Celebrities have money. Too much, really. They're so loaded that they're compelled to buy mansions they don't live in, sports cars they rarely drive, art they don't appreciate, and apparel they look absurd in. And we love 'em for it. We've carved out bastions for these dear ones to procure such nonessentials, Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills being a prime example. The Gold Coast's answer to that ritzy strip is Worth Avenue, a roughly 200-yard stretch of art galleries, upscale restaurants, jewelers, clothiers, and real-estate agents. Cartier watches, Kaufmann de Suisse jewels, handbags by Bottega Veneta, Fleur-de-Lis Antiques -- in toto, celebrity flypaper. Rod Stewart, Bruce Springsteen, Celine Dion, and Jimmy Buffett are regulars; look for the influx of new faces after any given celebrity golf tournament -- and whenever Jack Frost invades the north.

All the world's a stage, some dead guy said. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the human pageant of South Florida. And nowhere in South Florida features a better midnight matinee than Swifty Laundromat. The chain of 24-hour wash-'n'-drys seems designed for drama with its wide-open, cleanly tiled venues. They're all brightly lighted, the better to show off patrons. While Swiftys are spotted all over the area, our favorite is on the main drag in Hollywood, where some amazing people show up to suds their shorts at 2 a.m. There's the guy with the big sore on his lip who declares that women should be disposable conveniences as his girlfriend fondles his leg. There's the old man who strips down to his skivvies to make sure everything goes through the wash. There's the granola-munching cross-country hikers, stopping for a rare wash. There's the disheveled, incoherent woman angrily demanding of the change machine that it stop putting lawn chemicals on her children. And there's the hip-hop teens who crank up the bass in their low-rider pickup and hold an impromptu parking-lot party while their underwear spins. All these and more have been on display during recent late-night visits. Coming soon to a Swifty near you.

All the world's a stage, some dead guy said. Nowhere is that more apparent than in the human pageant of South Florida. And nowhere in South Florida features a better midnight matinee than Swifty Laundromat. The chain of 24-hour wash-'n'-drys seems designed for drama with its wide-open, cleanly tiled venues. They're all brightly lighted, the better to show off patrons. While Swiftys are spotted all over the area, our favorite is on the main drag in Hollywood, where some amazing people show up to suds their shorts at 2 a.m. There's the guy with the big sore on his lip who declares that women should be disposable conveniences as his girlfriend fondles his leg. There's the old man who strips down to his skivvies to make sure everything goes through the wash. There's the granola-munching cross-country hikers, stopping for a rare wash. There's the disheveled, incoherent woman angrily demanding of the change machine that it stop putting lawn chemicals on her children. And there's the hip-hop teens who crank up the bass in their low-rider pickup and hold an impromptu parking-lot party while their underwear spins. All these and more have been on display during recent late-night visits. Coming soon to a Swifty near you.

Sweet jumping Jesus in a shit stream! Will this construction never end?!

Sweet jumping Jesus in a shit stream! Will this construction never end?!

Hard to believe that this innocuous restaurant and bar, situated across the street from the serenity of Young Circle Park, played host to some of the most hated extremist zealots since World War II gave us the SS. A group of the September 11 hijackers and murderers came to this watering hole to drink, harass the employees, and generally act like pricks. They traded stories of what they were going to do with their several dozen virgins while dining on Shuckums's grade-A bar food and sucking down ice-cold brews. While hindsight is 20/20, foresight is nearly blind, so we forgive the staff of this place for not giving the jerks food poisoning when they had the chance. In fact, we give them major props for even putting up with what were reportedly some colossally rude customers whose tipping practices would make even Scrooge wince in dismay. And, oh, the stories the Shuckums staff will have to tell for years down the road. As for the terrorists, we hope those "virgins" gave them an eternal case of the clap.

Hard to believe that this innocuous restaurant and bar, situated across the street from the serenity of Young Circle Park, played host to some of the most hated extremist zealots since World War II gave us the SS. A group of the September 11 hijackers and murderers came to this watering hole to drink, harass the employees, and generally act like pricks. They traded stories of what they were going to do with their several dozen virgins while dining on Shuckums's grade-A bar food and sucking down ice-cold brews. While hindsight is 20/20, foresight is nearly blind, so we forgive the staff of this place for not giving the jerks food poisoning when they had the chance. In fact, we give them major props for even putting up with what were reportedly some colossally rude customers whose tipping practices would make even Scrooge wince in dismay. And, oh, the stories the Shuckums staff will have to tell for years down the road. As for the terrorists, we hope those "virgins" gave them an eternal case of the clap.

Got a death wish, with no Charles Bronson in sight? No problemo. Just take an unwary stroll through the tourist mecca of West Palm Beach. Among its other attractions, the area north of Okeechobee Boulevard boasts the highest concentration of murders anywhere in Broward or Palm Beach counties. Seventeen people met violent ends there in 2001; the total for all of West Palm Beach is just two higher. But, hey, that's down from 24 citywide in 2000. A section of Fort Lauderdale is a close runner-up for 2001, with 15 homicides in the area north of the New River and west of Federal Highway.

Got a death wish, with no Charles Bronson in sight? No problemo. Just take an unwary stroll through the tourist mecca of West Palm Beach. Among its other attractions, the area north of Okeechobee Boulevard boasts the highest concentration of murders anywhere in Broward or Palm Beach counties. Seventeen people met violent ends there in 2001; the total for all of West Palm Beach is just two higher. But, hey, that's down from 24 citywide in 2000. A section of Fort Lauderdale is a close runner-up for 2001, with 15 homicides in the area north of the New River and west of Federal Highway.

Observe canine near ocean: head aloft, nose sniffing air, body in full alert. With our much inferior olfactory capabilities, we cannot know the rich text that a dog reads when it gets near the beach. A German shepherd has some 225 million sensory receptors with which to decode scent in its nose, whereas we have only about 5 million. So while we might catch a whiff of suntan lotion, the dog can detect clumps of seaweed at the shoreline, bits of sandwich tossed in the sand, dead fish a mile away, salt sprayed into the air when a wave crashes. Dogs live for smell. How sad it is, then, that most beaches bristle with signs featuring a big X with the outline of a canine. But not all. Here's a little secret: There is one place where dogs are legal on the beach. And they don't have to be tethered to a leash if under voice control. For the past eight years, the Friends of Jupiter Beach have labored to make sure a two-mile stretch of Jupiter Beach remains open to dogs. They provide 250,000 doggie bags yearly to pick up poop. (Look for doggie-bag stations at beach accesses.) They do monthly beach cleanups. They patrol the beach for infractions. All the Friends ask is that you bring only dogs who are friendly to both humans and canines, that you not allow your dog to bother other beachgoers, and that you clean up after your pooch. Follow those commonsensical rules and your dog can romp in the Atlantic, roll in a pile of seaweed, sniff the shoreline, or happily chase and retrieve a Frisbee.