Take a wisecracking sports junkie from Brooklyn whose accent makes De Niro sound like a Harvard grad, team him with a former college and NFL place-kicker who may be the Doogie Howser of pop culture, and you have the two-headed morning-radio monster affectionately known as Scott and Sid. Their unique mix of sports commentary and a youthful sense of humor that, according to them, borders on irreverence and bad taste, breathes a breath of fresh air into the South Florida radio arena, where Ron and Ron, Howard, and Neil have become so much stale bread. In 1997, Coral Springs High School grad Scott Kaplan turned his connections from a short-lived professional-football stint into an opportunity to host an online radio show at sportsline.com, with Sidney Rosenberg joining him shortly thereafter. Now, just three years later, after being syndicated by CBS radio, their four-hour show reaches more than 25 cities from Maine to Sacramento. They've become the favorite sons of the 18-to-35 demographic, representing South Florida with their paesano-flavored "Lauder-DALE!" They have the social agenda of Jeff Spicoli, the humor of a young Andrew Dice Clay, and the brash attitude of Tony Soprano, whose TV series they plug with reckless abandon. Even some of their regular callers have reached celebrity-like status. Whether they're broadcasting a live play-by-play of a hot-body contest at Bootleggers or jabbering away with the top names in sports and entertainment, these guys do it every morning.
The grueling workweek is done, and you have that measly little crumpled paycheck in your back pocket. That small piece of paper represents your toil, your sweat, your blood. And it's barely enough to keep a leaking roof over your head. So what do you do? You take it to Blackstone's, where you not only cash the check (minus a mere 2.5 percent or so), but you get a bottle of their cheapest whiskey to help you forget all about the horrible pay, the terrible job, your bad credit, and the fact that you're all alone in this world. It goes for $8.99 a liter, and it has all the charm and taste of a rag-wrapped old can of turpentine from your father's garage. That's not important. It gets the job done, and you still have a few dimes left to buy a can of Van Camp's pork and beans for dinner from Blackstone's food section. You're set for the weekend. It's a wonderful life.
The grueling workweek is done, and you have that measly little crumpled paycheck in your back pocket. That small piece of paper represents your toil, your sweat, your blood. And it's barely enough to keep a leaking roof over your head. So what do you do? You take it to Blackstone's, where you not only cash the check (minus a mere 2.5 percent or so), but you get a bottle of their cheapest whiskey to help you forget all about the horrible pay, the terrible job, your bad credit, and the fact that you're all alone in this world. It goes for $8.99 a liter, and it has all the charm and taste of a rag-wrapped old can of turpentine from your father's garage. That's not important. It gets the job done, and you still have a few dimes left to buy a can of Van Camp's pork and beans for dinner from Blackstone's food section. You're set for the weekend. It's a wonderful life.
It's not his 21-year résumé as a TV meteorologist, his two Emmys, or even his batting average in predicting hail versus heat that singles out Kamal. It's his style. His hair's always plentifully gelled, his tightly tailored suits gleam with a pseudo-sharkskin veneer, and his tie is exquisitely knotted in just the right spot. All of that gives Kamal the presence of a Vegas high roller, a well-heeled stockbroker, or an up-and-coming New York don. He also had that little run-in with the cops over a D.U.I. rap. Let's face it, the weather broadcast runs pretty much the same from one channel to the next, but Kamal's snappy showmanship stands out in a sea of blue-and-khaki blandness. We're grateful for the shifty zip he brings to local broadcasts.
It's not his 21-year résumé as a TV meteorologist, his two Emmys, or even his batting average in predicting hail versus heat that singles out Kamal. It's his style. His hair's always plentifully gelled, his tightly tailored suits gleam with a pseudo-sharkskin veneer, and his tie is exquisitely knotted in just the right spot. All of that gives Kamal the presence of a Vegas high roller, a well-heeled stockbroker, or an up-and-coming New York don. He also had that little run-in with the cops over a D.U.I. rap. Let's face it, the weather broadcast runs pretty much the same from one channel to the next, but Kamal's snappy showmanship stands out in a sea of blue-and-khaki blandness. We're grateful for the shifty zip he brings to local broadcasts.
Spend the night in a king-size bed in a spacious suite with Jacuzzi and private deck overlooking the St. Lucie River. Imagine candles around your whirlpool tub -- or walk-in shower for two; breakfast (ambrosia-stuffed French toast, perhaps) in bed or on your deck -- at noon or anytime. Owner JoAyne Elbert prides herself on the individualized services she offers. Her romance packages include fresh flowers in your suite; wine, cheese, and fruit upon arrival; champagne with your breakfast; a massage in your room; candlelit dinner for two; sunset sail; hot-air balloon ride. These mix-and-match packages start at $205, depending upon what you choose from the love menu. Or you can do your own thing for $85 to $165 per room per night, which includes the full breakfast (though not in bed) and wine and cheese at sunset. Be sure to save time to lie in the two-person hammock under the old oak tree overlooking the St. Lucie River.

Spend the night in a king-size bed in a spacious suite with Jacuzzi and private deck overlooking the St. Lucie River. Imagine candles around your whirlpool tub -- or walk-in shower for two; breakfast (ambrosia-stuffed French toast, perhaps) in bed or on your deck -- at noon or anytime. Owner JoAyne Elbert prides herself on the individualized services she offers. Her romance packages include fresh flowers in your suite; wine, cheese, and fruit upon arrival; champagne with your breakfast; a massage in your room; candlelit dinner for two; sunset sail; hot-air balloon ride. These mix-and-match packages start at $205, depending upon what you choose from the love menu. Or you can do your own thing for $85 to $165 per room per night, which includes the full breakfast (though not in bed) and wine and cheese at sunset. Be sure to save time to lie in the two-person hammock under the old oak tree overlooking the St. Lucie River.

There's a dichotomy inherent in junkyards. On one hand, they're brooding, melancholy places filled with the ruins of other people's lives. You never have to look far to find a head-size hole in a windshield or car seats heavily stained with black splotches of dried blood. On the other hand, junkyards are monuments to the possible. An artist turned loose in a good one can go into sensory overload -- so much raw material, so little time. And let's not forget the ability to keep your own car on the road for practically nothing by harvesting parts. Too many yards these days feature a surly guy behind the counter who'd laugh in your face if you asked to nose around. But at U-Pull-It, nosing around is the whole idea. It costs $1 to get in; after that you're free to roam the ruins of the machine age all damned day if you like. Bring your tools, steel-toed boots, and a wagon to haul off your booty. Just be a little reverential while you're wrenching: Most junkyards are haunted, and you don't want to anger the spirits.

There's a dichotomy inherent in junkyards. On one hand, they're brooding, melancholy places filled with the ruins of other people's lives. You never have to look far to find a head-size hole in a windshield or car seats heavily stained with black splotches of dried blood. On the other hand, junkyards are monuments to the possible. An artist turned loose in a good one can go into sensory overload -- so much raw material, so little time. And let's not forget the ability to keep your own car on the road for practically nothing by harvesting parts. Too many yards these days feature a surly guy behind the counter who'd laugh in your face if you asked to nose around. But at U-Pull-It, nosing around is the whole idea. It costs $1 to get in; after that you're free to roam the ruins of the machine age all damned day if you like. Bring your tools, steel-toed boots, and a wagon to haul off your booty. Just be a little reverential while you're wrenching: Most junkyards are haunted, and you don't want to anger the spirits.

Weston's the quintessential safe American suburb -- critics call it an escape from reality -- but don't make the mistake of thinking that your small children will miss out on the rich diversity of American culture if you send them to an expensive private school there. They won't. The Sagemont School offers classes from preschool to the eighth grade and has about 400 students who represent more than 30 countries, including all of the Central and South American nations. The student-teacher ratio is about ten to one, computers and bilingual education are standard, and parents are strongly encouraged to participate as volunteers in the education of their children. Many teachers at the school hold master's degrees; all are certified. Seated on a verdant, five-acre campus that includes a pond (fenced off from the facing playground), Sagemont's one-story structure unfolds in three pods joined by walkways. Every student from kindergarten up spends a lot of time on the computer, and the school offers before- and after-hours care. We think this is probably as good as it gets in Broward County for private education -- and of course you'll pay. Tuition is $7300 for younger kids and $9000 for those in the sixth grade and up. A new campus is under construction as a high school.

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