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Is there such a thing as an honest mechanic? Yes, yes, yes! For the last 35 years, Davie Garage has been driving home the point that honesty is the best way to keep customers. If you go more than twice the employees will likely remember your name when you walk in the door. Stop in for an oil change and pay a mere $30.74, cash on the barrel, tax included. That's right. Credit cards and checks are not accepted, thank you very much. Bob, Mark, Steve, or Vinnie will take your car for a test run afterward, just to make sure everything's all right. If it ain't broke, they won't fix it. The employees also make a point of being accessible; they are the "service specialists" and the mechanics on your car, unlike so many dealerships where no one knows your name or cares about you. If you wait while your car is serviced, you'll wait in the office, where the business dealings are transparent. Davie Garage doesn't need gimmicks like a chair massage, cappuccino machine, or complimentary car wash. They simply do an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. In the world of automobile service, that's rare indeed.

There was a time when head shops were pretty much about one thing: drug paraphernalia. Then came the war on drugs. Some head shops folded; others diversified. When Jay Work, owner of Grateful J's Dead Head Shop, opened his store, he took the latter approach. His five-year-old business offers body piercing at its Margate location and glass-blowing lessons at the Boca Raton branch. A selection of colorful glass pipes is available at both joints -- "sold as art and not intended for smoking," of course -- along with other accessories meant for use "with tobacco only." J's also offers the requisite incense and T-shirts, as well as a smattering of "adult toys" and a full line of licensed Grateful Dead products. But what really sets his operation apart from others of its ilk in SoFla, says Work, is the tape exchange. "We're the only store that gives away music," he explains. Take in a blank tape, choose from the huge inventory of live Dead shows (dating back to 1965, and all authorized for reproduction by Grateful Dead Productions), and J's will copy it for you.

Yeah, it's a chain. But at least it's a chain of health food stores, as oxymoronic as that notion might seem. Indeed the quirky nature of South Florida capitalism has dictated that the store with the best selection of health food, prepared meals, and offbeat products (soy Bisquick, for example) is a virtual monopoly. Whole Foods stores -- despite their membership in a 75-store national corporation -- do a wonderful job offering an array of designer protein powders, organic produce, premade tofu sandwiches, frozen fake meat, and other vegetarian staples. Some of Whole Foods' bigger locations even boast smoothie bars, eateries, and aisle upon aisle of soy creations. Leftist principles aside Whole Foods will expertly satisfy even the most granola-loving South Floridians.
You could take your hard-earned cash to Sawgrass Mills or any other mall for that matter and spend it outfitting the tykes. You could also wad it up and throw it in the crapper. As far as we're concerned, it's about the same thing. The fact is that kids outgrow clothes so fast that buying brand-new, name-brand stuff for them is a sure way to spend yourself into the poor house. And the clothes they don't outgrow, they'll refuse to wear because the styles have changed. We recommend you bypass the whole retail mess and shop Think Thrift, Broward County's premier secondhand store. It has racks of kids' clothes organized by article and sex, and most of it looks barely used. You'll find shorts, shirts, pants, and even shoes for less than five bucks. You can pick up a good winter jacket for $10 or so, about right given the few times you'll need it around here; and you can buy baby sleeping gear for less than a buck.
Let's say you need an impertinent little Cretan wine to entertain some visiting Greeks -- say, a 1998 bottle of Kretikos white. You can find it for just $10.99 at 67 Wine & Spirits, along with vino from such places as Israel, Hungary, Transylvania, and Georgia (the former Soviet republic, not the state). Did we mention that 67 also carries an enormous selection of wines from France, Italy, Australia, and the United States, as well as a full six shelves of sherries and ports? From high-end offerings (a 1994 Chateau Mouton Rothschild Pauillac for $219.99) to run-of-the-vineyard fare (the ones with twist-off tops), you'll find them at this jam-packed little store. The store also has an equally diverse selection of liquors, along with gourmet items, prepared foods, and even a tiny cigar room. Three other 67 locations in Broward and Palm Beach counties offer comparable goods, but we prefer the one on Federal for the perverse thrill that comes from buying forbidden fruit just a few feet from the Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church, headquarters of the ultraconservative Rev. James D. Kennedy.
When it comes to shopping meccas, scale is everything -- upscale and small-scale. Ever since they put a roof over the Sunrise Shopping Center in 1980 and renamed it the Galleria, the managers have done their darnedest to maintain the place's status as "Fort Lauderdale's most fashionable address." Despite the fact that the mall's drab linoleum floors and dull architectural features look every second of their age, snazzy anchor stores such as Neiman Marcus and Saks Fifth Avenue ensure the Galleria's continued chi-chi-ness. Even so, we like this cozy shopping destination even more for what it doesn't have: a monster movie theater (a modest four screens here), and noise. Even when the place is bustling, it's quiet as a tomb. When compared with the no-holds barred bedlam of Sawgrass Mills, this sounds awfully appealing.
You have to admire the salesmen at R.S. Lords. Surrounded by thousands of suits and sport jackets, they gracefully put up with a sweltering climate that makes wearing a suit and tie tantamount to death by smothering. That's not to mention casual Fridays and beachfolks' aversion to anything that ain't shorts cum flip-flops. But persevere they do, with all the dignity of a double-breasted jacket. Weather and fashion fads notwithstanding, all men sooner or later must don a suit for a wedding, funeral, bar mitzvah, job interview, or a mother's satisfaction. When your day comes, you can't go wrong with this one-of-a-kind store that imports a large selection of Italian suits and offers on-site tailoring and alterations. Whether nature made you tall, short, or portly, Lords carries your size at a reasonable price -- how about an Italian suit at $199? If that's not enough, salesmen Art, Artie, and Kenny take great pride in guessing a customer's size before whipping out a tape measure.
When we think newsstand, we conjure up the image of a dingy, cramped place where the closest thing to a scenic view is the girlie magazines stacked by the cash register. Not so the newspapers and periodicals sections at Borders. They're included in the big, bright Fort Lauderdale bookstore perched on the banks of the New River, with six sections devoted to every conceivable magazine and all the usual suspects in newspapers. When you're done with the local rags, grab a copy of the Denver Post, Corriere della Sera, the London Times, or Le Monde. Then thumb through several hundred periodicals you never knew existed. A section labeled "Culture & Society" features magazines ranging from The Advocate to MAD and provides an enlightening glimpse into how Borders defines American culture. When you've selected your reading material, claim a table in the adjacent café for a latte and croissant, or better yet, take it outside to one of the umbrella-topped tables on the shaded deck, where you can check out the yachting parade while cursing at the day's news.
Other people's misfortune is your felicity at National Pawn & Jewelry. And judging by the inventory at this vast warehouse of all things pawned, a lot of people are in need of quick cash around here. On a recent visit, this shop had everything from chop saws to scuba tanks, bicycles to go-karts, vacuum cleaners to fax machines. It had dozens of guitars, hundreds of cameras, scores of stereos, and a jewelry section bigger than most gem stores. We even found a couple thousand CDs from which to choose, priced at $5.95 each or $4.95 if you buy ten or more. (We can't imagine who was desperate enough to pawn his Kiss collection.) Last time we stopped in, we were impressed to see a vintage Harley-Davidson for sale. Perhaps the previous owner needed bail money. Who knows? Who cares? It's all here, the store guarantees what it sells, and the prices are pretty good.

Busy Sunrise Boulevard might seem an unlikely place to find Serenity, but that's part of the charm of this cozy day spa. Open in the evenings, the spa makes it easy to find time for a little peace. It even issues an order for bliss: "No cell phones," declares a sign at the door. The walls are the color of daffodils; the scent of Aveda oils wafts through the air. Sink into a comfy chair tucked into a cubby space while the affable, black-clad staff pampers your feet. Try not to think about your to-do list, because too soon your perfected feet will be back in action. This moment will be a memory. In fact maybe Serenity should put up another sign: "Relax. No Multitasking."

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