetrack, which in February marked its 75th year, continues to be a pleasant place to make a wager. The poker room is pristine, and the hundreds of slots are in a smoke-free environment. There are plenty of shops, bars, and restaurants to spend your winnings in, and if your bankroll is low, watching the horses run won't cost you a dime — though the $2 bets will tempt you.

This hideaway in Hollywood would also win Likeliest Place to Spy a Hobbit. With its décor that emulates Middle Earth with the faux trees, dark lighting, and heavy tables, one could easily expect Frodo or Gandalf to sit next to you. Perhaps after a shot of the earthy-tasting house-brewed kava tea — served in a coconut shell with a chaser of wedges of pineapple — one might even see Bilbo or Gollum dancing in front of you, as the completely legal Polynesian brew has sedative and anesthetic effects. One shot goes for $5.50 while the flavored kava — whose flavors change by the day, from ginger to chocolate coconut to honey cinnamon and beyond — is $7.50. If the kava doesn't give you trippy sensations, Mystic Water Kava Bar's atmosphere and music, whether by DJ or occasional live band, definitely will. Bargain hunters will be happy to know that every weekday from 2 to 7 p.m. features a happy hour with a two-for-one special. Night owls will be even happier, as the bar serves kava seven days a week until 4 a.m.

You'd think with our year-round growing season, there would be year-round farmers' markets, but many Florida markets are seasonal. Yellow-Green Farmers Market is one of the few permanent, year-round markets. It even has the added benefit of being under a roof, for those rainy or too, too sunny summer days. Located off of Taft Street near I-95, there are more than 300 booths in the 100,000-square-foot facility. You'll find copious amounts of all the usual greenmarket fare, from fresh produce to artisanal jams to stone crab legs as well as arts and crafts. There's also the Chillbar lounge, which is open on weekends and serves a wide selection of fresh and organic home-cooked fare.

Third time was a charm for Cas Tannenbaum's annual movement arts extravaganza and open-air carnival. Grounded in a philosophy that seeks the state of "flow" — defined as "an exhilarating transcendent way of being in which effortless control and peak skill seem to erase a sense of time" — this year's Flow Fest drew the greatest number yet of acrobatic adepts offering the widest variety of performances: hoops, juggling, fire dance, belly dance, yoga, break dancing, capoeira. It stretched over three days of workshops, and play lasted well into the evening, the better to take in the blazing, twisting, turning array. Darkening skies along the Intracoastal Waterway became an Arabian Nights fantasy, full of fit and youthful forms, in clothes variously medieval, thrift-shop, or psychedelic homespun, capering across the lawn with grace and precision, a temporary village of the body electric. Listen hard enough and you can still hear the temple bells.

Since 1990, Sun Sentinel sports columnist Dave Hyde has seen you through the good and bad of South Florida sports. From the births of the Florida Marlins and the Florida Panthers in the early '90s to the Miami Heat's back-to-back championships, sure as the sun rises, Hyde has been there to cover them. Before Twitter and Facebook dominated up-to-the-second sports news, Hyde's columns in your morning paper provided your daily fix of sports tidbits. The way you consume sports news may have drastically changed over the past 24 years, but Hyde is still the supplier. Reading his columns is actually comforting: You feel like he understands where the local fan sits on certain issues, because you've grown up together in this market. In a place where almost everyone is a transplant, only a few things feel homegrown in South Florida. Dave Hyde's Sun Sentinel sports coverage is one.

You need your South Florida news, and you need it from a reliable source. So when co-anchor Jawan Strader dispatches teases for his morning newscast on Twitter, you pay attention. "Fans waiting for Justin Bieber to show up in a Miami courtroom in case against his security guard," he alerts you. "Hazmat situation at JMH after shooting involving a party bus," he declares. And when he promises "a look at a stripper at a nursing home that has residents upset," you damn sure flip on the tube — even though it's only between 5 and 7 a.m. The lovable man and his sexy dimples give you the important info you need to tackle the day ahead, and that's why on National Hug Your Newsman Day (April 4), he's the one who gets all the shoutouts.

The admittedly worse half of 790 The Ticket's Dan LeBatard Show — Jon "Stugotz" Weiner — grows on you, mainly because he is you. Weekdays from 3 to 7 p.m., Stugotz perfectly plays the yin to Dan LeBatard's yang, consistently countering his well-spoken cohost's thought-provoking views on various subjects with his caveman-like hot-sports-take, emotion-filled contributions. While LeBatard is taking apart a sport topic to see its innards in order to better understand it, Stugotz routinely lays quick justice on the same matter with swift to-the-point judgments like, "They need to zip it up!" The two polar-opposite approaches blend perfectly, creating a wildly entertaining and unique four hours of radio. Self-deprecating humor mixed with the unapologetic stances Stugotz brings to the table are a major part in making the show so successful. Frequently, a topic on the show will become more about how "The Stugotz" is reacting to it than the actual subject itself. Part of the fun for listeners is waiting for those gems, knowing that the mispronunciation of a word like "anonymity" is surely on its way, and it'll be hilarious. Whether you are laughing at him or with him, all that really matters is that you are laughing.

Joy Taylor has had one hell of a year. After being added to 790-AM The Ticket and the 104.3-FM Zaslow Show radio show as a producer, Taylor moved into a more prominent cohost spot when Marc Hochman left for 560 WQAM — the moved has turned out to be a real success. Not only are new, young, fresh voices a rarity on AM sports radio but a female voice is even rarer, and you forget she is any of those much-needed things when she is on-air, mainly because she knows her shit. Joy, sister of Miami great Jason Taylor, has skyrocketed onto the sports-media scene this year. Different isn't always accepted right away, even less so in an industry dominated by belching, chicken-wing-inhaling males, but Taylor has been a welcomed breath of fresh air.

Some FM personalities like the sound of their own voices a bit too much. Others try too hard to be funny. And yet others are constantly talking over your favorite song. But then there's a guy like Doc Reno, who spins the black circle at Big 105.9 in the afternoons and then again during the red eye between midnight and 6 a.m. Doc's got a classic-rock vibe with a frat-boy sensibility, the kind of DJ you'd want to share a beer with. Reno is engaging enough to make you dig his style when he's playing your favorite Aerosmith song and funny enough to keep you listening. Always quick with a joke and always up on the crazy news stories from around the country that he constantly updates on his blog, Doc Reno doesn't get in the way of the music, which is all you really ask of an FM personality. 

Brendan Tobin is the hardest-working man in AM radio; it's not even close. Tobin produces The Zaslow Show on 790-AM/104.3-FM The Ticket on weekdays from 6 to 10 a.m. as well as hosts his own radio shows that cover golf and UFC/boxing on the weekends, so yeah, he's pretty busy. Any producer can set a show on autopilot and answer calls, but that's not what Tobin does. The Zaslow Show is full of bits and audio mashups Brendan Tobin has spent hours pulling after the show goes off air. Some of his best work revolves around Miami Heat radio man Mike Inglis' calls. You can always count on waking up the next morning and hearing the best of what the incredible Inglis said about the game's big play, and the way he puts it together is always sure to induce goose bumps. Sports radio has moved on from a caller-dominated format and into more of an entertainment-based area, and entertain Tobin and the Zaslow Show do. Tobin always puts his terrific hosts, Jonathan Zaslow and Joy Taylor, in the best possible spots to succeed, and you can hear it every morning in the finished product.

Food — it's kind of a big deal in Broward and Palm Beach. One even might say the food scene is the heart of the cultural scene. Around here, people will drive 30 to 40 minutes to try a new restaurant. Or a weird new concept. Or an old favorite. The point is, food is king. But with so many options spread over such a disparate area, we need people whose whole lives are about food to tell us what's up. Fat Girl Hedonist is one such blogger. Between her blog, her Twitter feed, her Instagram account, and even her profile on Urban Spoon, there is not a bite of food that goes into this woman's mouth that the public does not know about.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's a local hero! They say you can't be everywhere at all times, but the exception is @aGuyonClematis. The Twitter superstar seems to be on a constant stroll down every snapshot-worthy inch of Clematis Street, the main drag of downtown West Palm Beach. No one's quite sure how the "Guy," AKA Aaron Wormus, manages to announce which bars are still hopping at 2 a.m. and shortly after sunrise, tweeting out a pic of the morning coffee crowd gathered at a picturesque sidewalk café. Wormus has officially woven himself into the fabric of West Palm Beach with close ties to Mayor Jeri Muoio and Raphael Clemente, director of the Downtown Development Association. The guy actively promotes WPB as an emergent tech hub and has helped bring entrepreneurial players together on Twitter by starting the popular #ilovewpb hashtag. Wormus sees tech with its human element: "When I use Twitter, I don't see the internet," he says. "I see all the people tweeting and posting pictures from Clematis Street and around downtown, and I like to think of it as the 'heartbeat of the streets.' " It's gotten to the point where savvy downtown West Palmers need him; Wormus is an essential follow for anyone seeking new restaurant previews or play-by-play pics of waterfront events. In fact, if a new dude you just met isn't following @aGuyonClematis, that's reason enough to turn down that second date. But if you do go, be sure to tweet Wormus for a restaurant suggestion.

A nice Jewish boy from Miami Beach, now settled in Palm Beach County, State Rep. Pafford's firm, calm manner makes his unrepentantly progressive public-policy positions seem like the only reasonable choice a sane voter could make. Thankfully, there appear to be enough sane voters in his district to assure a long career in that post or serve as a springboard to something higher. A naturalist since his youth (and as of February, CEO of the Arthur R. Marshall Foundation for the Everglades), he worked 20 years in the nonprofit sector until first elected to the state House in 2008. In three terms in office, he's authored legislation to aid the homeless and the aged and to crack down on corruption, organized crime, and sex offenders. He's been chosen to serve as the Democratic minority leader starting next fall, but he can mix it up too, and has, with the GOP — in an amazing display of bipartisan outreach, last year he organized and hosted the Legislature's first Sea Level Rise Symposium. He understudied for a time with the famously combative Lois Frankel, now a U.S. rep, but Pafford more typically radiates genuine warmth and good humor, making him a natural at retail politics. Guy's a comer.

In Lake Worth, politics is bitter; the pleasant little burg sure does breed some venom. But out of this toxic soil comes a sprout with some wit: @smaxwell2014 — a fake Twitter account for three-time commissioner Scott Maxwell. Riffing on Maxwell's history of fierce rhetoric about undocumented immigrants, @smaxwell2014 touts the commish as a "maligned defender of Anglo values and culture" and spouts tweets like "Unfortunately illegal aliens are not our only problem. LW is OVERRUN with aliens from other planets as well, & they are stealing my thoughts. I dream of a Lake Worth where the white race is free to ride 4 wheelers on the beach without big govt's head up our a**es." More amusing still is that the fake Twitter account has a fake follower — @RealWesBlackman, a nom de farce for real Lake Worth blogger Wes Blackman, curmudgeon extraordinaire. When not "Up late getting nostalgic about old home movies," @RealWesBlackman's tweets chiefly target Lake Worth's green activists, who "refuse to stop printing murder manual... directly responsible for deaths." As with the best hoaxes, this one's author remains unknown. Members of El Dub's anarchist community, sworn enemies of Maxwell and Blackman, upon whom suspicion naturally falls, deny a role. If the perpetrator ever wants to step forward, the Daily Show calls or, even better, The Onion. If Roger Stone weren't so dated and humorless, even he might tip his hat.

Lawyers love to gab. If they're not throwing jurisprudence around at judges or juries, they're talking among themselves. Gossip and rumor, bragging rights and boasts — outside of high school girls, you won't find people who whisper more about their peers than the ladies and gentlemen of the court. William Gelin's light-bulb moment was to put all those courthouse bull sessions online. In 2006, the Oakland Park-based attorney went live with JAA Blog, a website that documents the day-to-day little dramas of the courthouse crowd in Broward. The result — a clearinghouse of info on power players, rounded out with anonymous comments from knowing readers — is a must-read. He airs grievances, blasts judges for poor decisions and early workday exits, and gives props to bailiffs and clerks. 2013 may have been Gelin's banner year. The attention his blog sucked in set up a showdown with the all-powerful Florida Bar. Someone — likely a sore robed one — anonymously filed a grievance against Gelin. The bar began investigating the lawyer-blogger to see if any of his writing violated the rules of conduct for attorneys. Gelin fought back, arguing he'd done nothing but tell the truth. In September, the writer was cleared.

There's a long tradition of separation of church and state in America, but sometimes, elected officials need to be publicly embarrassed to be reminded of it. A more polite passerby might have let a city building set up a manger at Christmastime without complaint, but longtime gadfly Chaz Stevens preferred to call bullshit when the City of Deerfield Beach allowed such a display outside the fire station. Last December, Stevens, a self-employed software developer, frequent gadfly, and self-described "hardcore atheist," called the boy king "baby fucking Jesus" and disparaged the barn scene as a "baby Jesus Motel 6." He threatened to sue Deerfield if it hosted Christian symbols while refusing to allow Stevens' own antireligious "Festivus pole," a six-foot-tall contraption made of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans, inspired by an episode of Seinfeld. Then, Stevens took his battle a step further and applied to display his pole in the rotunda of the state Capitol as well — a stunt that was, astonishingly, approved by the powers-that-be. Stevens drove to Tallahassee to install his "serious feat of ridiculousness." During the month that it stood, the Festivus Pole earned worldwide media coverage (including accolades from the Colbert Report) and paved the way for the Satanic Temple to apply for its own display.

Pop-punk seems to have arisen from the minds of suburban teens too scared for the filthy pit of a real punk show. So it must be very strange to age if you got famous making this kind of kid-friendly music. You're the oldest guy at the show and you're onstage. Back in December, Coral Springs-bred pop-punkers New Found Glory ousted one of their most significant members, guitarist and songwriter Steve Klein. Fans scratched their adolescent or now postadolescent heads and wondered what the hell happened. Well, what happened is that Klein was arraigned in San Luis Obispo Superior Court on multiple horrifying charges. These included: two counts of lewd conduct with a minor under 14, three of lewd conduct with a minor 14 or 15, one of intent to commit a lewd act with a minor, and one of possession of child pornography. His lawyers say he met these underaged females thinking they were older-than-18 women on the web. And the porn? It was video stuff they sent him. How was he to know?! Whether this music man is telling the truth or not, the courts'll decide.

An attractive 20-something teacher from Boca Raton, Olivia Sprauer made headlines after she was canned for moonlighting as a lingerie model. Sprauer, who was the teacher we clearly never had when we were growing up, was called into the office of her Martin County elementary school one afternoon. The school principal confronted her on the spot, showing her photographs of herself dressed in scantily clad clothes and pining for the camera. Sprauer admitted that the buxom beauty wearing nothing but a G-string was, in fact, her. She lost her teaching job on the spot. But because the internet is a place where fame can go viral as well as a place where you can look at pictures of naked people, Sprauer was able to parlay her well-timed 15 minutes into a burgeoning modeling career. Going under the name Victoria V. James, Sprauer's internet persona took off on Twitter and Facebook, and she eventually made her way into the pages of Hustler magazine. In the end, Sprauer is just another single mom with two kids who lost a job and had to make do with what she had. Or, as she put it on her blog: "I'm too sexy for my job...Lol."

Hollywood, Florida, native Josh Gad had always dreamed of being an entertainer. As a young man, he moved west and trained with the famous improvisational troupe the Groundlings. From there, he was able to use his talent as a comedic actor to land roles on the short-lived 2007 Kelsey Grammer vehicle Back to You and as a correspondent on The Daily Show With Jon Stewart. But it wasn't until the 33-year-old Gad landed a role in the critically acclaimed musical The Book of Mormon in 2011 that the industry took notice. Gad turned his performance as Elder Cunningham into a star-making role, earning himself a Tony nomination and opening doors to bigger parts. But no part has been bigger for Gad than his voice-over work for Disney's 2013 Academy Award-winning smash animated film Frozen. Gad landed the coveted role of Olaf, the comical snowman who dreams of summertime. Since that big break, Gad has seen meatier parts line up for him, including a biopic in which he will play late comedian Sam Kinison. Not bad for a kid from Hollywood, Florida, who grew up with Hollywood, California, dreams.

At last count, the New York Times had 11.8 million Twitter followers. LeBron James had slightly more, 12.8 million. CNN also nudged him out with 12.8 million. But 20-year-old Ariana Grande beat them all with 15.2 million and counting. In terms of Twitter reach, this makes her the 41st most powerful person in the world, not far behind the trifecta of Katy Perry, Justin Bieber, and Barack Obama. Never heard of Grande? You must be over 18. The cutie from Boca Raton is a triple threat, acting on the Nickelodeon show Sam & Cat and dancing and singing in a music career that is managed by Bieber puppetmaster Scooter Braun. Grande's first album of high-pitched radio pop and carefully curated collaborations (one with rapper Mac Miller) debuted at number one on the Billboard charts last fall. She's still in closely managed, rising-star mode, but surely it won't be long before she shaves her head and kisses Madonna. Then she'll truly have made it.

By day, Kristen Hewitt is a sports producer, editor, and reporter. By night, she is Mom to two ridiculously adorable daughters. So basically, she's a superhero. You may know her best from her work as a Sun Sports reporter during Miami Heat telecasts, and she also works as coordinating producer of Billy's Bunch, a Miami Marlins kids show that airs on Fox Sports Florida. Hewitt put together a wonderful blog for mothers called "Mommy in Sports" that centers around the raising of her daughters, Lila Hope and Emylia Mae, and it's a must-read for moms. Everything from activities to parenting tips is featured on Mommy in Sports, all written in a relaxing, mom-to-mom-like way. It doesn't read like Web MD or parenting.com; it's just a mom giving you a window into the way she goes about parenthood. Between the photos of her two daughters (did I mention how cute they are?) and the parenting tips, it's the perfect bookmark for the mom looking for a little advice.

Are you depressed? Is your desk job getting you down? Kids a huge pain? Husband lazing on the couch? Old lady burning your ass about a bunch of yard work? Are you existentially shaky after watching the True Detective finale? Well, you could beeline for the shrink and spill your guts on a couch, or you could pick up a shelf of prescription happy pills for an emotional U-turn. Or... you could raise your spirits in a more natural way. You could get a spanking. Researchers at the National Institute of Gluteal Abuse have determined that a spanking per week can spike your endorphin levels. If you choose such a treatment for your moody blues, the best hand, so to speak, in the game in South Florida belongs to Scary Mary Santa. For 14 years, the South Florida fetish scene has been dominated by Mary, an artist/musician/dominatrix/fetish enthusiast who thrashes away at paying customers in her Fort Lauderdale dungeon, Chamber 7. As we can, er, personally attest, one laser-guided swat from Mary while fastened onto her St. Andrew's cross domination rack is enough to clear the dark clouds out of your head. Go ahead: Get spanked.

Everybody loves a good locals-versus-developer matchup. In Fort Lauderdale over the past year, the heavyweight bout has been between flashy developer Asi Cymbal's 960-unit Marina Lofts project and a vocal opposition. The main issue: The project threatens to uproot the six-story-high, 100-year-old rain tree sitting smack in the middle of the development's proposed footprint. Despite promises to move the iconic tree, the plan still struck many as wrong-headed. Three people led the charge. Activist Cal Deal unloaded all of his rhetorical firepower against the project on his blog, Fort Lauderdale Observer. Jessica Kross rolled out a moveon.org petition asking the City Commission to save the tree, eventually notching more than 4,300 signatures. And Chris Brennan, first mate at the Water Taxi located near the site, filmed a YouTube video voicing his opposition. When Water Taxi — which leases its location from Cymbal — told Brennan to take down the clip or leave his job, he walked. Unfortunately, the Marina Lofts were greenlighted thanks to neutered politicians who get all jelly-legged around flashy blueprints. But Deal, Kross, and Brennan should still be congratulated for fighting the good fight.

If their pockets weren't stuffed with cash from fat cats, their paths not cleared by national political party machines, Rick Scott and Charlie Crist would be worried about Nan Rich. That's because the Weston Democrat is about the cleanest pol trying to make a grab for the governor's office, saddled with neither Scott's shitty record nor Crist's epic flip-flops. The longtime state senator isn't intimidated by the heavyweights she's stepped into the ring with. As a former head of the Senate's Dems as well as a past stint heading the National Council of Jewish Women, Rich is used to big tasks. But you'd have to be smoking a grow house's worth of Colorado-grade chronic to think Rich's run is anything but quixotic. In a less-experienced politician, you might write it off as a callow grab for name recognition. Rich isn't getting recognition at all. News outlets statewide aren't giving her much of a passing glance. Crist has skipped away from all her attempts at a debate before the primary. Regardless, she keeps dogging it out on the campaign trail, and for that, she deserves major kudos.

The Maltz Jupiter Theatre's production of Dial M for Murder — a mothballed murder mystery that was made into an unlikely 3-D movie by Alfred Hitchcock — was impeccably handsome. But it was also hopelessly embalmed in another time, with many of the actors failing to transcend 1950s mannequins. But as the film's chief antagonist, who is also, devilishly, its chief audience identifier, Todd Allen Durkin never seemed hamstrung by the antiquities of the source material. His emotional connection to this mannered snake — a once-successful tennis player who blackmails a former school chum into murdering his philandering wife — was so strong, so entrenched in contradictory textures, that his character psychology seemed more in tune with today's morally ambiguous antiheroes than the one-note evildoers who received their destined comeuppances in '50s potboilers like this. One minute he's seething with a mix of righteous anger and quivering fragility as he relates his wife's history of extramarital conduct; the next, he's combining smug satisfaction with barely contained panic as his perfect murder plot slips away from him like a toppled box of marbles. There seemed to be four or five characters in this single, thinly drawn archetype, and we couldn't help but admire the bastard.

Kim Ehly's Fort Lauderdale-based Kutumba Theatre Project is just two productions into its existence, but it has established a niche brand as a voice for the lesbian-American experience. Theatergoers have already witnessed growth from its first production, the pulp throwback The Beebo Brinker Chronicles, to its second, Julie Johnson, about a young woman's sexual and intellectual awakenings. That growth largely stemmed from the superlative casting of Valentina Izarra, whose performance as Julie elevated the work of those around her, not all of whom had professional-theater bona fides. In the play's first few minutes, she was a rumple of clothes on the floor of her modest apartment, her face buried in her own despair. Izarra emerged from this state like a turtle finally exiting its shell and experiencing life for the first time. Her character began taking computer classes (cutting-edge for the show's setting, in 1980s New Jersey) and developing feelings for her longtime, female best friend, who, like her, was stuck in an increasingly loveless marriage. Izarra expressed these changes with a radiant positivity and joie de vivre that couldn't help but ripple outward to the audience. It would be reductive to say Julie Johnson is a feel-good play, but if you didn't feel good watching Izarra hilariously and sweetly stumble and fumble and awkwardly navigate these life-changing choices, then you may not be human.

If you're a dog person — and if you're not, you should be — the most affecting character in Palm Beach Dramaworks' Of Mice and Men was not Brendan Titley's Lennie Small, the mentally challenged migrant worker, nor John Leonard Thompson's George Milton, his long-suffering partner. It was Dennis Creaghan's Candy, an aging handyman on a roiling ranch whose mangled hand has prompted him to question his future utility. The one thing he seems to live for is his big blind dog, dismissed by the other laborers as old, stinky, and crippled, a creature for whom a mercy killing would do the entire ranch a favor. The dog, "played" by a retired service animal, provided Dramaworks with a lot of attention from the local media, but it was Creaghan's heartbreaking love for the animal that made us care so much for it. When the dog was promptly dispatched (offstage, of course), Creaghan accepted its fate with inevitable, nuanced resignation, seeming to glimpse his own bleak and pitiless future through his beloved pet's. There were few moments in any play that were harder to watch than this one.

The dysfunctional family, an overdone theater chestnut if ever there was one, received a refreshingly offbeat treatment from playwright Deborah Zoe Laufer and the team at Boca-based Parade Productions this year. The Last Schwartz chronicled a tumultuous weekend in the ancestral home of the Schwartz siblings, who gathered to honor the first anniversary of their patriarch's passing but instead reopened old filial wounds. The result was a lot funnier than this description sounds, thanks in large part to the yin and yang of Ostrenko and Graver, who portrayed a wife and girlfriend, respectively, of two of the Schwartz siblings. Graver proved once again that she could play an airhead better than anyone around. Her low-information fashion model invariably consumed the gravitational pull of any given conversation, with hilariously tactless results. Operating on the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, Ostrenko provided the show's heartbreaking core. As she was forced to confront her history of miscarriages and a repressed family secret, we watched her veneer of marital normalcy chip away, resulting in a vulnerable and sometimes devastating performance.

Parade, Jason Robert Brown's fact-based 1998 show about the wrongful rape and murder conviction of a Jewish factory owner in the anti-Semitic Atlanta of 1913, received a landmark production from the company that has become South Florida's edgiest purveyor of musical theater. On a set that resembled a rural, rickety hall of (in)justice, director Patrick Fitzwater turned Brown's song-heavy, operatic book into a reflection of today's high-profile courtroom circuses — a critique of our collective, eye-for-an-eye blood lust, rational thought be damned. The impossibly perfect cast extended from the shattering lead performances to the moving ensemble, all of whom delivered some of the best work of their careers. Matthew Korinko's bigoted, ice-veined prosecutor, Hugh Dorsey, was so exceptionally evil that you wondered how the actor managed to shake off the demons and sleep at night. And in building the relationship between Tom Anello's Leo Frank and Ann Marie Olsen's Lucille Frank, Fitzwater and his actors created one of the most realistic and uninhibited expressions of true love I've seen onstage anywhere. By the time the story succumbed to its brutal finale, I was so attached to the plight of this tragic martyr that I could barely look at the horrible deed. It will remain forever unshakable.

The "wow" factor of many set designs lies in their enviable resplendency — their evocation of worlds in which most of us wouldn't mind spending the rest of our days. The Maltz Jupiter Theatre's Annie and Other Desert Cities come to mind, with their lush and livable milieus of money well-spent. Others, like our winner, reside on the opposite extreme, reminding us of places we hope to never see or, since it's a historically grounded piece, to never see again. The Timekeepers is set in a labor camp, and with his design for Island City Stage's production, Michael McClain took the bold gamble of fencing in his set with row after row of barbed wire. Inside the richly detailed, modified chicken coop were wonderfully curated objects, from the makeshift toilet — AKA, a metal bucket — to the vintage Victrola to, most important, the box of broken watches we understood to have been removed from the remains of Holocaust victims and whose existence is the only thing keeping the play's two central characters alive. Those obtrusive wires were a constant reminder of the characters' hopelessness, but at the same time, when the drama heated up inside the camp, you forgot they were there. This set might not have worked on a larger stage, but with its already inherent sense of confinement, Empire Stage provided an ideal environment; it was the best set we've ever seen in that room.

Over the past year, Slow Burn Theatre Company has proved that sometimes the best theater can originate from the unlikeliest places: in this case, a high school in the boondocks of West Boca Raton, an area so remote that you're likely to pass tumbleweeds on your way to the parking lot. But once you get inside, you're transported to worlds that are complex, moving, frightening, and unique. Founders Patrick Fitzwater and Matthew Korinko, who launched Slow Burn five years ago, are never content to restage the same old theatrical warhorses, preferring to challenge their audiences with plays they've never seen before — and sometimes improving on the source material in the process. This past year saw the theater fully emerge from its shell; for the first time, it became eligible for Carbonell Awards, and its first show of the season, Next to Normal, promptly received more nominations than any other production in South Florida (Fitzwater won for Best Director of a Musical). Slow Burn presented this rock musical about a bipolar housewife with remarkable depth and humanity, bolstered by six dynamic voices and a beguiling set design inspired by M.C. Escher. The company followed it with Parade, another high-water mark (see our Best Musical winner). Its next show, Chess, couldn't match the previous two in emotional connection, but its breathtaking lead performances continued to shatter boundaries.

It was just the second production from Fort Lauderdale company Island City Stage, but The Timekeepers became the year's underdog success story when it won all six of its nominated categories, including Best Production of a Play, at the Carbonell Awards. Why? First, it's a brilliantly written play, by Dan Clancy, that touches important subject matter — homophobia, anti-Semitism, the Holocaust — without being depressing or messagey. It's set in a Nazi labor camp, where a flamboyant gay man and a retiring Jewish man are forced to spend their days repairing timepieces. But they need to get over their own prejudices against each other before they can turn their abysmal situation into a shared life that's worthwhile, even if that life has a limit at the bottom of a box of watches. The play's tone is not an easy one to strike, but Michael Leeds' direction for Island City Stage was deliberate yet transfixing, and the interactions of his cast felt heart-stoppingly authentic. Michael McKeever, an accomplished playwright and comic actor, showed us an entirely new persona onstage, tapping dramatic reservoirs of which I didn't know he was capable. The Carbonell-winning sound design, with its crackle of vinyl records, blankets of gunfire, and metronomic tick of pocket watches, helped bring the stunning scenic design to bracing life.

When South Florida's theater critics attended Slow Burn Theatre's Next to Normal in October, most of them had seen the same show a year and a half earlier at Actors' Playhouse in Coral Gables, in a production that was nominated for some of the highest honors in the community. But they hadn't seen anything quite like Fitzwater's take on this masterful musical. Bold flashes of color and potent, uncomplicated choreography told the story of a wife and mother's struggle with bipolar disorder with great efficiency. But what really made this production resonate was that, like Slow Burn's best work, it uncovered new territory within a familiar text, finding unforeseen avenues to explore. A more straightforward reading of Next to Normal would laser the attention largely on Diana, the direct sufferer of the debilitating condition, but Fitzwater's genius lay in shifting the central focus to the family members, like daughter Natalie (Anne Chamberlain) and husband Dan (Matthew Korinko), both of whom were justifiably nominated for Carbonell Awards. They became the emotional shrapnel of Diana's erratic, delusional behavior; the tragedy of her reality hit home the hardest through Korinko's tear-stained Dan, which probably ranks as his finest performance.

When it comes to writing concept albums, John Darnielle of indie-rock cult heroes the Mountain Goats once said, "I write songs, and they begin to sort of hang together, sort of like a crowd gathering in a public space." That's basically what happened with The Longing and the Short of It, a collection of older and newer songs from emerging composer-lyricist Daniel Mate. He realized that beyond their specifics — a man waits, frustrated, in an endless Starbucks queue; a boy feels he can never live up to his more talented brother; a woman runs into her ex in a public venue — the songs all dealt with longing, with an emotional or physical lack that needed to be filled. The world-premiere, cabaret-style production of these songs at Theatre at Arts Garage was simplicity personified, with the refreshingly Spartan musical direction (just an onstage piano) and set design putting our focus fully on the six actor/singers, who felt born to translate Mate's funny, knotty, and touching lyrics. If there was one showstopper among them, it was Elizabeth Dimon's uproarious "Starting Shit With You," which contained such brilliant lines as "Like a melted GI Joe, I'm sticking to my guns."

Earlier this year, Fort Lauderdale got aesthetically lucky when artist and Florida Atlantic University assistant professor of architecture Henning Haupt took his class outside to get to work. There, he and his crew used paint rollers to beautify "the tunnel" inside the city parking garage located between First and Second avenues just north of Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale. With paint rollers in hand, they transformed the space from ceiling to floor into a psychedelic gem boasting six layers of red, yellow, and blue tones. The result adds a little culture to your morning commute.

LoCastro's work is badass. In recent years, the lowbrow artist grew up, from curating hip shows in Wynwood to staying in and focusing on his work full-time. Good thing he did. Last year, the Italian-German artist impressed the art world when he launched his "Geometry" series. The vivid abstract works are a result of a painstaking painting technique. He begins by pouring resin on a wooden box or flat surface, sets it to dry overnight, and then uses criss-crosses of tape to create geometric patterns on the dry surface. He then spray-paints over the tape, lets the paint dry, and removes the tape. He pours another layer of resin, creates another paint layer, and so on. The layering takes countless hours and creates a graphic design appeal, but viewing it up-close is when pure magic unfolds. Colors shine and glow through layers upon layers. The designs translate well on fabric, so he created a line featuring scarfs, skirts, and leggings that can be purchased at his eponymous website.

Trying to catch up with Ubiera is nearly impossible. He's usually out burning up hours spray-painting walls. The Dominican-born street artist has painted murals inside the International Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport, inside the Evernia Parking Garage in West Palm Beach, at Delray's El Camino Cocina and Tequila Bar, and at Miami's Wynwood Brewery, just to name a few. Ubiera describes his style as "postgraffism," a genre that grew out of graffiti and includes nods to graphic design, comic books, and typography. Many of his designs incorporate a gorilla with a wild and fierce face. For Ubiera, the gorilla signifies urban art: a movement that's bold, strong, and raw.

Nowadays, anyone with an Instagram account can claim to be a photographer. But Samantha Salzinger goes beyond using slick editing filters when snapping photographs. She actually constructs the environments she shoots. The Yale MFA graduate and associate professor of art at Palm Beach State College makes large-scale dioramas with her hands. She'll spend hours sculpting materials into landscapes, plush with trees and hills and eerie Mars-like grounds void of life. With a meticulous attention to lighting and detail, she'll take her camera and shoot. The resulting photographs appear to capture realistic landscapes; it often takes viewers a while to grasp that they're interacting with a fabricated world.

Jill Slaughter, a San Francisco Art Institute-schooled and Whitney Museum-awarded scholar, brings a creative vision to suburban Pembroke Pines. As the city's curator of special projects, she puts on shows year-round at Studio 18. Many of these have serious themes — in "Which Way Out," she explored LGBT coming out of the proverbial closet; in "The Sincerity Project," she showed works by autistic children — but she made us crack a smile last year when she enlisted artist Todd Brittingham to "face-bomb" her city by gluing cartoonish smiley faces onto buildings and trees.

There's plenty of money around these parts, and damned little of it makes its way into the hands of local artists. That's the bottom line on patronage. But no one around here makes more scrilla trickle down to our peeps than Elayne and Marvin Mordes, collectors of avant-garde work. Passionately contemporary, Elayne is the couple's more public face, the effervescent hands on the operation; Marvin, a highly regarded neurologist, is the quiet presence in the background. Their home base is an 11,000-square-foot former dental laboratory on the shores of Lake Mangonia, in West Palm Beach, half of it now the private museum Whitespace; the other, their home. In the four years since it opened, Whitespace has employed scores of local young and emerging artists as curators, handlers, photographers, and assistants of all sorts and introduced their work to the public through an annual cycle of shows — especially the Outside the Box biennials, where the art encircles the building and spills over onto the lawns along the lake shore. More than a few locals have their work on sale in the Whitespace gift shop; a more select number have seen their pieces end up in the couple's loft-like living area — a nice place to be when the Mordes' sophisticated friends stop by.

If you have your eyes open on a semiregular basis, you probably know that Lake Worth has become a mecca for local shows and music festivals. One man behind one venue is doing his due diligence to maintain the esoteric identity of Lake Worth while creating his own scene within it. That man is Jacques de Beaufort, and his gift to the world is Unit 1. The mission of the space is "to showcase artists in all media working in challenging forms that exist somewhere near the edge or beyond." De Beaufort's immensely interesting and themed events feature local art on the walls and local musicians in your face. One included a clothing-optional room and naked karaoke. ("All art, no pants," the invite teased.) The place is small, the people who go are weird, and the live music is fierce. Go with an open mind, because Jacques likes it strange.

It wasn't the biggest or the glitziest art exhibit last year — and "big" or "glitzy" would have been completely out of place in the industrial Boynton Beach Arts District anyway — but "(Un)Common Traces," featuring the work of four members of art collective Dwelling Projects, was far and away the scrappiest and most spirited. Spread throughout three bays of the BBAD compound, the photography, video, pen-and-ink, watercolor, charcoal, and fiber assemblage drew inspiration from the artists' recent visit to Ecuador, where they spent a month immersed in the Andean nation's artistry and culture. Their work plays on themes of spirituality, nature, landscape, travel, work, and the commodity economy, overrunning boundaries and commenting one on the other. For building bridges among cultures and among South Florida arts communities, "(Un)Common Traces" was unmatched.

Every few months, curator Jane Hart presents a new show, and every time, she hits the mark in quality. This past year, we saw "Rugs," a series of large tapestries hand-sewn from pieces of teddy bears by Miami artist Agustina Woodgate. Francesco Lo Castro showed his genius with "Advent," a cutting-edge geometric painting collection. And we got our comic fix when 70 original strips by the legendary Charles M. Schulz went on display in "Pop Culture in Peanuts." Visual arts aside, quality also marks the center’s arts programming, from education for kids and adults to live stage shows to artist talks like the recent Hot Topics series.

In that series, four contemporary movers and shakers in the art world gave talks. Among them, Wayne White spoke about his installation work on television and in music videos. He's had stints at Pee-Wee's Playhouse, did art direction for Peter Gabriel's 1986 hit "Big Time," and designed the set for Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight." Much respect to this little contemporary gallery that makes big waves.

Thank the queer deities for South Florida! There are few spots on this Earth where two dudes or two ladies starting a life together is about as everyday as a man and a woman getting hitched and subsequently divorced — and southeastern Florida, friends, is one of them. That's why Fort Lauderdale is the fieriest place in the world to preserve and share knowledge on LGBT culture and its place in American society. That's exactly what Stonewall National Museum and Archive does with thoughtfulness and pizzazz. It all started in the '70s with then-FAU student Mark Silber hoarding books at his family home in Hollywood. And today, it has two locations filled to the brim with gay info — the Fort Lauderdale Branch Library/ArtServe building and a new gallery in Wilton Manors. It hosts unusual exhibitions like "Dear Abby: Letters and Advice on Homosexuality" and photographer Jeff Larson's "Men in Living Rooms," who were scantily clad in their homes. The collection includes more than 25,000 books, a thousand DVDs, and 5,000 archival objects, such as the gavel Nancy Pelosi pounded when ending "Don't Ask, Don't Tell." But there's a lot more to do than gaze at stuff: The lively schedule included a gala with Megan Mullally of Will and Grace this year, and the community is welcome for movie nights, author series, discussion groups, and more.

When Maker's Square opened its doors late last year, Fort Lauderdale got its coolest tool shop. The venue doubles as a social club for would-be "makers," a movement of DIY artisans who adore tools. Memberships follow a gym business model: Sign up and use any tool from the $100,000 collection. Make arduino robots here! Or sew up a cosplay outfit! Weld car parts together, whatever — make amazing things with your hands. Also, the facility boasts sweet-ass events with a bohemian, educational, and welcoming atmosphere. Tuesday nights, come for tacos and TedX talks projected on a huge outdoor screen. Workshops occur weekly, and circus music is often blared from the speakers. But arguably the greatest event that Makers Square has hosted to date — when attendees could really let their freak flags fly — was "The Love Burn," a Burning Man-inspired event that took place over Valentine's Day weekend on Virginia Key.

Just a few short years ago, the area now known as FAT Village — short for Flagler Arts and Technology — was a no-man's-land just east of Maguire's Irish Pub. There wasn't much to see and even less to do. Sure, there were some artists toiling in little warehouse studios and a few graphic arts companies churning out their art in obscurity, but you had to be a real inside member of the hyperlocal art community to even know they were back there. Anyone living outside of downtown would say, "Art scene? You mean those chichi galleries on Las Olas?" Pause and appreciate how far the area has come in such a short time. The monthly art walk is largely responsible for that growth. Helium Creative, the World and Eye Arts Center, Cadence Landscape Architecture + Urban Design, the annual Day of the Dead Celebration, and C&I Studios are just a few of the well-known denizens of this scene. C&I Studios has even put in a coffee shop next door called Next Door. From 7 to 11 p.m. on the last Saturday of each month (except December), the galleries throw open their doors, the food trucks line up, and the crowds gather. About 1,000 people descend on the gritty, gravelly area by the railroad tracks. You bump into people you haven't seen in a while, admire some out there art, find some inspiration, pet some dogs, and visit the pop-up galleries, all within four square blocks.

Dive. Noun. [dahyv]. Origin: 1880-85; < Italian < Latin diva, feminine of divus. 1. A well-worn drinking establishment, popular among regulars and thirsty travelers alike. 2. Location along a busy thoroughfare, for example on North Federal Highway in Hollywood. 3. A dank and gloomy establishment, with the only natural light streaming in through picture windows up front. 4. The last place where you can find '70s rec room décor, circa 2014. 5. A place with attractive deals on cheap beer and liquor, specifically $2.75 draft beer (Bud Light) served by friendly bartenders. 6. Just to be clear, $2.75 draft beer. 7. Ideal viewing area for sports (especially on NFL Sundays) thanks to multiple flat-screen televisions. 8. Home base for any given arrangement of snowbirds, the semihomeless, strippers on break, broke college students, and alternative-press journalists. See: Lamp Post Lounge.