Ah, if there is one thing we always look forward to when we travel through the Twitterverse, it's catching up with the pseudo-avatar of Miami Heat power forward Chris Bosh. Playing on the baller's perceived lack of toughness, @notchrissybosh amps up the former Raptor's feminine side with some revealing tweets, such as asking Twitter followers to guess what "color panties [he's] wearing during the game," or mentioning he "can't keep [his] tongue in [his] mouth" when an opposing player bends over, or talking about showing up for a "K-Y party."

New Yorkers and Midwesterners who spend a summer day at Jones Beach or some lake adjacent to a nuclear power plant don't mind getting pricked by a used syringe, stung by a jellyfish hiding in a floating Wendy's cup, and pissed on by a naked toddler. They'll still be sunburned and happy on the long trip home. But in South Florida, where many of us live within walking or short-driving distance from a beach that looks like it was ripped from a postcard, we can get pretty spoiled. To us, South Beach's famous shores — clogged with gobs of humanity sweating, bleating, posturing, preening, and moaning — have begun to resemble a DMV waiting room (but with more sand and topless Brazilian knockouts). So thank the Lord for Surfside's pristine, beautiful, and — most important — never-crowded sands. Douche-tastic Jersey Shore wannabes don't travel this far north, and loud children have mostly been replaced by elderly couples. Unlike neighboring Bal Harbour, this beach isn't crawling with snobby rich people glaring as if you stole their Grey Poupon. Surfside Police officers patrol on ATVs but typically don't bother you if you're discreetly drinking wine or beer, and sometimes you can even get away with bringing a small dog. And yes, you perv: There are topless Brazilian babes in Surfside too.

There is something stirring, even transcendent, about good public parks. They are the flip side to our collective neuroses, the yin to the voyeuristic yang of Charlie Sheen and Real Housewives obsessions that we secretly share throughout the week. Rather than wallowing in one another's misery on reality TV, however, a well-designed civic space brings us together for a few fleeting hours to celebrate the fact that we humans are still capable of creating beautiful things from time to time. Case in point: Miami Beach's new SoundScape Park, best known as the strange mix of palm fronds and alien structures to the east of the New World Center. Of course, the park almost didn't happen. When architect Frank Gehry complained there were insufficient funds for the park, city hall refused to cough up more cash. Luckily, Dutch firm West 8 stepped in to create a park that is half high-tech auditorium, half leafy oasis. And although SoundScape feels a bit barren at the moment, it will fill out over time as the palm trees grow and blood-red bougainvilleas creep over the park's metallic pergolas. But the real beauty of the 2.5-acre installation is its Wallcasts: concerts (beamed live from inside the concert hall) and movies projected onto the 7,000-square-foot ExoStage outside the New World Center. During Wallcasts, you can find bums seated next to beach bunnies, and real estate moguls sharing food with teenage skateboarders. For a couple of hours, peace reigns. Then everyone goes back to being a dick. SoundScape Park is open sunrise to midnight.

At the southernmost tip of South Beach, where the ocean meets the bay, lies South Pointe Park. City of Miami Beach officials took their sweet time renovating this area, but they did a smashing job. Lots of detail was put into this little urban oasis — benches, green space, even man-made rolling hills. That's all nice, but what makes this park spectacular is the view of the ships floating into and out of the Port of Miami. Seafaring vessels have always carried the romance of long voyages. Now you can follow the centuries-old tradition of greeting these boats. Choose a spot by the water, spread out a blanket, and uncork a bottle of wine. Gigantic container ships pass by so closely you think you can touch them. They arrive from China, Argentina, and Europe in the afternoon, toting cars and goods. Cruise ships depart for the Caribbean in the evening, carrying families and honeymooners. Pick a porthole and make up a story about the people inside the cabin; then wish them bon voyage as you sip your vino under the clear Miami Beach sky.

This is a great place to spend an idle morning or an active afternoon with your best friend. There are really two separate, fenced-in dog parks: one for small dogs (less than 35 pounds) and one for big dogs (more than 35 pounds), so Chowder can easily make friends his own size. You don't have to worry about potential play dates being a bad influence on your beloved pooch either; dogs must have valid tags to enter the playground. There are lots of potential play dates for those at the other end of the leash too. Parkgoers run the gamut from little abuelitas to irreverent hipsters. Aside from this being the perfect place for your hound to burn off some energy — each side of the park has a king-of-the-hill ramp, a tire jump, a window jump, doggie comfort stations, and water spray areas — you'll be surrounded by tall trees, a lake, and miles and miles of nature's splendor. Tropical Park's Bark Park is the ideal spot to let your little snookie-wookums loose while you read a book and enjoy lunch on one of the many picnic tables or benches. However, you'll probably just want to sit back and watch the adorable high jinks unfold as a French bulldog and a teacup Yorkie try to pick up the same miniature poodle.

Fifty nautical miles east of South Beach's art deco decadence, a seven-mile strip of land moonlights as Miami's Bahamian playground. Want to spend a Sunday scarfing down fresh conch fritters and drinking fruity cocktails topped with paper umbrellas? Then split the cost of gas on your rich friend's boat and leave the country for a few hours. Bimini is closer than Key West and cheaper than a couple of piña coladas at Mangos. In the '30s, Ernest Hemingway lived on North Bimini while writing To Have and Have Not. If he were alive today, he'd probably buy his bait and tackle at Fisherman's Village, a marketplace adjacent to the 5-year-old Bimini Bay Resort, and hit the deep blue in search of 500-pound marlins. He'd get drunk at a swim-up bar, hop on a golf cart, and cruise the island for Bahamian hotties. Then he'd jump on his boat, Pilar, and motor back to Miami just in time for a Heat game. Isn't South Florida great?

We live at the edge of the miraculous, or so wrote Henry Miller. The fantastical can be tough to spot, however, when you have a homogenized skyline of Bed, Bath & Beyonds and Staples. But the miraculous is out there; you just need the right guide. Bas Fisher Invitational, an artist-run gallery in the Design District, can lead us out of our doldrums with its trio of Weird Miami bus tours. Local artists Christy Gast, Adler Guerrier, Clifton Childree, and Kevin Arrow have navigated yellow school buses through side streets and around back yards, jolting us awake to how wonderfully strange Miami still is. The magic bus has pulled into Little Haiti farms — tiny fertile crescents that brim with emus, goats, and plywood tree houses. It has visited a Native American ceremonial sand mound, plantation slave quarters, and an aquaculture lab where complex, glowing sea creatures are cloned. It has stopped at a Tibetan Buddhist Dharma center tucked inside a seemingly typical suburban house with a back yard full of stupas. The Weird Miami tours remind us it's possible to escape our mundane reality through a simple staycation. It's like Mr. Miller always said: One's destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things.

Early last season, Panthers left winger David Booth was coming off the best year of his career (2009) and hoping to earn a spot on the U.S. team ahead of the 2010 Olympics. Then Mike Richards of the Philadelphia Flyers blindsided him with a vicious hit. Instantly, Booth's dream of Olympic gold ended. He missed 45 NHL games before returning to the ice. Less than two months later, another concussion forced him to sit out the rest of the season, putting his hockey-playing future in doubt. This season's prospects for the Panthers are just as dire as the past ten. The team became the first to miss the playoffs for a decade straight. No playoffs. No prospects. Same Panthers. Except for this: Booth is back. He's among the top goal scorers on the team and is using his speed and stick-handling to whiz by defenders and re-establish himself as one of the best wingers in the NHL. Any doubts about his future and confidence vanished with one sweet move in a February shootout against J.S. Giguere of the Toronto Maple Leafs. After missing his first two shootout attempts of the year, Booth pulled out the spin-o-rama move and left Giguere clutching for air as he roofed his backhand shot. Even though a flying puck smacked Booth in the throat, which required yet another visit to the emergency room, he was back taking slap shots the next game. It seems any remaining misgivings about whether Booth is back have vanished. Now it's about whether he'll be back next year — with the Panthers.

Have you ever waited in line for an hour at the MIA security checkpoint and fantasized about what it would be like to have your own private plane? Channeling your inner mogul for the day is easier (and less expensive) than you think with Platinum Aviation, a flight instruction operation that teaches on Cirrus Aircraft, basically the Ferrari of airplanes. These babies cost about a cool half-million, and you, poor schmuck, can get behind the stick without any previous training and take to the skies. This bad boy is yours to fly just about anywhere in Miami — along the beach, over the Everglades, or for a fly-by of your ex-girlfriend's condo — it's up to you. You can even bring a passenger. The cost for an hourlong "fantasy flight" is about $280, which includes plane rental, fuel, and private flight instructor.

Ever since the movie Tron came out in 1982, we've been dreaming of some neon-colored alternate world where we were totally awesome in sports. Now, with the help of some liquid courage, we've finally found it: glow-in-the-dark soccer. With the flip of a switch, Revo Soccer transforms its small indoor soccer field into a spectral, glowing galaxy. With a shot or three in your system before the game, you're sure to feel like you're playing on the surface of the moon instead of in a warehouse just off Biscayne Boulevard. Under UV lights and blaring speakers, the soft, synthetic turf fades into a black abyss beneath your feet, while the phosphorescent ball zings back and forth between the boards. Revo Soccer hosts regular matches seven days a week, so the best way to set up a game of "glow soccer" is to call ahead. Rates generally run $120 an hour, or slightly cheaper the longer you play. If you tipple before taking the field, be careful not to crash into the wood and Plexiglas walls surrounding the pitch. And, of course, make sure you have a sober driver to take you home.