Tucked behind an IHOP on Hallandale Beach Boulevard, Reggae Land Muzik isn't so much a record shop as it is a reggae museum. Meticulously organized crates of hard-to-find vinyl give way to stacks of epic dancehall mix CDs and carefully cataloged cassette tapes. Whether you're looking to venture beyond Bob Marley for the first time or you're an avid collector on the prowl for a Don Carlos release from back in the day, the affable and informed owner who goes by Juicy V or Jah V will be more than happy to weigh in and help you find what you're looking for. "I love this space; I love vibing with my people," Jamaican-born Juicy says. For more than 18 years, he has been slinging riddims both new and vintage from Hallandale, amassing more than 100,000 vinyls in the process. "What you see up-front in the store, that's a teardrop of what I have in stock," he says. Now he's in the tedious process of uploading his collection to the store's website. "In five years, I'll still be uploading 45s."

Walk past the twirling yellow Ferrari and tilting silver Porsche. Cut through the rows of designer knockoffs, Bob Marley beach towels, and assorted ninja weapons. Then hang a right toward booth AA24, a shimmering beacon of dental cosmetics plopped in the melting pot of Fort Lauderdale — the Swap Shop. Sure, it's a bit weird to seek out minor dental procedures in a sprawling flea market, but it's tough to find a better deal when it comes to getting your pearly whites pearlier and whiter. For $60, the folks at Celebrity Bright Smile guarantee to whiten your teeth by two shades in just 20 minutes. The trick? A substance called carbamide peroxide. Brendamarie Canfu, the round-faced sweetheart who works the stand, says most dentists use the substance in a concentration ranging only from 25 to 35 percent. At the Swap Shop, Canfu and her colleagues will slather a 44 percent concentration of the stuff across your chompers. Though we have no idea if the more potent concoction actually makes your teeth glisten any brighter, Canfu says it can't be used on pregnant women and people with pacemakers. That must mean it's good.

Know what's so great about shoes? In a society where even the most liberated women can't quite escape the enculturated need to feel pretty, shoes are always your friend. Gained ten pounds? Shoes still fit. Bad hair day? Shoes look awesome. Bad skin today? Good shoes today. Feeling generally unsexy and awful? Know what's always sexy and awesome? Shoes. Men notice boobs and butts; women compliment one another's shoes — and then immediately ask, "Where did you get them?" 'Round here, there is one shoe store that is known far and wide. It is conspiratorially whispered about in the dark corners of bars and in the ladies rooms of clubs. Women who have never been there at least know of it. It is known only as $8.88 shoes, but few bother to learn its actual name, Fashion Footwear. It carries all kinds of shoes but specializes in teeter-inducing footwear that causes podiatrists to cringe and women to crave. (We're not sure about women podiatrists, but we assume they are very, very conflicted.) Located in a completely nondescript little stretch of stores not even worthy of the term "strip mall" along Hillsboro Road in Deerfield Beach, the store has no witty ad campaign, no billboards, and no slogans. It has no online store, and it doesn't ship. It does, however, have a sassy Facebook page that parades the latest footy finds in a podiatic orgy of cobbler bliss and also warns away any would-be shoplifters in no uncertain terms. It's on their Facebook page that you'll also learn the shoes are actually $9.88 now (damned economy). But inflation be damned, the legend has been christened, and so it shall remain. And the next time you see a young woman precariously perched upon va-va-voom heels, give it a try. Ask. Just don't be surprised by the answer.

Downtown Delray Beach is known for its fine-dining choices, beautiful parks, and generous, free public parking. There is even Old School Square, home to a museum, a theater, a vintage gymnasium, an outdoor pavilion, and an amphitheater. Every possible enjoyment you can imagine is found here, and every bit of it is bait. The great secret pleasure of downtown Delray is the people-watching. No other location provides the parade of variety that marches down the avenue day in and day out, from leathery George Hamilton look-alikes and their glamorous nip 'n' tucked Lizard Ladies to the yuppies either trying to look like adults but puking in an alley or trying to look like college kids but standing awkwardly in the corner of the "too loud" bar. If hipsters are your taste, grab a coffee at the Spot — it's cool, so you probably never heard of it. Want crunchy granola types and helicopter moms who don't believe in vaccinations? Try Nutrition Cottage or the Swinton Community Garden. There are suburban warriors with pedigreed dogs too big to fit in cars or small enough to live in purses. It is a festival for the senses and a delight for anyone with a humorous appreciation of the human race.

Screen printing is undeniably cool, no doubt about it. But hurting the environment is totally uncool. Luckily, Squeegee Science knows both of these things and harms no plants, animals, or people while cranking out killer designs. Although other screen-printing shops may talk a big game promoting eco-consciousness, Squeegee Science has the products, knowledge, and dedication to back it up. Founder Brett Wilkin has grown up in the industry and is personally invested in minimizing the ecological footprint on the world. Whether it's for a restaurant, band, or any other business, Squeegee Science has got it covered, all while keeping the planet a happy place to live.

In the early days of videogames, things were pretty simple. You stayed still and shot asteroids zooming past you. You went back and forth across the bottom and bounced a dot at bricks. Or you were a frog navigating across a busy roadway, trying not to get squished. Perhaps it is this deeply buried societal memory of Frogger that explains why Sunrise Boulevard is so goddamned @#$%^!@#^! Why, fellow citizens? Why?! Despite the heavy traffic here, pedestrians wade out into this relentless tide like unwary tourists into a rip current. Have you no care for your own welfare? Have you not eyes to see? And you seem so annoyed by the cars on the roadway. You give them angry glares. You press close to them, practically brushing the door panels with your knees, as they fly past. If they try to pause instead to let you cross, you stop and angrily wave them on, yet as soon as they start to move again, so do you. Sometimes, you bang the hood as you cross paths just to say "Hello." There is a traffic light every ten feet, and they are timed with frightening precision to make sure that drivers stop at every single one — sometimes twice. So why, dear walker, must you push that crosswalk button, only to slowly — so slowly — cross in front of moving vehicles so that by the time the light turns red and cars stop, you are long gone? Perhaps instead of more traffic lights or red-light cameras, the city should install large speakers every 20 feet and play the classic Frogger music. It surely won't stop the jaywalking, but it will make it much more fun.

The task presented to architect Robert Gatje of New York-based Marcel Breuer Associates was difficult: Design a library that would embody the early 1980s resurgence of Fort Lauderdale. To do this, he employed a hodgepodge of design elements that came together flawlessly. The glass façade facing north is imposing. The landscaped terraces are swank. Walls made of local coral rock are thoughtful. A reflecting pool that appears to run uninterrupted from the outside to the inside is striking (when full). And the six-story atrium punctuated by an Alexander Calderesque mobile (it's by William Gaterman) is the kicker. Many of these eye-catching features are currently obscured by construction fences, part of a project to swap in impact glass so the building can better handle high winds and hurricanes. Even though the Broward Main Library dates back only to 1984, officials have already started the paperwork to get the building designated as a Fort Lauderdale historical landmark. "You can argue that it's the most iconic building in the county," says Dave Barber, Broward County Historic Preservation Coordinator. "It's such an amazing space to walk into. You feel like you're in a special place, and that's how libraries and public buildings should be." Amen.

Do not abuse this bathroom. Unless you've paid for coffee and tipped the lovely proprietor, Patti, you don't deserve this kind of karma. A beaded curtain shields the entrance. Inside, it's cleaner and more spacious than a Manhattan bedroom. An ancient L.C. Smith typewriter rests on a bureau next to a book titled Ten Zen Seconds. Should you require further reading material, there is a well-stocked bookshelf too. Painted above the mirror is the inspirational message, "You are beautiful to me." When you go to flush, the ordinary commode handle has been replaced by a small coffee cup. "Life is best lived in the flow," reads the accompanying note. "Put your worries in this cup. Lift it up and let them go!"

How to explain the hot mess that is the parking lot for this plaza that houses Whole Foods Market, Barnes & Noble, and numerous other yuppie magnets? Perhaps there is a component in fair-trade coffee and organic kombucha that causes people to throw all driving inhibitions — like the notion that you should, you know, not crash into other cars or humans — out the window like so many conventionally grown vegetables. The scene calls to mind a dystopian future wherein the world is given over to a race of Hummer-driving Pilates instructors who have smartphones for hands. Ninja-like reflexes are required for safe navigation, and heaven help you if your craving for raw cacao nibs strikes on a Sunday afternoon.

Convicted Ponzi schemer Scott Rothstein implicated tons of people in his blockbuster ten-day deposition in December, but only a few entities were described as being absolutely integral in his plot to steal more than a billion dollars. TD Bank was one of them. According to Rothstein, TD employees passed off bogus documents, helped put on "shows" for investors, and lied to depositors who asked if they could "lock" their accounts to keep Rothstein from getting to their cash. Rothstein said his scheme "absolutely would have ended" if TD performed even a cursory investigation of his dealings, so, while they're probably paying closer attention now, it's still unrivaled in South Florida for wannabe Ponzi partiers.