Shopping & Services

Ever wonder how abuela manages to strike an imperial air on her Social Security budgetç For years she and her blue-hair friends have been rifling the bins at this crumbling hole-in-the-wall in Little Havana, where for $5 or less one can amass a trove of ritzy baubles that would put a Romanov dowry to shame. Okay, so you won't find any Fabergé eggs lying about here, but the displays are stocked with plenty of head-turning necklace and earring sets, elegant bracelets, pendants, and rings that will unleash that Grand Duchess within. The carnelian stretch bracelets, red crystal tassel chokers, or those four-row mixed-bead necklace and earring sets in shimmering seasonal colors, among other finds, will leave you feeling like royalty without getting hosed.

We know a seasoned vintage shopaholic who lovingly calls this place "Chez Armé." She proudly boasts about all of the amazing finds she's procured from here. It wasn't until she showed us photos of an incredible four-poster bed that seemed to be hewn from tree trunks that we began paying attention. When it comes to buying furniture, you can't do better.The store is a clean, well-lit place with the usual thrift store finds in abundance — dishes, sweaters, winter jackets, and worn children's toys. To one side you'll find dining room furniture, bedroom sets, and men's clothing. A handsome ornate chest of drawers, side tables, and an armoire are a bargain at $350. Textured wall units and a dining table come for $800. A two-piece butter-yellow leather living room set is $150. There's bland furniture and random what-were-they-thinking items, like a pair of children's loft-style beds outfitted with wooden slides for that speedy (not to mention dangerous) disembarkation. Stop by early (it opens at 9:00 a.m.) if you want to find a specific furniture item that isn't on display: "We got a whole warehouse back there," says approachable clerk Clarence Williams. Every second Saturday of the month, the lot down the street hosts the Salvation Army auto auction. So quite literally you can walk in here with nothing and leave with a suite of furniture and a new car for less than a grand.

All of us have a bunch of stuff hanging around our homes that we don't want, don't need, or don't use. Why not streamline your life by getting rid of some of that junkç Freecycle, a national online trading post with a board here in Miami, is the perfect way to turn your trash into someone else's treasure. Here's how it works: You register on the Website and then offer your stuff in a posting. If someone wants it, you arrange a (safe) meeting time and place to make the exchange. Best of all, it's free.

Don't want to spend $300 on a BCBG dressç If you're lucky, you can find one at Rag Trade for $30. You can also earn a little cash on the clothes you haven't worn for four years, the ones lying wrinkled and unused in a cobwebby corner of your closet. If you would rather barter for something in the shop, that's fine too. Like any secondhand shop, Rag Trade carries a rotating stock of wares that ranges in style from vintage to contemporary. There's also a section devoted to new clothes by local designers and by London-based Religion (not to be confused with the brand of jeans). Feel good about shopping here: Rag Trade is pro-conservation, and even the price tags are recycled.

Maybe South Florida doesn't seem like the best place to pick up knitting as a hobby — after all, summer is upon us. But there are always babies to crochet blankets for, relatives up north who need hats and scarves, and the three cold days next winter. Elegant Stitches carries more than 700 different yarns and offers knitting and crochet classes for $45. The shop also has patterns, books, kits, and needles. For the truly dedicated, the store organizes a November knitting cruise on Royal Caribbean.

Light catches your eye from all directions in the Gem and Bead Gallery. Everywhere you look, there are glistening gemstones of all varieties — amethyst, rose quartz, and glass beads that look almost exactly like them. Coral branches, turquoise chunks, and amber circles; jade beads and freshwater pearls. You can buy anything, from a $1000 sapphire to adorn that perfect solitaire, to $1 glass beads for a hippie love necklace. The Gem and Bead Gallery is a direct importer of gemstone beads, colored crystals, horn beads, Swarovski crystals, and pearls. The store attracts customers who are practiced jewelers, as well as first-time bead stringers. To that end, they offer hands-on Monday and Saturday classes that range from $30 to $35. From beading to pearl knotting, you can learn how to do it and then successfully make it here. Few things are cooler than being able to chirp, "Thanks, I made them myself," when you're inevitably complimented on your amazing new earrings.

Founded in a booth in Allapattah by Edgar Manley, this joint is a part of South Florida history. Located in a neat, quiet, nondescript store in a North Miami strip mall (what else, we're in South Florida), the place is quick, efficient, and loaded with deals. Watch batteries can be changed for $6.50 and bands shortened for $3. There are also railroad timepieces that go for $100 to $300, as well as Timexes that start at $30. The place was started in 1949 — when, we believe, the only creatures in South Florida that wore watches were alligators. Manley's has moved around quite a bit, and Edgar is gone, but we're glad the store is still here.

A recent survey conducted at a weekly work meeting revealed that watch popularity has decreased dramatically with the advent of cell phones and other digital time-displaying gadgets. But there's just something classy about wearing a watch. It doesn't have to be flashy or encrusted with diamonds to make a statement about the wearer. Just the simple act of watch-wearing reveals an intentional awareness, and watches can often be a symbolic gift from a wife to a husband for an anniversary or from a parent to a child for a birthday. The unfortunate thing is, these symbolic gifts eventually stop on you. Batteries give out, intricate mechanisms get frazzled, spring winders get unwound. That's when you need to take your precious cargo to London Watch.Tucked away in a retro turquoise and cream-color strip mall that time forgot, this little store keeps on ticking. London Watch is a family-owned business, a tiny jewelry store that seems like it should have closed in the Seventies. And it's not alone; this entire strip mall is a delightful relic, filled with quirky tea shops, overflowing Asian trinket stores, and dim Colombian restaurants. The store is filled with timepieces, leaning heavily toward silver- and gold-banded wristwatches, with some pendulum swinging wall clocks that reveal true craftsmanship. You hand two busted timepieces over to the wizened abuela with the round, owlish eyes. "Quince minutos," she says — fifteen minutes — before opening the back of the device with aged but nimble hands. Fifteen minutes is enough to browse the shiny contents of the store's many display cases and then wander over to Smoothie King for a Cherry Picker. By the time you return, smoothie cup in hand, your watches have been repaired. "That will be $10," says abuela's daughter, a woman with bifocals and a soft, quiet demeanor.

For 28 years now GBS the Beauty Store has been making South Florida women look and feel beautiful. The Bern family purchased its first location in 1979, naming it Gables Beauty Store. The chain has thrived by continually evolving and upgrading. GBS stocks its shelves with high-end skin-care, makeup, and hair supplies from companies that make the beauty product-obsessed go weak in the knees: Ahava, Borba, Phyto, Deva Curl, Hairuwear extensions ... it's all here, and at competitive prices. In addition to selling an incredible variety of beauty products, GBS is a full-service hair salon where customers can get their hair cut and styled by experts using top-of-the-line products. To educate customers about how to use these fancy products, stores host regular events that always involve complimentary treatments. From Pinecrest to Aventura, GBS fulfills any product junkie's needs.

When considering the development behind most of the cosmetic offerings at Brownes & Co., imagine a legion of fit European scientists in immaculate white lab coats and wire-rimmed spectacles, grinding up rare Amazonian flowers with a mortar and pestle, adding a tincture of concentrated Arctic cloudberries, and testing their concoctions by swabbing the cheeks of dewy-skinned Ingrid Bergman look-alikes. Then use that image to justify the $75 you just spent on a small vessel of Dr. Brandt Microdermabrasion in a Jar. The actual beauty benefits of quince day cream ($30.50) might be questionable, but nobody can doubt the consumer satisfaction of stocking your medicine cabinet with lotions and serums that make you feel pretty. This wood-floor emporium offers a lot of substances in jars with ornate labels imported from Europe: Diptyque perfumes ($95), Nars lip gloss ($23), Mario Badescu suntan milk ($14), Marvis jasmine toothpaste ($10.50). And if you're tired of looking at pricey ointments, head upstairs for a manicure in the salon or a massage at the spa. Bring the kids along, too, because there's a yoga class for them ($12) on Thursdays at 4:30 p.m. in the yoga room.

Drop your pants and spread your legs. Don't worry, you're not being subjected to a cavity search, you're getting a bikini wax. Yes, it might be painful, but the silky-smooth result is so worth it — granted you go to the best in the biz. When it comes to handling your private bits, the ladies at Personal Touch have a, um, personal touch. With at least five years of experience each, the depilatory specialists wax those hard-to-reach spots without making you feel like you're in a medieval torture chamber. They're quick too; a full bikini job usually doesn't take longer than twenty minutes. While some other spas rely only on harsher honey wax, Personal Touch uses a gentle mineral wax that doesn't irritate skin. You can rest assured knowing that not only are you in good hands, but also the consultants at Personal Touch consider cleanliness a top priority: They don't recycle wax, they wear gloves, and they always use new application sticks. And they also understand that although beauty might be painful, it doesn't have to hurt your wallet: A bikini line wax is $15 for women, $28 for men; and a full bikini (everything) is $26 to $28 for women, $38 to $42 for men.

Let's face it: Plucking is a chore. When to stopç How much is too muchç How little is too little (i.e., the "gorilla look")ç Well-groomed eyebrows are essential, no matter what age you are — and they're best left to a pro. It's a bonus to find a waxing professional who is charming, unpretentious, and, most of all, gentle. One like Josefina at Meduhr. She's a sweet woman with a little boy and an infectious smile. She will guide you painlessly through the waxing process, spreading warm, gooey, pink wax on you (it looks a little like bubblegum but doesn't have an obnoxious smell). After a second or two, ZIP! She quickly lifts the wax and the offending hairs from your face. No redness. Unibrow gone. Instant face-lift. Josefina and the other waxing experts at Meduhr also battle hair on backs, chests, legs, upper lips, and, of course, private areas, for both women and men. Eyebrows cost $15, full leg hair (including toes) is $35. Pedis, manis, and Havaiana flip-flops are also available, so you can show off other parts of your fuzz-free body.

Ah, the mall manicurist. These one-stop-beauty outlets are meant to provide respite for women whose feet ache from shopping all day long. But more often, getting your nails done at the commercial mega-mecca can be drama. It's like these stores share the same basic formula. All-white décor, stations crammed as close together as possible. Hand-shape chairs with red fingernails optional. The standard mall manicurist is usually jam-packed on a Saturday, every massage chair and foot spa is occupied, the workers are disgruntled, and the waiting area is full. Ladies who have been shopping all day deserve better than that. We prefer to avoid these establishments and head straight to Pinkies. The cute corner store is refreshingly feminine, professional, and classy. Instead of hand-shape chairs, there is plush, soft seating. The place is open seven days a week, walk-ins usually don't have to wait long, and your pedicure ($23 for ladies, $25 for men) will make you feel ready to shop anew.

Your face is as pock-marked as the moon's surface; your nails look like a homeless person's; the skin on your legs is hidden under a blanket of fuzz. You vaguely recall a time when you had two eyebrows (not one long one); your armpits need a weed-whacker; and a Boeing 747 could use your roots as a landing strip. And your lady-ness is now the size of a Super Wal-Mart parking lot. Sure, you could spend three consecutive days shuffling between the salon, nail technician's, waxing studio, and spa. Or you could head to Millenium. This family-run place offers ladies (and gents) an array of primping options, including manicures, pedicures, facials, waxing, plucking, and hairstyling. Prices are competitive ($25 for a Brazilian bikini wax, $25 to $30 for a pedicure), and the friendly staff — most of whom are Colombian and hail from the same family tree — are always polite, respectful, and competent. If you've never had someone incompetent pour scalding wax over your nether regions and then repeatedly yank at a five-square-inch tuft of your prized garden amid your shrieks of terror, then consider yourself lucky. The rest of us understand, and appreciate professionalism in this delicate arena. Rest assured, you'll find that and a lot more at Millenium.

At this moment you have approximately four to twelve pounds of shit in your colon. So in addition to feeling bloated, lethargic, and gassy, you're walking around with two shopping bags full of feces. Isn't that sexyç Have no fear. Suzy Herzfeld at Feel the Heal has just the thing for that little problem. Her colon hydrotherapy treatments are 45 minutes of a tube up your derri?re while water is repeatedly forced into and out of your body ($85 for a single session; $300 for four; $700 for ten). Although this might sound like 45 minutes of hell, Suzy's gentle bedside manner and super-zen spa make this start-with-the-rear process easy to bear. She cheers you on the entire time, cooing "awesome" and "good job" while you lie face up on one of her heated beds, passing last year's lunch with a sarong draped loosely around your waist. Suzy's depth of knowledge of colon health and her down-to-earth approach definitely make you feel at ease. Then there's the wide-ranging collection of DVDs — you can giggle at Napoleon Dynamite while you, um, dump. And when you're all done and feeling like a million bucks, she sends you off with a clove of pickled garlic, a tasty continuation of your much-needed cleanse.

Laundry is hell for those who don't have their own machines. Where to do it is often dictated by one of three things: price, location, and cleanliness. Big Wash has two of the three, hands down. It's cheap and clean. Don't let the fact that it's in the heart of Liberty City bother you — laundry knows no race, color, or creed. Once inside Big Wash, you're among the sisterhood (and brotherhood) of Folks Who Don't Have Washing Machines. Big Wash doesn't take coins, so you don't have to dig out those quarters from between the couch cushions. Put a dollar or five into a machine, it spits a card back at you, and voila! You can pay for your suds, your dryer, and your soda, all without cash. Big Wash also runs cool little promotions: Buy a box of soap with a green sticker attached, you get a turkey! Or a TV! If you hit Big Wash on certain days of the week, there are specials on specific machines, such as $1.49 for one load in a 25-pound capacity machine. Regular-size dryers are always 33 cents for ten minutes. The place is clean, the bathrooms are clean, there's Dr. Pepper in the vending machine, and there's a Subway next door. TV sets show a variety of sporting and entertainment shows. There isn't much conversation among patrons, but who caresç You're there to get clean, not make friends.

A good tailor shop is only as good as its tailor, and in this case, that's Basil Graham. Meticulous as he is professional, Graham makes an impression from the second you walk in his shop. Don't expect him to chat casually, because he's serious about his craft. He'll scrutinize every inch of fabric, every stitch and cut. Since 1989, Basil has produced custom suits, pants, shirts, and altered garments. The price depends on the material and complexity of the work, but a simple pant hem starts at $18 and a custom suit at $1000. Basil won't take the easy route when altering a garment. He'll make certain the fit is right, even if it means taking apart every seam. It won't be cheap, but when you want an article of clothing to fit like it was molded just for you, Basil is the man to do it. And he plans to open a second shop later this year.

Colombian native Elsa Moreno is 79 years old. With no immediate family to speak of, she has dedicated herself to a different love, costumes. Her two-room store on Calle Ocho is packed with thousands of outfits. And she has designed them all, and had two seamstresses make them by hand. We're not talking prepackaged corporate brands that every kid on the block has pulled on at one time or another, but one-of-a-kind pieces that range from scary to sweet to sporty to sexy to downright silly. Elsa, quite possibly the youngest-looking woman her age on the planet, energetically claims to have a piece perfect for anyone, of any age, fit for any and every occasion. And if you can't find what you're looking for, she'll make it to order. The only bad thing about Costumes Made by Me is that there are so many to sift through that choosing just one might be impossible. But with prices ranging from $20 to $300 for a day's rental, you can probably afford to splurge and snag a few.

Dade Corners Marketplace is the last supply stop on Eighth Street before you hit the Everglades. It sells everything a feller would need in the swamp: bug repellent, bullets, jerky, diesel, car parts, ten-gallon hats, knives, et cetera. But its flagship product, the one billed high on the marquee out front, is a full leather jacket for $19.95. Sure, it appears to be stitched together from the clippings of other leather items, but it's the real McCoy, and it's really $19.99. Located conveniently at the intersection of the Tamiami Trail and Krome Avenue, this place is a shining beacon of civilization for all those prepared to wade into the swamp. You could walk into Dade Corners naked and starving, and walk out stuffed and totally awesome in your new cowskin getup.

Attention, ladies: When you see a man carrying an Arrive shopping bag, it's safe to say that he just might have more style than you do. As one of the hippest clothing stores on South Beach, Arrive modestly touts itself as "the premier lifestyle destination for the ever-growing young and travel-minded jet-set consumer." When you walk through the glass doors, you better have cash or plastic. Or both — because looking good can hurt so bad, at least in the wallet. We're talking $250 to $480 for Y-3 tennis shoes. It can cost the same to clad your torso with ¨ber-cool labels like Chip & Pepper, Evisu, Nicole Farhi, Alexander McQueen, and the store's own line of essential luggage pieces. Arrive has a selection of women's wear, too, but clearly, this is a man's world.

Located in a green building in the middle of a residential neighborhood booming with new condos, Green's has been around since 1954. It originally belonged to Henry and Sam Green, but since 1982 the Triana family has continued the tradition of automotive repair. Says Orestes Triana: "We fix it right the first time," which must be why Wackenhut and Supra Telecom trust the place with their fleet work. "We've been here so many years that the trust we have with our clients, it's beyond anything else. We take the time to explain your options, why we should do certain things." Say you drive a Toyota and need your brake pads and rotors refaced. Expect to pay $120 to $140, or about $200 if you drive a Ford Expedition. A complete A/C check, including dye to spot leaks and a Freon top-off, will run you $80. Students and University of Miami employees get a ten percent discount. Whyç Because, Triana says, "I've seen grandfathers, fathers, third-generations bring the cars to us." And Green's Garage wants to keep it that way.

Conveniently located next to the Bottoms Up Strip Club on Southwest Eighth Street, Miami Police Supply has been satisfying gun lovers since 1989. Check out the Glocks, AK-47s, and semiautomatics on display. "Everything that a government agency would need, we have," says the store's owner, Javier Alonzo. Stun guns, batons, gas masks, Tasers, and other military weapons designed to protect you from terrorists are available here. Need an armored, covered vehicle with bulletproof windows and sirens? How about a trained police dog? Or maybe just some pepper spray? This is the place. Of course, you are not allowed to try out the Glock before you purchase it; there is a five-day background check; you must be a U.S. citizen; and it is illegal to impersonate a cop. But again, Bottoms Up is right next door.

In a town where stray bullets are a major problem, there appears to be only one solution: a four-pound revolver that fires shotgun shells. That's right, shotgun shells.The Thunder 5 (named for its five-round capacity) is manufactured by three old fellas up in Piney Flats, Tennessee. But John Lindahl, the only guy who distributes the Thunder 5, lives (where else?) right here in South Florida. It's too big for stickup men. Too short-ranged for drive-bys. But it's just right for the guy trying to clear out his hallways in the middle of the night without having to worry about killing anyone in the next room. It costs $545, plus $15 for shipping and handling. But wouldn't you expect to pay that much money to be able to fire shotgun shells out of your handç

If you lack fond memories of your dad taking you down to the crick to shoot cans with an old .22, don't despair. Every Thursday night a quasi-, semi-paramilitary band of folks gathers to shoot. They don't pussy around either. They run, hit the dirt, and switch hands. And if you have the cash, you can join 'em — and even take an all-day course: How's about tactical carbineç Or shotgunç Or learning how to waste would-be carjackers from behind the wheel of a rental carç Well, it'll cost you $150 a day for each class, but how else you gonna learnç The Tactical Firearms Academy was started by a captain of the Broward County Sheriff's Office sniper team, Dave Sanders, but has since been taken over by his disciples John Gardner and Andy Blaschik. They're nicer than you'd expect them to be. All in all, it's good times at the academy — unless you're a convicted felon. Then you can't play. Otherwise you just need a valid concealed weapons license.

A car wash that got a nod from Gourmet magazineç If it serves tapas, wine, beer — even raspberry lambic — why notç Karma's well-designed waiting room is decorated in soothing shades of indigo and has copies of gossip magazines and the New York Times. If you're getting your car detailed during breakfast, they have espresso and pain au chocolat. In the afternoon and evening, enjoy a plate of olives and cheese with a Belgian beer while your car is getting shiny. After 8:00 p.m., the car wash closes but the bar stays open as a lounge, with a DJ on Thursdays. Washes start at $17 and can go as high as $149. There's also a 25 percent discount for hybrid cars.

Lurking behind a nondescript sign advertising "Videos and DVDs" and a window full of highly descriptive accessories is Sensations Video. It's a friendly store where clerks won't ask you what you are looking for or pester you with sales pitches. Nobody wants to know how your day was or what size and color you need. You're free to peacefully roam the aisles looking at butt plugs the size of funerary urns and pictures of wholesome-looking girls wearing strap-ons. Should you want to view a video, there are booths in the back where not a single person wants to know whether it was a thumbs-up or thumbs-down in there. Yes, it's a great little store where it's best to ask as few questions as possible. Though it would have been nice to know if that item we bought was a bong, a dildo, or both.

Have a few beers before heading into this place. Once you're in, you'll be privy to one of the largest selections of weird porn the world over. You can't beat the tranny collection: They have Asian T-Girl Latex Nurses AND Teenage Transsexual Nurses 2. You'd think the Internet revolution would have wiped a joint like this off the face of the Earth. But it's odd and nice to know that it didn't. "Make sure to put that David Machado is the best employee," requested a pale, pony-tailed clerk from behind the counter. Machado's mother and father are no doubt glad they freed their son David from Castro's iron grip at the tender age of seven. Had he remained on the island, he might have never had the liberties and opportunities he has here. Could someone ring that motherin' Liberty BellçMachado mostly works nights, helping customers with their queries. Most people keep to themselves, however, especially during the morning shift. The "video store," he sighs, will go the way of the "record shop." It's all about the DVD these days. And Adult Video Connection is in the process of selling off its VHS stock. So if you're hangin' on to your VCR and you love porn, now is your time to strike.

From its small storefront on Washington Avenue, Grooveman has weathered the supposed deaths and rebirths of South Beach as well as the supposed deaths and rebirths of dance music. One death it won't accept, though, is that of the twelve-inch. Sure, CDs and MP3s might be convenient, but for the faction of DJs who worship at the altar of the wax slab, Grooveman is a temple. The whole spectrum of dance and electronic music, as well as a smattering of quality hip-hop, is represented here, with singles neatly lining the perimeter of the store's white, minimalist interior. The stock is easy to navigate, with records filed by genre and record label. A bank of turntables in the middle provides plenty of listening stations where you can preview potential purchases. And to keep the spinning smooth, there is also a small but well-curated selection of decks, cartridges, and other DJ accessories.

This roomy record shop packs in everything from classic Spanish zarzuelas to vintage Argentine tangos within the walls of its Calle Ocho locale. In Miami for more than twenty years, Casino bills itself as "the paradise for record collectors," and it's got the musical goods to prove it. Limited-edition box sets of rare Spanish folk music from groups like Los Chavales de España abound, as do discs by acts from hard-to-find genres such as folklore Andino (Andes folk), Latin spoken-word poetry, and Sixties Latin pop. If an item isn't in stock, you can order it on the premises, by phone, or through Casino's Website (it's in Spanish). The shop also carries an extensive DVD collection that covers perennial live concert favorites such as Celia Cruz and the Fania All-Stars in Africa and an assortment of foreign films, particularly from the Italian and French cinema (all dubbed in Spanish, of course).

The next time you're in the mood for the kind of quiet, thoughtful bookstore experience usually found in cities like New York and Boston, just head to the Wolfsonian Museum and stop by the Dynamo. This is the kind of bookstore where you can — and should — spend hours browsing through shelves packed with quirky gems not likely to be found anywhere else in Miami. From rare propaganda art books such as Revolución! Cuban Poster Art ($19.95), to The Fixer ($24.95) by underground comic book writer Joe Sacco, the Dynamo delivers a wide range of volumes on traditionally marginalized subjects. Prices start at $17.95 for a paperback of Anti-Intellectualism in American Life and go all the way to $400 for a glossy copy of Le Corbusier's Polychromie Architecturale. The entire store has been carefully designed with readers in mind: Soft lighting and plenty of comfy seating in the café make book shopping a truly pleasurable experience. The staff is never obtrusive but always knowledgeable and ready to help with any queries. You can't go wrong with a museum and books.

Admission to the Miami Book Fair: $5.Cost of replacing Nike sneakers after a stray child at the fair threw her hot dog on your old ones: $70.Hot dog for your child, who threw a tantrum after realizing other kids were eating hot dogs: $5. Copy of Frank McCourt's latest release: $25.Amount of gas used waiting in line to get out of the parking lot: $5.Knowing you could have gone to Trinity Episcopal Cathedral's bookstore any weekday from 9:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. and spent $2 for the book you picked up at Borders for $25: priceless.

In this era of one-click online shopping, comic book shops need to deliver more than just the average monthly Spider-Man series if they want to survive. Dean and Sandra Gonzales, owners of Avalon Manga Shop, recognize the value of putting together a brick-and-mortar space for Miami's comic book heads. Open since 2004, Avalon is an oasis for collectors of all ages, with an emphasis on Japanese "manga" comics and the more traditional (but no less fun) DC and Marvel superhero volumes. But comics are just a small part of Avalon's cool appeal. The store is jam-packed with many other fun collectibles, from Star Wars action figures to rare anime DVDs. What's more, Avalon holds in-store Dungeons and Dragons game sessions on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It even boasts an avid community of Yu-Gi-Oh! card game enthusiasts, who meet on Saturdays for biweekly tournaments. If they don't got it, the stubborn staff will subscribe (at no extra charge to you) to any rare titles not available in the store.

Bustling capitals like New York City and San Francisco feature boutiques where things like sneakers and toys are displayed as pieces of pop art. Now thanks to the newly opened Soles Inc., Miamians can take part in the underground movement of Japanese subculture shops. The brainchild of Japanese owner Kenichiro Konomi, Soles carries the most comprehensive collection of Asian limited-edition items in all of South Florida. Its sneakers and action figures are all imported from Japan. The walls of the store are covered with Japanese designer toys, like a twelve-inch Bruce Lee: Game of Death figure ($500) created by designer Arnie Kim. Graffiti art, Japanese BAPE sneakers, and colorful Casio G-watches can be found here too. Soles also functions as an art gallery, and it's currently featuring work by Japanese photographer Yoshimitsu Takano.

Don't let the mysterious and somewhat cramped storefront keep you from venturing inside. Never mind that the windows are still taped up from last year's hurricane season and that the shop is darkly lit. Behind the web of duct tape crisscrossing this gritty botanica's panes is "Sister Maria" (she won't give a last name). For $35 she'll provide spiritual advice to the destitute or unlucky in one of the shop's dreary back rooms. Following a tarot card reading, she'll be happy to suggest a menu of ritual cleansings. They fluctuate in price, but Sister Maria says they're "guaranteed to be 100 percent" effective at curing whatever ails you. The modest shop is overflowing with aromatic baths to bring luck, astral perfumes to ward off the evil eye, and ropes of multicolor beads symbolizing each of the Afro-Cuban deities or saints. Have an impending court date for that fender-benderç Forget those pesky attorney's fees and try one of the potent seven-day "Court Case" candles for $1.25 apiece. Just light the wick before going to court, counsels Sister Maria, and loudly intone the prayer on the back of the candle for optimal results: "Dear Lord, say unto the judge to stay beside me and make war against my enemies who threaten to spill my life's blood."

If you ask the friendly man at Caribbean Delite for the name of this strip mall, he responds with a quizzical look and a lengthy silence. It's like he's been asked to solve an algebra equation. "I don't know. I just think of it as the Caribbean strip mall," he eventually says. "Maç What's the name of this strip mallç" he shrieks to the lady in the kitchen, who is elbow deep in curry and busily preparing box lunches of roti, Trinidad's most popular food. Ma gives no answer. "Check the sign out there; it must have a name for the mall," he declares with conviction. According to that sign, this is the Little Caesar's strip mall. There's a branch of the affordable pizzeria in the far right corner, but it's rarely as busy as the other establishments. This place is a mecca for Caribbean cuisine and culture. Sweet (typically vintage) reggae music from Jamaican music epicenter Aquarius Records booms from speakers mounted outside. The barbershop ensures no short supply of handsome men lounging about while waiting for a trim. And there are three spectacular Caribbean restaurants here: Sango Jamaican and Chinese Cuisine serves up some of the best jerk in Miami; Caribbean Delite offers the softest, most succulent roti this side of Port of Spain; and Marie's Patties is world-famous for good reason. If you're heading down south for some island deliciousness, take South Dixie Highway until you pass BrandsMart USA; then turn right on SW 160th Street. Take an immediate right into the parking lot of the peach-color strip mall, and listen for the bass-heavy music. And bring cash — for some strange reason, none of these quality Caribbean eateries accepts plastic.

Before you enter Addict, consider the sneaker not as utilitarian footwear but as objet d'art, and you won't be shocked by either the lacquered gold finish on a pair of Chuck Taylors or the $200 mauve limited-edition Pumas. There's a special line of Dwyane Wade-designed canvas Converse, whose $445 price tag is justified by the the fact that only eighteen pairs exist on the entire planet. There are Nikes with faux-crocodile-leather finish around the laces, and a pair of high-tops with a cutout beige layer covering a basic white shoe (both around $210). A pair of pearly white women's Pumas have a curvaceous design and lace up on the side rather than the middle ($175). Other brands include Reebok, Le Coq Sportif, and Lacoste. Addict also has an extensive collection of polyester Adidas zip-up jackets, like one charming yellow version with the head of a happy-looking camel embroidered on it. Look to the shelf in back for the occasional 50-percent-off selection.

It seems like every homeboy on and off the block is bedazzling or Sharpie-ing their sneakers in (often lame) attempts to customize their footwear. But at Philly in Miami, they've got this unique art down to a science. From Nike Air Force Ones to Adidas, these guys have a huge inventory of one-of-a-kind sneakers. And to make those exclusives even more exclusive, they hand-paint designs, pop culture logos, and whatever else you can dream up. Of course the more complex your design, the more you'll pay —prices can go as high as $1500 for a a pair of super-pimped sneaks. Cincinnati Bengals wide receiver Chad Johnson had the store paint pictures of his catches onto a pair of game-day cleats, MTV featured them on Sneak Attack, and R&B cutie Ciara even got a pair. But you don't have to be on the A-list to shop here. Whether it's ho-pink snakeskin, tennis-ball felt, or a psychedelic raindrop pattern, you can get it, and there's a good chance that you'll be the only b-boy with it.

Some might be familiar with that euphoric rush, the runner's high. Chances are, though, you are far more aware of the crushing pain associated with ill-fitting shoes more commonly associated with greedy sales reps trying to cash in on a quick commission. See, whether you're a serious sprinter or a Sunday-morning stroller, your kicks can help reduce the risk of injury and increase your chances of success. That's where The Runner's High comes in. These guys know feet — ugly, small, sweaty, or well traveled. And the helpful staff prides itself on matching your extremities and exercise goals with your budget. Yes, they stock the latest styles and all the major brands. But they don't pressure clients into buying the most expensive pair, suggest something because of its color, or let you purchase something that doesn't fit. Not convincedç Head to the store and they will even videotape you on a treadmill to better analyze your gait — at no charge. That process, in the industry, is known as The Runner's Why.

This store is small, but every available nook and cranny has been stuffed with tennis supplies. Rackets (for both tennis and racquetball) hang from the ceiling. The walls are covered in shoes. Apparel, equipment, strings, dozens of brands of balls (sold by the can or by the case), ball hoppers, and ball machines are all crammed in and sold by Steve Tandlich, who has owned the store since 1974. Forget the minimum-wage henchmen at Sports Authority. Tandlich can guide the beginning player toward the best racket for his or her needs without charging gut-wrenching prices — many run less than $100. He has tennis togs for children and floppy hats for the elderly, as well as info on local leagues and tournaments. For those who dread the drive down South Dixie Highway on a Saturday, Tandlich will also ship anywhere.

On the western edge of Miami, three triple-alarmed tool sheds are packed with swing bikes and lowriders, bikes for the mountains and the road, children's bikes, and tandems. Burning Marlboros through a bushy handlebar mustache, The King rebuilds bike after bike from a shed so stuffed that it seems ready to vomit cans of paint, primer, oil, and grease. He wheels them between a carpet of parts and fittings and speaks about each one like a painting. At 48 years old, The King (real name Jay) works six or seven days a week as a handyman at FIU. But when he arrives home, the real work begins. "There's too many bikes, man," he cries, gesturing to the sea of parts that covers his back lawn. "I can't keep up with 'em all. I got a full-time job, plus a family." (The King often returns home to find that his wife has accepted five more bikes for rehabilitation.) But like any addict, The King has taken to selling his poison to support his habit. He prefers to do business in pure cottage fashion: Call him, he makes/restores/finds what you want, he sells it to you (in pristine condition) from his home at a ridiculously reasonable price. "I don't care about the money," he says as he applies a thin layer of motor grease to our new bike's chain with a toothbrush. "I'm just trying to make a couple of bucks."

Finding a really good bike shop can be tricky. You want a place that's low-key, a little run-down, maybe: a place with mechanics who understand your crappy bike, who'll help you fix it without asking you to empty your wallet. At the same time, a cheap fix can be a cheap fix, and a good bike shop should have good products and thorough mechanics. Coral Way Bicycle Shop, in its 65th year of business, walks the line. The staff is knowledgeable, friendly — because there's nothing worse than a smug bike mechanic — and honest. They'll explain your options and give you straight answers about prices without pressuring; if you just want to look around, they'll leave you alone. The store sells new models, ranging from $200 mountain bikes to high-end, multi-thousand-dollar road bikes. Coral Way Bicycle is a full-service shop with reasonable prices: A complete tune-up is just $18.95.

Few powerboat rental places come close to the captain's prices, and those that do, usually bump up their rates for weekends or offer rundown craft. At Captain Joe's, you have your choice of seven boats — from a twenty-foot Four Winds runabout with room for eight people, to a 40-foot Tiara with teak decks and massive outboards. Two hours on the twenty-footer, which is equipped with a 150-horsepower outboard, will set you back $130. A four-hour tour on the same boat costs $272, and an entire day on the water goes for $395. That's less than $60 per person for a party of six. Shit, even with the extra fee for gas and taxes, it's not much more than a couple of drinks and a bland steak at some waterfront joint. If you can't be bothered with navigation, you can hire a captain for $30 an hour, take a sightseeing tour, or rent one of the significantly more expensive charter options, which include a 73-foot yacht with room for 50.

Tarpoon Dive Center's Hialeah store is pretty much where diving began in Miami. Opened in 1952 (and in its current building since 1956), The 'Poon has helped generations of locals find their way to the silent world just offshore. Its founder, the late Mike Kevorkian, was a legend in the underwater education world. He produced hundreds of live marine biology-oriented TV programs for Miami's WPBT Channel 2, developed the first CO2 spear gun, and helped make possible one of Jacques Cousteau's first U.S. public appearances. Kevorkian's daughters, Valerie and Stephanie, continue the tradition. Their staff of highly experienced, knowledgeable divers will talk you through your purchase, steer you to a class (there are regular sessions held in the heated indoor pool, available in English, Spanish, or Portuguese, for everyone from novices to assistant instructors), or simply give you good tips on where to dive. Recent deals included a three-millimeter-thick full wetsuit for $101 and an underwater digital camera set marked down from $770 to $530.Tarpoon also has a store at the Miami Beach Marina, feet from where it docks its own 46-foot custom-built dive boat.

It's just past midnight on Saturday and you're about to bring your date back to your place for, you know, a drink. Only your liquor cabinet is empty and your date is one of those "I don't do beer" types. What's a horny toad to doç The answer is illuminated by a neon sign of tipping bottles — the blue glow above Tivoli Liquors. While most pansy liquor stores close at midnight on weekends, Tivoli is open seven days a week till 2:00 a.m. The wide selection of alcohol includes all the basics (Jack Daniel's, Hennessy, Jägermeister, Captain Morgan, Grey Goose, and so on) but also offers an assortment of fine Spanish wines. There are obscure brands like Palacio de Oro for just $6.99, while a bottle of Emilio Moro will set more cultivated winos back a solid $30.99. For imbibers on a budget, get a mild bang for your buck with a $3.99 bottle of Sidra el Gaitero.

It's not one of those wine warehouses that took over a defunct Winn Dixie and still has a row of checkout registers up front. And it's not one of those trendy storefronts that stock only Bordeaux and other cocky wines that cost three figures. No, this little brick-walled bistro lets you eat and drink — and take home a bottle of that drink — without signing over your weekly paycheck. Ask for Florent, the owner and your new best friend. Name a price range and a style. Florent will pull just the perfect bottle down from his expansive wall, from the very cheap to the very pricey. If you're not in a rush, find a quiet table and plunk down a modest corkage fee. Then order yourself a cheese plate or a nice soup, or bum out on the awesome housemade bread. Raise your glass to the colorful verve of this sassy Parisian dilettante. He has been everywhere, has seen everything, and commands a certain I don't know what that will have you ordering another bottle. Or take one home for the kids.

Listen up, all you wimps who lack the backbone to quit smoking. Sure, you don't have a pack of cigarettes lying around the house. It will only tempt you. But sometimes you just need a fix. Whaddya doç You can find loosies in any New York bodega or Philly Chinese carryout, but Miami is well, weird. So here you have to head for the Alton Food Plaza, which is the local go-to spot for pathetic peeps. Try the Marlboro Lights for just 25 cents — and pick up some frozen mozzarella sticks or empanadas while you're at it.

Evelio Guelmes, age 83, is steeped in the knowledge of what it takes to create a robust, full-bodied cigar. The master, who crafted his own brand of cheroot, El Turco, in Carbaiguan, Cuba, is one of eight veteran roleros — with a combined 150 years of tobacco-twisting experience — who work their nimble-fingered magic at El Titan de Bronze Cigar Factory in Little Havana. Run by Don Carlos Covis and his clan, the factory manufactures a line of quality stogies on site using a sublime mix of the aromatic leaf from the Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, Honduras, North America, Indonesia, and Brazil. Popular brands include La Herencia Cubana, El Titan de Bronze, and Gran Reserva — and range in price from $3.50 to $5.25 for a single cigar to $85 to $120 per box. For those looking to spark up a stick offering earthy, optimal flavor and a sweet draw, these babies do the trick.

At night this space is an empty lot, desolate and spooky. By day it's a thriving mini farmer's market in the middle of bustling Little Haiti, usually staffed by Bernadette, a large Haitian woman who doesn't speak English but has a mile-wide smile. She and a few other Haitians sit under umbrellas and sell produce straight from Homestead out of the back of a van. Sometimes they stack crates of produce on tables, sometimes not. Onions, peppers, and muddy-looking root vegetable offerings come and go, but plump papayas, sweet pineapples, and tall stalks of sugarcane are mainstays. Occasionally Bernadette fires up a grill and roasts corn ears to sell, and another woman comes by to peddle housedresses. Pineapples go for around $3 to $4 (as opposed to $5 to $7 at Publix and Whole Foods), but feel free to haggle. Don't be surprised if you get your final tally in Kreyol — that's part of the joy and adventure of Miami, and of buying fruit out of the back of a van.

The warehouse and wholesale food district on NW Twelfth Avenue between Twentieth and 29th streets features some pretty apocalyptic shopping scenes — tubes of ground chuck longer and fatter than human legs, twenty-foot freezers, cans that look like steamrollers, and cases of ramen noodles big enough to float to Cuba. Great prices, yes, but the experience can be daunting for anyone without a forklift. Brothers Produce breaks that daunting wholesale barrier. Yeah, its entrance faces a loading dock and is sometimes partially blocked by crates of fruit, but don't let that stop you: Inside you'll find an accessible store with great bargains and a stupendous selection. Especially good are the varieties of spices, bulk dry goods (ranging from twenty to 50 cents a pound), and exotic hot sauces and marinades. The produce is surprisingly fresh and unbeatably cheap — who can say no to plum tomatoes at 89 cents a pound (although prices change daily)ç On your way out, check out the massive fish heads in the freezer. Halloween is not that far away, after all.

Upon entering this tiny den of epidermal art, you might wonder where all the tattoo designs are. The answer: in your head, from where they will be skillfully extracted by an artist (and they are real artists, working in a variety of media other than skin). This parlor does custom ink only. For $150 per hour an Ochoplacas artist will create an everlasting masterpiece of your own making, right there on your bod. The walls of Ochoplacas are covered with staff-made art, including a family portrait of sorts of the collective's five main creators. The legend reads: "8P: Miami's Most Hated Crue." They're actually pretty nice guys. Which isn't to say their work is painless — but is anything more painful than the permanence of a bad tattooç

This air-conditioned shopfest offers not one, but eight jewelry places that'll be pleased to pierce you anywhere. So if you don't like what the lady behind the counter is wearing or the way she chews her gum, just walk over to one of the other half-dozen piercing joints. And if you're still not too keen on the idea, you can shop around in the mall's roughly 200 booths until you work up the courage to get something shiny stuck in your ear, belly, eyebrow, or other body part. As the sting of getting stuck begins to wear off, mosey around and consider having your hair (Mohawk) and nails (black polish, please) done. Maybe even visit one of the phone kiosks for a cell with which to tell all of your friends what's in your skin.

Emilio Robba was first inspired by watching his mother arrange a handful of flowers into a bouquet. Decades later, Robba makes bouquets of his own, and he's known around the world for it. Only he doesn't grow or buy the flowers like most florists. He builds them. Christened by the international press as the "Sculptor of Flowers," Robba creates silken flower clones that are so believable you'll only realize a week later, when they're still not brown or wilting, that they're not fresh-cut. He crafts these reproductions of roses, lotuses, exotic birds of paradise, and cacti — complete with inch-long thorns — from looking at photos. He also creates flower fragrances and handmade vases. Robba sells premade arrangements for $25 to $3500, but on Saturdays you can visit his Coral Gables boutique and commission your very own sculpture. He also sells his flowers by the stem for $6 to $30.

They've got orchids that hang, orchids in pots, even orchids with names. In fact Kerry's grows more orchids than any nursery in the United States. And if you aren't an orchid person, don't worry, because Kerry's is the second largest bromeliad grower in the country, too. Want a Guzmania named Hilda or a Vriesea called Tiffanyç You can cruise to Homestead and pick them up at Kerry's cash-and-carry shop, or check them out online before you go. There's also a section on the Website about how to care for your plants. And if that isn't enough, you can e-mail the orchid (or bromeliad) grower. Not bad for Kerry Herndon, a guy who began with an ornamental plant business he started in his grandmother's back yard during high school. The Homestead native and ag businessman's flower empire now includes facilities in Apopka and Costa Rica. His plants are also sold at retailers like Home Depot and Publix. But Herndon doesn't let the success go to his head. He says of his orchids: "It's basically beautiful broccoli."

Enough with the coladas and the chain coffee stores. It's time to slow down and drink a nice cup of tea at a place owned by a local. Amate is perfect. Sit in the covered patio on a comfy orange couch or sprawl out in the bamboo-lined outdoor area. The space is a tiki-Zen mashup, but it's a welcome respite in this hardscrabble northeast neighborhood. A giant Buddha statue smiles as you peruse the long list of teas (green, black, infusions, tea with caramel, fruit infusions). They start at $2.95 (a big cup, infused tableside in a French press-like tea contraption), while larger, three-cup options run $3.95. If you're lucky and indecisive about your tea selections, the effervescent Milagro will help you choose a blend. Amate owner Emilia Pena promises to hold poetry, music, and matchmaking nights. She also stocks a small stack of games (checkers, backgammon, Parcheesi) if you're into that sort of thing. If you don't want to participate or mingle, you can always order a cup of Marrakesh mint and hunker down with your laptop: Amate offers free Internet access.

The room is alive with the flickering of computer screens and clicking of keyboards. Gamers of every age, shape, and size battle each other, as well as hundreds of others online around the world, to see who is the best at Counter-Strike, Battlefield 1942, Diablo II, and EverQuest. The three locations of E2 are powered by a dedicated T1 server and stocked with 45 PCs. Patrons can bring their own computers too. And the pricing is pretty reasonable. Rentals cost $3.75 an hour for nonmembers ($2.50 for members), and E2 also offers multihour packages and discounts if you become a member. If destroying mutants, fighting elves, and playing soldier leaves you famished, check out the concessions, where you can buy a bagel with cream cheese for $1.35 or a cheeseburger for $2.40, among other quick bites.

Easy, free, fast, reliable. Even in our wired age, those four words are seldom used to describe what it's like to hook up your laptop to a wi-fi network in South Florida. At the library you don't need to buy a $5 latte, enter a password, or have a credit card number on hand to retrieve your e-mail. And you don't have to suspiciously eye your neighbors, worried that they're sucking all the bandwidth out of a crappy connection, because the library has plenty of bandwidth and plenty of comfy chairs positioned near electrical outlets. You may not be able to download pornography (damn filters), but you can probably find a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover nearby. Information at its most democratic.

Who among us hasn't looked at the tiny canines parading on Lincoln Road and thought, Damn, that puppy needs a toupee. Well, problem solved. A Bay Harbor Islands woman who was once the wig-master and makeup artist for The Jackie Gleason Show has begun designing hairpieces for dogs. Ruth Regina's creations attach with rubber bands and allow for pointy ears. The result: The four-legged wearer looks like a doggy Joan Crawford. Or Bette Midler. Or Veronica Lake — the sexy "Peek-a-Bow-Wow" model falls down over one of the pup's eyes, giving it a "come-hither look," Regina says. Bangs, braids, and curls are available and start at $29 per wig. Regina's main business, however, involves people. With new styles, she has helped everyone from chemotherapy patients to Judy Garland. During last year's Arf Deco pet parade on the beach, Regina designed a hot pink wig for an abused Pomeranian who was missing a lot of fur. In our book, anyone — or anything — who can bring glamour to needy people and abused dogs is pretty cool.