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.

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.

Praise Jesus! On Saturday nights at Calvary Chapel, the place is literally swarming with hundreds of beatific young hotties in the throws of passion. Of course they're all hot and passionate about the big J.C., but don't let that dissuade you. Just think: What would Jesus do? We think he would've scored. Remember Mary Magdalene? Anyone sucked in by the mind control of organized religion could surely be susceptible to your own persuasive powers. Just remember to talk about the Power and the Kingdom and the Glory. And when you wake up on Sunday morning and tell your new friend that you'd rather be stapled to a cross with footlong spikes than ever set foot in that church again, well… we hope he or she will take it in the Christian spirit. Amen.

Praise Jesus! On Saturday nights at Calvary Chapel, the place is literally swarming with hundreds of beatific young hotties in the throws of passion. Of course they're all hot and passionate about the big J.C., but don't let that dissuade you. Just think: What would Jesus do? We think he would've scored. Remember Mary Magdalene? Anyone sucked in by the mind control of organized religion could surely be susceptible to your own persuasive powers. Just remember to talk about the Power and the Kingdom and the Glory. And when you wake up on Sunday morning and tell your new friend that you'd rather be stapled to a cross with footlong spikes than ever set foot in that church again, well… we hope he or she will take it in the Christian spirit. Amen.

We shudder when entering most public bathrooms (think any Greyhound bus station toilet). But we found one we want to move into. Check out the ladies' lounge at the Weston Hills Country Club next time you're out west. (Yes, they'll let you use the lounge even if you're not a member.) You'll understand why it's part of the tour all prospective members get. The aroma of flowers greets you the second you enter the room, which is a far cry from the usual bathroom scent. But wait, this doesn't even look like a bathroom -- it looks more like someone's living room. A brocaded Victorian couch trimmed in gold fringe beckons. Deep brass bowls filled with potpourri and flower arrangements rest on cherry-wood tables. The wood-shuttered French windows open to a halcyon view of palm trees and gently waving grasses. Four rose-cushioned chairs face ornately etched mirrors; frosted glass lamps providing the perfect lighting for makeup touch-ups. Your feet sink into the floral wall-to-wall carpeting. The toilets and sinks are in an adjoining room. The soap bins are always full of peach-scented soap, and there are even dispensers of mouthwash and lotion next to little plastic cups on a lace doily. The only problem we saw: a garbage can filled with used paper towels. Oh well. Even the Garden of Eden had a flaw.

We shudder when entering most public bathrooms (think any Greyhound bus station toilet). But we found one we want to move into. Check out the ladies' lounge at the Weston Hills Country Club next time you're out west. (Yes, they'll let you use the lounge even if you're not a member.) You'll understand why it's part of the tour all prospective members get. The aroma of flowers greets you the second you enter the room, which is a far cry from the usual bathroom scent. But wait, this doesn't even look like a bathroom -- it looks more like someone's living room. A brocaded Victorian couch trimmed in gold fringe beckons. Deep brass bowls filled with potpourri and flower arrangements rest on cherry-wood tables. The wood-shuttered French windows open to a halcyon view of palm trees and gently waving grasses. Four rose-cushioned chairs face ornately etched mirrors; frosted glass lamps providing the perfect lighting for makeup touch-ups. Your feet sink into the floral wall-to-wall carpeting. The toilets and sinks are in an adjoining room. The soap bins are always full of peach-scented soap, and there are even dispensers of mouthwash and lotion next to little plastic cups on a lace doily. The only problem we saw: a garbage can filled with used paper towels. Oh well. Even the Garden of Eden had a flaw.

For a landed view, it's best to land among the landed gentry, of course. You can do that in this little corner of the wealthy universe high atop the Bank of America Building. How high above the earth is 28 stories, the altitude of the Tower Club? About a million miles for those of us who toil the streets below, working for a living. But for those who languish in huge leather armchairs or dine in Continental opulence above the rest of Broward's 1.5 million denizens, 28 stories is about 370 feet above the pavement. Ride up, walk in, take a look. You'll see the blue Atlantic sweeping in from North Africa to the east, the Everglades rolling out toward the gulf to the west. Great views of South Florida's famous development frenzy stretch to the north and south, too. If you aren't going to join the club, the least you can do is show up with a resignation letter in hand, à la Groucho Marx: "Please accept my resignation. I don't care to belong to any social organization that will accept me as a member." Just be sure to give them the letter after you look at the view.

For a landed view, it's best to land among the landed gentry, of course. You can do that in this little corner of the wealthy universe high atop the Bank of America Building. How high above the earth is 28 stories, the altitude of the Tower Club? About a million miles for those of us who toil the streets below, working for a living. But for those who languish in huge leather armchairs or dine in Continental opulence above the rest of Broward's 1.5 million denizens, 28 stories is about 370 feet above the pavement. Ride up, walk in, take a look. You'll see the blue Atlantic sweeping in from North Africa to the east, the Everglades rolling out toward the gulf to the west. Great views of South Florida's famous development frenzy stretch to the north and south, too. If you aren't going to join the club, the least you can do is show up with a resignation letter in hand, à la Groucho Marx: "Please accept my resignation. I don't care to belong to any social organization that will accept me as a member." Just be sure to give them the letter after you look at the view.

Imagine you're the personnel director of an NFL expansion team and you have the opportunity to pick any player from the Dolphins roster for your new squad. Cornerback Sam Madison is one of the best in the league at his position, and wide receiver O.J. McDuffie led the league in receptions a year ago; either would be a good choice. But when it comes to being the best Dolphins player, middle linebacker Zach Thomas is the meanest fish in the tank. The defensive spark plug many NFL insiders considered too small at five feet, eleven inches and 235 pounds has led the team in tackles every season since being drafted in the fifth round in 1996. What Thomas lacks in size, he makes up for in intensity and versatility. How many players have the power to go head-up on Steelers running back Jerome Bettis -- a guy nicknamed "the Bus" for his bruising running style -- flatten him like a pancake, and still possess the speed to cover Raiders wideout Tim Brown on a deep crossing pattern? Thomas' teammates and coaches consistently recognize him as one of the hardest workers on the team. His character, fire, and athletic ability make him the heart and soul of a nasty defense that has come to be known as one of the stingiest in the NFL. While other players may be involved in one or two plays per drive, the Dolphins' middle man usually contributes on every down, thus continuing Miami's tradition of gritty defensive field generals.