Many attractions in Miami are so crowded, as Yogi Berra once said, no one goes there anymore. That's why a trip to the Kampong in Coconut Grove is so darn special. Once the home and gardens of Dr. David Fairchild (the botanist behind nearby Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden), the Kampong is a serene swath of lush tropical greenery and old Miami history. It's the only location outside Hawaii included in the National Tropical Botanical Garden. What's more, Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, and Alexander Graham Bell all stayed at the Kampong house, one of the oldest domiciles in Miami. But most Miamians have never heard of the house and gardens. They're tucked away behind a thick hammock of banyan trees and a limestone wall. Also, the place is open only Tuesday through Thursday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. That means regular working drones will have to wait until their next self-imposed mental health day to visit. Self-guided tours cost $5 to $15.

John Dufresne is one of those great authors who write a lot about writing. And not just in his classic how-to books, such as Is Life Like This?, a step-by-step guide to writing a novel in six months, with chapters ingeniously broken into week-by-week advice for the aspiring wordsmith. No, even Dufresne's excellent fiction often treads into the meta territory of exploring the process itself. Take his latest work, 2008's Requiem, Mass, about a novelist named John who abandons his latest literary effort to write a memoir about his childhood in Massachusetts. If that sounds an awful lot like Dufresne's own upbringing, it is, yet he uses the structure of a novel to expand beyond self-reflection and to tell a touching, absurd, and ultimately beautiful story about the fictional author's life and his struggle to write it. So it should come as no surprise that Dufresne is awfully reflective about the process of putting words to the page. He has churned out two decades of great writers as a creative writing professor at Florida International University and travels the country teaching writing seminars to emerging authors. Every other Friday, Dufresne even holds free workshops at FIU to coach any young Hemingway who makes the drive. Dufresne not only writes magnificently but also makes other authors better every day.

Jennine Capó Crucet burst onto the literary scene last year with a voice as fresh and welcome as a whiff of strong Cuban espresso. In her debut collection of stories, fathers spend weekends under their cars, aunts parade like the pope in their new sedans, girls meet predate disaster while removing facial hair, and the parish church is not haunted by Catholic saints or even Yoruban deities but by that patron saint of working-class Cubans, Celia Cruz. The 11 stories in How to Leave Hialeah offer a funny, touching portrayal of growing up in two worlds: one inhabited by working-class exiles tied to the past, the other by their pill-poppin', hard-rockin' offspring. That the universally recognizable characters happen to be Cubans living in Hialeah makes the stories all the more familiar. (You can hear the shuffle of dominoes and smell the fumes on the Palmetto Expressway.) Capó Crucet took off a decade ago for the Ivy League and now lives with her husband in L.A. But don't believe the title. In her heart, she never left.

Anytime it pours in Overtown, the gutters teem with a rapid flow of discarded crack stems, broken glass, empty heroin bags, cigarette butts, tall cans, and blood spilled on hard concrete. Welcome to reality. Give thanks that Lotus House has offered about 130 homeless women and children a year's respite from the storm and an opportunity to build a vessel to sail our troubled waters. This safe port protects them from abusive relationships and keeps them off drugs, off the streets, out of jail, and in the arms of a supportive staff and loving community. The ladies receive job training and placement, classes in art and computers, and help dealing with the dire situations endemic to life in one of the poorest neighborhoods in America. Wife beaters be damned — the ladies of Lotus House will not see you in Hell; they'll be too busy making their way up the high road to a brighter future.

Parrots always creeped us out a little. It's like, "Dude, you're an animal — why the hell are you talking to me?" If we wanted to hear the opinions of a being with a walnut-size brain, we'd turn on cable news. And then there's the parrot's long-standing relationship with pirates. Not cool. So, anyway, we were pretty happy when Parrot Jungle left Pinecrest. Because the 22-acre plot is a beautiful spot, full of lush tropical vegetation and wandering trails. And with the sleazy birds having been evicted, the park is now free of charge. Plus a petting zoo, botanical garden, and splash fountain make Pinecrest Gardens one of the county's best parks for children — or marijuana-addled adults. It's open sunrise to sunset.

People With Money + Drink Sponsors = Hot Girls. Hot Girls + Free Drinks = Best Parties. Best Parties + Tourists + Art World + Miami + Free Drinks + Hot Girls + People With Money + You = An Amazing Scene.

Here at New Times, we think every pooch — from the mangiest of mutts (we're looking at you, Pabst, winner of 2009's Ugliest Dog Contest) to the purest of breeds — has the right to choose its very own spot to frolic, fart, and fetch. So, with that in mind, we wrote this description of the grrrrreatest dog park in Miami-Dade in language that only canines (and, quite possibly, Cesar Milan) can understand. While you're barking this out for your favorite four-legged fleabag, have fun trying to debunk our top-secret code: Bark, bark, yelp, woof? Perrine Wayside Dog Park! It's bow-wow-wow! Ruff, ruff, large central POND (!!!), splash, pant, you can SWIM in! Woof, ruff, bark, sniff others' butts without a leash! Bad leash. Good boy! Cat! Where, cat, where?! Sniff, sniff! Aw, no cat, just small dog in a roped-off area for little dogs so that big dogs don't mistake Chihuahua for cheeseburger. Cheeseburger, good. Cheeseburger want! See Frisbee overhead. Now want Frisbee! Chase Frisbee in spacious area, lush with plants to sniff and pee and sniff and pee on again and again, ruff, woof, scratch, chase tail, and sanitary bags available for when puppy makes pebbles! Lick, lick, go on WALK (!!!) around POND on a TRAIL. Do not get dirty! Hose on hand, so you may get B-A-T-H if you get muddy. Grrooowl... Whimper. No like bath. Wet. Mad. Do I want cheeseburger? Yes! Tail wag! Lick, lick, lick your face, try to lick your mouth, no mouth, lick cheek. Lick, lick! I love you! I love cheesebur — oh, cat!

The hottest pop singer in the world performing at the most over-the-top hotel in Miami had scenesters in a tizzy as they fought to score tickets to this unprecedented New Year's Eve soiree. The Fontainebleau hosted the most in-demand NYE party on the international circuit with more than $1 million in presales. (Rumor has it that Lady Gaga herself picked up a cool $300,000 for 20 minutes of warbling.) Gaga's poolside concert didn't disappoint either. Beginning her show at midnight, the pop icon made four costume changes, stripped to her skivvies and fishnets, sang five songs (including "Bad Romance"), and electrified the 3,000-plus crowd. Celebs in attendance included young Hollywood types such as Chace Crawford, JC Chasez, Stacy Keibler, Kevin Connolly, Hayden Panettiere, and Frankie Delgado. While the afterparty continued at LIV, Lady Gaga decided to jump into the pool with her BFF, former Miamian Perez Hilton, instead of clubbing it. For that, we fell in love with her even more.

If beachside routes are as popular and predictable as Top 40 radio, this tour is like NPR: You'll learn something if you pay attention. Witness the confused chicken clucking around NE Second Avenue. This is her home, and she is not afraid of you. Head west and wonder, What's that noise? It sounds like a party, but it's actually a church. Peek inside: They are dancing. Down the street, a hair weave has been tossed to the sidewalk, ominously. Wonder how it got there. Loop back south and spot that new Obama mural. Mr. President is smiling again. Breathe in the smoky barbecue smell; see the ghostly foreclosed buildings; marvel at the gang graffiti. Roll by Churchill's and end with a beer. Then make a toast: To Haiti. To one hard year.

Like the quiet kid in class, burlesque dancers are intriguing because of what they don't show you. Unlike strippers (who show too much) or ballerinas (who show too little), the sexy ladies of Shameless Burlesque understand the art of the tease. These pierced and tattooed vixens — who look like a gang of SuicideGirls — use music, film, and dance to create a mood that is both sexy and artsy. They seem made for a Quentin Tarantino flick: There's Holly Peño the classic Latina fetish dancer, Miss Kiara Deville the sword-swallowing makeup artist, Audrey Rose Lautrec the fire-dancing pin-up girl, and Morgan La Rue the latex-loving fetish queen. Expect an eclectic mix of soul, oldies, and upbeat indie rock. Check them out at the Vagabond, Purdy Lounge, and Oceans 234.