Shopping & Services

The problem with hipsters: They love looking cool in their flashy-trashy '80s costumes, but they're way too lazy to go digging through the Salvation Army's stanky racks for themselves. Thankfully, there are go-getters like Miami's own Recessionista (AKA Christine Bourie), who actually enjoys the dirty work. A 23-year-old peroxide-blond pixie with a flawlessly ironic eye for kitschy vintage fashion, Christine finds and sells all kinds of awesome wearables, from oversize turtle-shell sunglasses to pink denim dresses. On a typical day, her Etsy site lists 150 time-warp treasures, such as $46 snakeskin ankle boots, $38 Western-style white leather jackets, $27 sequined batwing blouses, and $6 Mr. T faux-gold chains. Now, you can expect the occasional haute label like Ferragamo, Yves Saint Laurent, and Betsey Johnson. But really, Recessionista is all about gaudy forgotten brands such as Bongo. "The jeans are acid-washed, brightly colored denim," Christine explains. "It reminds me of being a child." And her personal style icons? "Grace Jones, the grungy Courtney Love, and basically anyone from an '80s Arnold Schwarzenegger movie."

A freak five-minute tropical storm tore through your back yard in Hialeah, knocking over your wood fence like Matt Mitrione pummeling Kimbo Slice. You had left your dogs on the patio, so they got swept away in the deluge and drowned in a nearby canal. Pieces of Spanish tile zoomed off of your roof and crashed into the windshield of your vintage Chevy Impala, shattering it into a spider web of cracks. Just as you were about to call your insurance company, you got served with a foreclosure notice. Forget the recession. You have some serious demons spiraling around you. Time to march over to Botanica Yoruba and get yourself an ultra-grade despojo, or spiritual cleansing. Located in the heart of the land Raul Martinez built, Botanica Yoruba has helped many souls find peace through the powers of the Cuban orishas. And in case you don't want to get lost in the maze of Hialeah's confounding street system, check out the botanica's online store, where you can choose books from Yoruba's vast library of Santería literature ($4 to $50), purchase exquisite porcelain urns ($55 and $95), and order various spiritual bath concoctions ($1.25 and $2). You'll be able to sleep soundly again.

You're a wannabe South Florida survivalist, so naturally you've made sure the family bomb shelter is sufficiently stocked with bottled water, canned goods, AA batteries, and other basic hurricane supplies. But honestly, that's not good enough. With the apocalypse almost upon us — Hello, 2012! — it's high time you began stockpiling nonstandard stuff such as double-strength nylon rope, fighting knives, stainless-steel handcuffs, emergency germicidal water tablets, fire forks, blister kits, disposable urine bags, and shit buckets. Face it — the next couple of centuries are gonna be tough, and you have only 919 days left till the Mayan calendar hits doomsday. Our advice: Get some help from the old-timers at Jet's Florida Outdoors. In business since 1955, when worldwide nuclear war seemed inevitable, this store's bushwhacking staffers are exactly the kind of gritty end-of-days experts you need. They'll hook you up with all of those aforementioned items for $192.92 plus tax. Then they'll point out the million ways in which you failed to fully imagine the dirty-bombed, zombie-ridden, sci-fi future. Like, what about a 32-ounce bottle of human scent killer? You know people will be food, right? Just go start the countdown, you amateur.

Napoleon Bonaparte allegedly wrote his mistress to arrange a love tryst, saying, "I'm coming home — please don't wash." The magic word behind lust is pheromones, those elusive, odorless chemicals given off in response to sexual stimulation or even romantic fantasy. And while your partner might insist you stay ripe, 99 percent of the population would like you to scrub clean from time to time. What to do? Appease the mate or give in to the crowd? Fortunately, there are soaps, made right here in Miami, that emit powerful wafts of virility while getting rid of that nasty BO. Smelling like a six-pack doesn't sound alluring, but the Beer Soap Company concocts cleansers out of shea butter; manly scents such as tobacco, caramel, and leather; and bottles of frosty beer. Try the choc bock beer soap ($6.50), made with Sam Adams Limited Release Chocolate Bock; Canadian hops beer soap ($5.50), made with Molson; and for the more sophisticated palate, aquadementia beer soap ($5.50), which includes Blue Moon Belgian white beer.

"What is the use of a book without pictures or conversation?" If you agree with Alice, your Wonderland is waiting on Lincoln Road in South Beach at precisely 1111, a number some believe is a passageway to another reality. If there are few volumes in this clean, well-lighted place, most of the tomes seem larger than life, making you feel like you shrunk after taking a swig from the little bottle that read "Drink Me." Pick up a copy of Pancha Tantra, Walton Ford's sinisterly twisted depictions of furry and feathered beasts, for $1,800, or if your pocketbook has shrunken, there's always the trade edition for a mere $70. If you opt for sex, the six-volume, 3,506-page Hugh Hefner's Playboy will set you back $1,300. But, hey, it "comes with a piece of Hef's silk pajamas, worn by the man himself!" Our favorite is GOAT: Greatest of All Time, a $4,500, 792-page Muhammad Ali picture book that Der Spiegel called "the biggest, heaviest, most radiant thing ever printed in the history of civilization." (The "Champ's Edition," which goes for $15,000, comes with the Jeff Koons sculpture Radial Champs, comprising two inflatables and a stool.)

It's becoming increasing difficult to find a good used bookstore. The only secondhand shops staying alive seem to be next to fast-food joints in minimalls and trade in cheap romance novels. So you have to try extra-hard to find an old-fashioned store with curious out-of-print volumes lining tall shelves, spilling onto the floor, and hiding in nooks and crannies. In other words, the kind of place you'd never find in the clean confines of cyberspace. To reach Dunbar Old Books, you need to navigate blind streets that twist into a quiet industrial zone with no sidewalks. Proprietor Mary Ann likes to stay out of the way — she does most of her sales online and doesn't keep a strict schedule. So she'll probably be upset to learn her store has been named, hands down, the best used bookstore in town. Just make sure you call first. And please don't say you heard about it here. Hours are 11 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Monday through Friday and noon to 5 p.m. Saturday.

It's no secret that Miami is a pretty Cuban-centric town. So it's refreshing to find a Spanish-language bookstore with entire shelves dedicated to literature and politics from Colombia and Spain (though there are two shelves filled with books by Cuban writers). Named Revistas y Periódicos for its vast selection of newspapers and magazines from across the Spanish-speaking world, the shop has a wide selection of quality books — including an array of popular titles for children and young adults, as well as entire shelves filled with religious and spiritual tomes (from astrology to Zoroastrianism). You'll find all the staples plus harder-to-find authors such as the magnificent Spanish writer Enrique Vila-Matas.

Dear John: If you're reading this note, you've already realized I've packed up my Twilight poster collection and left. Dr. Feinberg was right. You'll never change. You almost seem proud of the fact that you're the youngest person to be diagnosed with senile squalor syndrome. But I know it's all a big scam just to get on Hoarders. Here's a tip: Your piles of garbage are too neat, too clean. And if I ever see your fat face on the show, I'll call A&E and reveal you as the fake you are. I told you the last time you added another ferret to the ferret farm in your walk-in closest that it's either me or those snaky rats. Well, John, I think you've made your choice. P.S. I poured olive oil on the keyboard of your new MacBook, so if you want to get in touch with me, you'll have to actually set pen to paper and write me a letter. I could find only this college diploma to write this note on, though, so you might want to stock up on stationery at the Scarlet Letter. If you want to keep in touch, I recommend the box of 20 Crane & Co. monogrammed stationery cards for $19.

At 2 a.m., Purdy Lounge expels you from its grimy innards, three shots of tequila and a PBR later. The Venetian Causeway spins across the glimmering water as you stumble outside. The night is young! But for what? You're not hungry. And, you're not ashamed to admit, it's a Tuesday. Mirage-like, the soft glow of burnished wood catches your eye as you amble south. Is that a... guitar shop? Open at 2:15 on a Tuesday morning? It's no lie. Inside, smiling behind the counter, is Marty — South Beach's only resident guitar god, a white-haired master of every style and owner of every vintage. Marty owns the building, and after a successful career in real estate, he can afford to run the South Beach Music Exchange as he sees fit. Marty likes bar hours. So he's open Thursday through Sunday from 8 p.m. till 3 a.m. And he's plenty happy to teach you a chord or two on the slide electric or to tune up your mandolin. There are quality new acoustics for less than $300, and there's a 1920s metallic hollow-body hanging on the wall. Marty's refuge may not be a mirage, but a great music shop open for night owls? That's magic at work.

It's impossible to imagine now, given the range of designer colors one can buy, that in the early 17th Century, that artists such as Caravaggio, Rembrandt, and Velazquez didn't have an affordable or stable blue to use. Ultramarine, which is extracted from lapis lazuli, was more expensive than vermilion or even gold. Artists had to cough up a princely sum to have the blue pigment imported from Afghanistan. That's never been the case at Jerry's Artarama, the 20,000-square-foot West Miami art supply emporium featuring almost anything the fledgling or seasoned creative type might ever need to succeed. At this sprawling one-stop depot, you can find everything from acrylic and oil paints in every designer shade from the world's top brands to brushes and palette knives. You'll also find canvas, stretched or in rolls and made from cotton, linen, or jute. Plus pens and markers, encaustics, ceramic and pottery supplies, water colors and pastels, airbrushing supplies, easels, portfolios, and even a custom framing shop tucked in the back. Budding Picassos can take weekend easel painting classes conducted in English, French, or Spanish for $25 a pop, not including supplies. To top it all off, Jerry's boasts the type of cut-rate prices, sometimes ranging from 50 to 75 percent off, and savings on hard-to-find items that would inspire the likes of the old masters to turn cartwheels in their graves.

Ten acres of rare tropical plants? Check. Shrubbery that looks like artwork? Check. Butterflies and hummingbirds? Check, check. Big, gorgeous orchids? Check again. The smell of fruit in the air? Check, drool, check. In a hidden South Dade nook? Check (your directions). About 115 types of bamboo? Check... that out. A bunch of feisty nursery cats? Check yourself. Jade vine, bonsai trees, shrubs, and water plants? Checkout line. Totally reasonable prices? Here's a check. Open daily except Thursday.

In the past few years, designer Christophe Decarnin has revitalized French fashion house Balmain by introducing exaggerated, almost Klaus Nomi-esque shoulders into many of his frocks. Recession be damned — fashionistas have been spending big dough on Balmain. In fact, a gray cotton sweatshirt that would otherwise be unremarkable save for the angry shoulders and deliberate deconstruction will cost you $2,450 at South Beach's newest luxury boutique the Webster. All apologies, but if you haven't yet recovered from the price, steer clear of the 20,000-square-foot store located in a historic former hotel on Collins Avenue. You might be in for a serious series of fainting spells. The trio that founded the store has a professional pedigree that includes stints at some of France's most storied houses, magazines, and boutiques, so it's safe to say they can attract a discerning, international clientele. Besides, this once was a land of unrestrained glamour. Do you really want to live in a South Beach where there aren't designer sweatshirts for sale that are worth the equivalent of a down payment on a car, recession or not?

You know that girl at prom who had balls? The one who had the cojones to wear something different? Something that wasn't, oh say, purchased at a suburban shopping mall? Something that was even — gasp! — secondhand. Well, pretend she grew up. Then pretend she opened her own clothing store in Buena Vista. That's what stepping into Angel's Vintage Boutique feels like. The place has antique jewelry, furniture, and dishware in the front. But the back is where it's at: There's a collection of the most unique dresses in town, all from the '40s through the '80s. Some are strapless. Some have bows. Some are polka-dotted. Some are so ridiculous they're cool. One looks made for Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles. Another looks made for Ricki Lake in Hairspray. All of them are in excellent condition and range in price from $4.99 to $500. Big gals should check out the plus-size section, and frugal gals should check out the clearance rack.

Whether it's reinventing knitwear by turning it into swimwear or working with other local artists such as the TM Sisters for last year's performance-art piece "Whirl Crash Go!," Parisian-born, Miami-raised designer Karelle Levy has become the city's quintessential designer using the least Miami-friendly fabric. And it's not only the Magic City giving her props. She has won the 2008 national Style Wars competition hosted by the House of Deihl and was the queen of the ball when she debuted her Day-Glo line, perhaps her most ambitious work to date, at last year's Swim Week. If that wasn't enough, even the common man and woman can own a piece of Levy's work with her KREL 2 Go, which debuted at Scope Art Fair in 2008. Using the client's body, she quickly pins and cuts a garment in a matter of minutes. Shirts, sweaters, shorts, and skirts— she'll make it all in record time, showing you why she won with ease the aforementioned Style Wars title — the competition never stood a chance. Her ready-to-wear fashion is available at her Wynwood boutique and studio, open Monday through Saturday 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., as well as at stores countywide including Lace (1935 West Ave., Miami Beach), Oxygene at the Bal Harbour Shops (9700 Collins Ave., Bal Harbour), Amira at the Gansevoort South (2377 Collins Ave., Miami Beach), and the boutique inside the Standard Hotel (40 Island Ave., Miami Beach). You can also shop online at smashingdarling.com/store/krelwear.

One could easily lose whole days rummaging through the dusty bins of secondhand stores and go home with only a torn ostrich-leather purse that smells of Brussels sprouts. Sure, the thrill of the hunt is part of the fun. But imagine a room packed with only the "Eureka!" finds of thrift-store shopping. Las Tias, a reasonably priced upscale resale store in Wynwood, is like the closet of a beloved aunt, albeit one with really great taste. And despite the museum quality of its killer window displays, the store is low-key and unpretentious. Inside the warehouse-style store, you'll find classic, gently used furniture and clothes that have been thoughtfully curated by the three Cuban women who own the place. Seventies Lucite chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the floor is covered with Pasil bubble chairs, grand dining tables, and vintage knickknacks such as ash trays and whimsical, mod sculptures. In the back, there are '50s women's frocks, pin-up accessories such as fascinators and gloves, and statement-making costume jewelry. Pristine beaded clutches from the '40s go for $80, and in the tableware section, you can get an eight-piece Fiestaware set of dishes for $40. It might be a little more than you wanted to spend, but resale is always an option if times get tough again (and they likely will). These curiosities from decades past have already proven they hold their value over time.

Sometimes we need a reminder that HIV/AIDS is not just a problem that plagues Africa and other far-off locations. In fact, according to the Miami-Dade Health Department's March 2010 statistics, there are 13,491 people in the community living with AIDS and another 11,542 living with HIV. And those are only the reported cases. A recent report from the Florida Department of Health suggests that, including those who aren't aware of their status, as many as one in every 63 men in Miami-Dade has HIV. The good news is that those with the virus can still live full and relatively long lives with proper medical treatment and access to life-saving drugs. The AIDS Healthcare Foundation provides treatment regardless of ability to pay, and the proceeds from the newly opened Out of the Closet thrift store benefit the organization. So the next time you decide to clear out your closet, drop the old clothes by the self-proclaimed "most fabulous thrift store in the world." While you're there, you can also get a free HIV test to make sure you're not among the thousands in the county who are unaware they're infected.

When reckless yuppie schemes and manic social ambitions have reaped nothing but divorce, major debt, and serious self-loathing, it's time to go rogue. So, shred your credit cards. Grow a beard. Stop taking showers. Burn your bed. Leave cryptic goodbye voicemail messages for everyone you know. Drop a bogus blood trail. Then stuff all of your remaining valuables into a black leather bag and head straight for Daddy's Cash. Located on the corner of NE Second Avenue and 31st Street, this pawnshop is a squat red-and-blue bunker flying black bomb banners and an American flag. Just buzz at the door, nod toward the security guard, and go see the lady broker sitting behind bulletproof glass. You could shop for golf clubs, Korg keyboards, power tools, LG flat-screens, stereos, and a giant silver Jesus bust. But you've come to trade: a Rolex, cufflinks, matching his-and-her iPods, pearls, your ex-wife's five-carat diamond wedding ring, and several sheets of commemorative gold coins in exchange for that $4,000 Harley sitting ready at the curb, pointed due south.

If all you want are some faux Rolexes and blingy cell phone accessories, you can stop reading now and set out for the Swap Shop. For a flea market where you can lose a whole day just looking around, check out the Redland Market Village in Homestead. Here you'll not only find staple deals such as five deodorants for $4, but also enjoy a day's worth of fun perusing the goods. The indoor market sells the expected — yellow-gold jewelry and bedazzled flip-flips — as well as the unexpected, such as double-breasted white suits for toddlers. Make sure you get around to the pet shop, where you can buy pink-eyed rats, giant blue macaws, and racing pigeons. Most of the vendors and patrons in Bargain Town are Mexican. Even the caged cockatoos sip water out of Corona bottles. Dig into the Mexican candy (chili-coated lollipops, salted tamarind pulp, peanut marzipan, etc.), sample the freshly made sharp queso blanco, and order some seafood paella. Produce stands spill over with nopal (cactus ears), avocados, and yuca. There aren't a lot of prices listed, so be prepared to know enough Spanish to haggle down the damage.

Whether you're a lush, a boozehound, a college kid mounting the next barnburner, or just an average Joe picking up the occasional liquid entertainment, where you get your hooch is one of those things that inspires loyalty. A good liquor store should be like a longtime friend, attentive and always there for you. OJ Liquors off Galloway Road on Coral Way is just such a place. Friendly owner Julian Fiuza has been in business for 16 years at his Westchester location for good reason. With this local institution offering a good selection at reasonable prices and frequent specials, it makes OJ's hard to beat. From gin to Scotch, rum (a best seller is the half-gallon of Bacardi Light for $23.99) to tequila, champagne to after-dinner cordials, and an ample assortment of vino, OJ's has everything you need, whether you're getting the party started or appeasing the inner demons that turned you into the raging alcoholic you are. What? We've seen you in action.

At Sunset Corners Fine Wine & Spirits, it doesn't really matter if your wine IQ is zero. You'll feel comfortable at the down-to-earth establishment, which has operated on Sunset Drive since 1954. The friendly staff, including owners Michael Bittel and Larry Solomon plus wine and cheese buyer Jamie Futscher, will guide you through their impressive selection of wines, priced as low as $5 and as high as $2,000. Free winetastings and fun wine academy classes, such as a recent event pairing Bordeaux and hamburgers, are a bonus for those who thirst for wine — and knowledge. The store also carries 450 varieties of artisanal cheese — 75 to 100 kinds at a time — to pair with that great wine you just discovered. Chin-chin.

As Freud once said, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." But he might have added, "A cigar shop should not be just a cigar shop." Sosa Family Cigars provides just the right backdrop of sights, sounds, and smells for a real-life mise en scène that encapsulates the essence of Little Havana. And you don't have to brave damp, blistering heat to take it all in. Simply step into the cold but cozy store across the street from Versailles and peruse the wide selection of cigars lining the walls (ranging from a good but cheap $4 stogy to a $27 Padrón Aniversario). Then light up, plop down on the plush leather couch, and watch a competitive game of dominoes or engage in an old-fashioned political debate. Words fly, smoke swirls, and someone is bound to drop by with a coladita from across the way. Life doesn't get more Cuban than this.

It's not often you'll catch this publication praising local municipal works. Miami-Dade's public transportation system, for example, makes Havana's '50s-era buses look like Japanese light rail. And earlier this year, New Times lambasted Miami Beach for spending $5 million on citywide free Wi-Fi that didn't work. But to give credit where it's due, we'll be the first to admit the newly installed network on the downtown-encircling Metromover is fast and reliable. And because the elevated tram is free, it's a pretty handy alternative to shelling out cash for Internet time at FedEx Office, if you don't mind traveling in circles or surfing the web next to a drunk homeless dude.

There's no denying looks matter in South Beach. But we think that applies more to the interior design of establishments than people. For instance, a restaurant could serve the most brilliant cuisine on the Beach, but if it's done in a white-walled room with folding chairs, that restaurant won't succeed. A hotel might be known for hideous service, but if it boasts a breathtaking lobby and well-designed rooms, it'll still be booked solid. Of course, your looks — and health — matter too, and if you're going to get in shape, why not do it in one of America's most beautiful gyms? David Barton Gym at the Gansevoort, designed by William Sofield, infuses a mix a Moroccan and Asian flair. The stunning metal roof above the reception and weight machine areas lets in beams of natural light, while the rest of the gym could double as a nightclub. Plus the equipment is top-of-the-line, and the staff couldn't be more pleasant. It might run you a bit more for a membership here than at some strip-mall gym, but if you want to build a body even half as aesthetically pleasing as this place, it's worth it. Besides, with this kind of grandeur, you'll actually look for excuses to work out.

Let's get this straight. Pole Dance Miami is not a stripper school — perhaps to the disappointment of the patrons of the barbershop a couple of doors down in this nondescript Miami Lakes strip mall. Still, it takes its pole art seriously. While most dance studios throw in the occasional novelty class for giggling housewives, Pole Dance Miami is all pole, all the time. Not that any of this sacrifices fun — various themed classes, after all, boast names such as "Bootylicious," which, as the name indicates, involves frequent, vigorous shaking of the posterior. Most important, though, all of this wiggling, jiggling, spinning, and climbing seriously whittles you down and builds pure strength, thanks to the constant hoisting of your own body weight. (Stilettos add some resistance too). Unlike most similar dance studios, here you can drop in for a single class ($35) whenever you want, although prices drop when you buy class cards (five classes for $150, up to 20 for $400). In fact, for the dedicated pole addict, there are even unlimited memberships ($190 a month). And despite that disclaimer at the beginning, with the way the economy is going, it doesn't hurt to learn a few more potentially marketable skills, right?

Rock climbers from Miami are a lot like surfers from Omaha: shit out of luck. Northern getaways are one thing, but in a city with topography that looks more like a potato latke than a food pyramid, you also need a good gym. Thank God for places like X-treme Rock Climbing, a 14,000-square-foot warehouse with the tallest walls in Miami-Dade. Routes are marked for all levels of expertise, including a cave for the crazy spider monkey set. Employees — who tend to be superlean and full of energy — frequently re-route walls so there's something new for everybody. Equipment is available to rent for reasonable prices ($5 climbing shoes, $3 harness, $1 Balay device), and first-timers can take a class to get comfortable. Members enjoy free yoga, a fitness center, and wireless Internet along with a sense of community. Girls should check out Wednesday ladies' night for $7 — by far the best one-time deal in South Florida — and almost always a lively evening at the gym. Try a seven-visit punch pass for $76 or a monthly membership for $45. It's cheaper than, well, moving to Colorado.

Staying fly means knowing where to find a pair of dope kicks. Check in with the flight navigators at Air Traffic Control, where you're sure to walk out with sneakers that will allow you to move up the hipsterati social ladder. From iridescent Nike Dunks to patent-leather fluorescent Bathing Apes, ATC stocks designer sneaks for every baller. And you better be balling to shop here, considering prices range from $50 to $1,500 for one pair. Of course, if you need a few extra Benjamins to cover the rent this month, take your unworn sneakers to the shop and sign up for ATC's consignment program. The store will take care of selling your kicks for an 80-20 split on the sale. You keep the 80 percent.

You will sweat profusely. You will regret never having made a will. And you might very well barf. But once you're back on the ground, you'll hanker to get up in the air again. To actually fly a small plane bears no relation to the experience of sitting on a commercial airliner. You finally begin to fathom: I'm doing something I am genetically not supposed to be doing, and it feels incredible. Eusebio Valdes, the one-man show who owns and operates Miami Fly, has been taking jittery amateurs into the clouds for more than 27 years. An hourlong class costs a reasonable $140, including all expenses, and it takes about 40 hours to become certified as a pilot. His Cessnas are low-tech and sort of resemble '70s-era Buicks on the inside, but they're completely safe — he's never had an accident. The Kojak-domed Spanish native is a watchful and careful copilot who's full of Mr. Miyagi-esque nuggets of wisdom. Our favorite: "There are no dangerous planes, only dangerous pilots."

Warning: The New Times cute-o-meter just edged into a measurement range never before seen in the history of cute on planet Earth. Right now, somewhere near Coral Gables, there's a miniature dog teeny enough to take a bath in your Earl Grey, and it's been all dolled up like a little canine Oliver Twist, and it's sitting very, very patiently while a puppy portrait painter captures this monumentally precious moment in oil on canvas. Is there anything more adorable than that? Ever? The answer is a firm, unequivocal no. Welcome to Forever Teacup, a boutique where cuddly two- to three-pound Yorkshire terriers are bred and sold to people like you — i.e., people with hearts so full of love and happiness that all they need to complete the perfect circle of their existence is a sprite-sized pup to hug. So, pay $1,000 for a Yorkie, name it something like "Mr. Twisty," and then commission one of Forever Teacup's resident artistes to paint your tiny pet into a tableaux of pink tea sets, sunshine, and cotton candy. Oh shit, girl. Cute just went nuclear.

Your dog needs a bath. No, we're not speaking generally to our entire readership; we're talking to you. Your dog smells like a rotting horse carcass. Your dog smells like the entire homeless population of Overtown emptied its bellybutton lint into a jar and allowed it to ferment. Simply put, your dog smells like the Metromover. But all hope is not lost. Take that Fidel's-beard-scented mutt to this tiny shop and you can be confident its stink will be extracted in the manner that a morbidly obese person is removed from a walk-up apartment by paramedics: expertly and with tender care. The price of grooming ranges from $35 to $60 based on size, and first-timers get $5 off. They even do all the nasty dredge-work involving anal glands and ear canals. Plus the dogs get to hang out until you arrive to pick up yours — gleaming and wearing a complimentary bandana. And then when you walk down the street with Poochie, you won't send every passing pedestrian into a puking fit.

Just admit it: In terms of brutal regular chores, getting a haircut ranks somewhere between bathing your girlfriend's nearly rabid poodle and using that toothpick-looking thing on your clippers to clean out the months-old dirt rotting under your big toenail. There's the half-hour wait under fluorescent lights, reading vintage 1997 issues of People with Fran Drescher on the cover; there's the Michael Bolton blaring through the salon; and don't even mention the awkward forced conversation with Bruno the stylist. It doesn't have to be that way, friends. Carr's of South Beach, in fact, exists just to take you back to a time when gentlemen congregated in barbershops to relax. For a meager $25, Carr's merry staff cleans up your mop top; up it to $52.50, and they'll kick in an old-time, frothy foam shave. If you haven't seen Sweeney Todd too many times, Carr's also offers a straight-razor shave for $40. They even throw in a free beer or a top-shelf mixed drink to smooth the stay. At Carr's, haircutting is no chore at all.

Face it. You've been preparing for that milestone birthday by training for an Ironman Triathlon the past six months, but the new Lolita in your life remains unimpressed. Instead she has scrounged up some Viagra for the big occasion and made an appointment for you to visit her hair colorist, who she swears will knock off a decade from that graying mug. At first, you balk and bray, having tried all of those over-the-counter rinses and hair tonics that led to an allergic reaction that gave you boils and left your eyes swollen shut. After pointlessly protesting, you accompany her to the Color Head salon in Pinecrest, where Diana Paternina treats your lip fur and mane to a soothing organic henna wash for $40. Voila! It transforms you into a Burt Reynolds ringer. Then you pop the little blue pill and begin feeling like an '80s porn star again.

It's Friday after work and you've been so busy you failed to shop for "that dress" for "that special occasion." You have also failed to retouch your highlights, wax your eyebrows, and get your nails done. These epic failures have you scrambling last minute and so stressed out your nerves are begging for a drink. Ladies, this is your savior: RikRak is a salon, boutique, and bar all in one. You can buy a dress and shoes for the night, get your hair blown and styled ($85 and up), score a manicure ($20), and sip a glass of wine while you're at it. Didn't have time to eat dinner either? Don't fret, girl. The café offers smoothies and snacks, and if you're lucky, the now-famous Latin Burger and Taco Truck might be parked outside. We all know there's nothing sexier and ladylike than scarfing down a greasy burger after a fresh French mani. Only warning: Looking pretty might cost you a pretty penny.

A gun shop is just like a hair salon. Customers will always ask for the model they've just seen on their favorite celebrity. At Lou's Police Supply, they'll want the James Bond (a Heckler & Koch .45: $1,539) or the Jason Bourne (a Sig Sauer 9mm pistol: $759), and the armory is likely to have not just a couple lying around, but a dozen, and in different sizes and colors. Ask any heavy worth his damn where he got his piece, and he'll likely say Lou's, a mainstay in South Florida for nearly 60 years owned by former cop Lou Garcia. At 30,000 square feet, this Valhalla of firepower is as close as you can get here to Travis Bickle's fantasy playground. At least 100 customers, many of them police officers, walk through the Hialeah showroom every day, looking for everything from a cardboard shooting target or a bulletproof vest to a 13-inch Hisshou military fighting knife ($229). Now, for the gunslinger who can't afford the James Bond, or even the Gunsmoke, Lou's also carries 13 brands of used weapons starting at $200. And if that's unaffordable, stick to the store's free catalogue. The 72-pager is a regular Playboy for gun owners.

When Ralph Chaviano was a little kid, his father would bring home reams of copy machine paper from the office. Pops would go down to the basement of their Brooklyn brownstone and place the packaged stacks in neat piles on the concrete floor. Whenever Chaviano completed a chore or brought home good grades, his dad would hand him a ream so Ralphie could draw cartoon characters and other whimsical doodles for as long as he wanted. Some three decades later, Chaviano's nickname, "Image," rings throughout the 305. "I get satisfaction from people trusting me with their skin and letting me draw something on them that will last the rest of their lives," he says while etching a koi fish onto a customer's left bicep. The 35-year-old artist got his break seven years ago in New York's Greenwich Village, working for celebrity tattoo artist Jonathan Shaw. Two years ago, Chaviano opened his own shop in the City of Progress to be closer to his family. In that time, he's built a steady stream of local and national celebrity clientele such as rapper Fat Joe's protégé Pistol Pete and mixed martial arts brawler Rene "Level" Martinez. "Hialeah is my home," Chaviano says enthusiastically. "I get a lot of love in this city." A good-sized tattoo will run you $150 to $200.

Life moves fast in the concrete subtropics, every scar tells a story, and time flies on bat wings. There aren't many things you can buy that will be with you the rest of your life, so when you get tattooed, don't trust just anyone with a sharpened guitar string, cassette motor, and a bottle of India ink. For professional work, see Hell Bound City, a shop that shows true commitment to the art form and the culture behind it. Inside, you'll find a rockabilly head's custom hot rod and a tiki-inspired tribute to living ink. Plus shop owner Esteban Dalpra knows tattoos. He is covered in them — even some by his own hand for practice. Starting with an apprenticeship in his native Buenos Aires in the '90s, Dalpra moved to Miami and spent years sharpening his skills in the high-volume world of South Beach ink slinging at Tattoo Circus. Since 2007, he has owned and operated the first and only tattoo shop in the Wynwood Arts District. So whether you want flash off the wall, a custom piece, or even your own drawing etched into your flesh, Hell Bound City's got your back, front, arms, legs, and whatever else covered.

So you want to stick it to your parents, society, the boss man, and just good taste in general. And you want to do it by, well, getting stuck. There are two keys to consider when you're thinking of letting a stranger slide a spike through your flesh: cleanliness and price. If that's your checklist, you should look no further than Luiz Segatto's venerable tattoo parlor on "Piercing Row" along a just-grimy-enough stretch of Washington Avenue in South Beach. The Brazilian Segatto is an artist in his own right, with regular studio shows of his trippy neon-colored demons and samurai, and his spic-and-span tattoo parlor is chock full of art — on bodies and on the walls. Segatto offers all the regular piercings — eyebrow, navel, nose — for just $60, including the jewelry. Suck it, Mom! In this recession, society would frown on you for not getting pierced at that price.

Picking a fine chapeau to cover your dome can say a lot about your personality. A porkpie identifies you as the classic man-about-town who knows where to find the secluded watering holes in which jazz, blues, and ska sing from a vintage jukebox. A trilby, with its deeply indented crown and flexible brim, will give you that mysterious yet dashing look of a private eye ready to expose the Machiavellian misdeeds of corrupt politicians. And a fedora will make you look like you just stepped off the set of James Cagney's The Public Enemy. For the past 14 years, Hats & Hats has been helping Miami-Dade's stylish ballers find the right headgear to match their three-piece suits and golf attire. You can check out styles and prices ranging from Kangol ($35) to Puerto Fino ($75 to $145). Hats & Hats also has a wide selection of women's styles for the church ladies.

If you like to bike in Miami, you know Mack. It's been here for a half-century. You might well know Manny, the mechanic who has done repairs for the past 38 years. Heck, you even might have perused the great clearance deals online for last year's bikes or dreamed about that 15-pound, $12,000 Pinarello the store carries. The best thing about Mack, though, is the people. Many are serious bikers who compete in triathlons. When you buy a bike, these masters of the trade fit you like nowhere else. They not only adjust the seat but also study the derailleur, the crank, and the pedals — everything that could cause a problem down the road. You can also get great cycling clothing here cheap. A jersey goes for as little as $19.95. So hit the Mack, and you'll come back.

SOFLO is a killer skate shop, but it isn't just a killer skate shop. It's a bike repair place, community clubhouse, and barbecue spot too. Pick any random day, grab a few tallboys from Kwik Stop Mart down the street, and then roll up on your fixed-gear cruiser with a Baker board and hibachi strapped to your back. Without fail, the SOFLO mofos will welcome you like a brother. From outside, the only visible branding is a set of neon cardboard cutouts advertising stuff like "Longboards" and "Swank." Inside, though, it's visual overload. The walls are splashed from floor to ceiling with the insane Sharpie scribblings of SOFLO resident graff guy SuperDuper Jr5. He'll draw on almost anything — dirty napkins, losing lottery tickets, sleeping friends. There's even a carefully curated not-for-sale collection of boards designed and signed by skate-scene guys such as the legendary NeckFace. But most important, the swank for sale is plentiful. You got $25 organic cotton and hemp longsleeves from Elwood and others. You got rad kicks — Etnies, Vans, Vox, etc. — for $30 to $65. And you got street decks from most major companies as well as SOFLO's own custom line of $35 Jr5-designed boards. You got wheels and bearings and more. So show up, shop, and say "Hey!" to SOFLO mascot Cognac. He's a brindle bull terrier, and he can usually be found chilling on a bar chair in the corner.

Watch out for bicycle salesmen who wear ties. Or, really, anything besides a pair of beat-up jeans. Those clean-cut dudes will assume you can afford to peddle something that costs more than open-heart surgery. And they are as much fun to haggle with as a pot of boiled cabbage. To escape that snooty, yuppied-out bike scene, check out Federal Bike Depot, a nondescript white building with a seafoam-green overhang on a quiet North Beach street. These are bikes for the people, with secondhand rides that cost $100 to $250. The shop has a fine selection of mountain bikes and beach cruisers by brands such as Trek, Schwinn, and Diamondback. Every once in a while, you'll find a sweet deal on a vintage Raleigh. Nothing fancy — just decent bikes at fair prices. It's the jeans and T-shirts of the bike world.

There is no better way to traverse South Beach than by scooter. All of the annoying aspects of the neighborhood — the traffic, the parking — melt away, replaced by a little buzzing motor and the whoosh of wind in your face. That said, renting a scooter on South Beach has always been a bit of an annoyance too, if we're being nitpicky. Who wants to go to a scooter rental place? Isn't that a bit... Nebraskan? To address this travesty, a new business model has popped up: locally based Roam delivers scooters — plus beach-cruiser bicycles and skateboards — to any location in Miami Beach. The Vespas cost from $50 to $60 for a half-day rental to $75 to $95 for a full day. They come with a complimentary tank of fuel, and delivery and pick-up are free, meaning you don't have to waste any of your SoBe time trudging to and from a rental location or figuring out where you stick the gas nozzle.

In Miami — a freeway city where flash is all that matters — your car is everything. Drive up to a club in a vehicle that costs more than the average two-family house and you'll be shocked at how deferential everybody becomes, from the valet kid to the bouncer to the vampire at the bar with fake boobs and money-symbol eyeballs. Sure, you work at Denny's and drive a dented 1992 Corolla, but that's what those pre-approved plastic things you get in the mail are for: To spend money you ain't got to be somebody you are not. There are tons of exotic-car-rental spots in Miami, but most of them are unlicensed, fly-by-night operations that should be avoided like a streetside game of three-card monte. That said, there are a few legitimate rental businesses. Our favorite is American, which has its main office by Miami International Airport. You'll probably be berated by the wise-cracking Lamborghini Nazi at the front desk, but the place stocks more than 100 luxury vehicles. The experience will cost you from $899 a day for a Porsche Panamera to $2,200 a day for a Ferrari, and yes, it's shallow as hell — but we're guessing there's a reason you don't live someplace classy like Vancouver or San Francisco.

So you want to impress your friends back in Cleveland by showing them you roll like T-Pain and bang mermaids. Well, the only way to bag half-human/half-fish babes is to bounce in a sea vessel with some serious horsepower. Whether you need an eight-passenger 20-footer for cruising Biscayne Bay, want to take an excursion to Key West in a 37-foot sea cruiser with a tuna tower, or just wish to jet ski for a couple of hours, American WaterSports has the vessel for you. Eight types of crafts for rent by the hour or half and full days are conveniently docked at Monty's Marina in Coconut Grove, home to one of Miami's most popular watering holes and seafood grills. The staff is pleasant, knowledgeable, and always ready to answer any questions about your maritime adventure. If you're a local, we recommend signing up for an annual membership for good discounts on rentals. Memberships range from the six-month $800 "Get Your Feet Wet" plan to the annual $5,700 "Seasoned Speaker."

We're not sure when it happened. Boating used to be the domain of hardscrabble scallywags, weird dudes with chum stuck in their beards who might have sex with a manatee if they've been at sea too long. Now it seems like country club yuppies have yanked the wooden steering wheel away. All you see are these smug yachtsman wearing loafers sans socks and dry-cleaned captain's hats. But boaters on a budget still exist, and when they need a motor for their anchor crank ($95.99) or a jerry jug ($10.99) or a rub rail ($380) — we don't know what those last two are either, but the point is this place has everything for your seafaring rig — they eschew the big, glossy emporiums and go to El Capitan. It has the best prices in town, and equipment not in stock will be ordered and ready within 48 hours. So you can get your shit fixed and get back on the water even if you're more of an eyepatch pirate than a corporate pirate. But please: Do not flirt with the endangered sea mammals.

Like dropping acid or flying to the moon, scuba diving is one way to leave the planet — or at least feel like you have. Humans, somehow, have learned how to temporarily become sea creatures, which seems like an exquisite prank on Mother Earth. To make sure the joke's not on you, the right equipment is crucial. That's why Aquaknots, a small, owner-operated shop just south of Miami International Airport, is the place to get started. They offer a wide range of budget and elite brands, including Sea Scuba, Sherwood, and Akona. Masks range from $50 to $100, and spear guns go for $75 to $400. Diving classes are available in both Spanish and English and are taught by an experienced instructor. Because underwater, in a blanket of darkness, you'll hear nothing but the sound of your breathing. Which sure makes the right equipment seem a matter of life and breath.

Not too long ago, when we were hanging out at Alabama Jack's, a salty dog with pink melanoma on his nose leaned over and asked, "Mate, have you done the Spiegel?" He wasn't talking about the women's clothing catalogue but the U.S. Navy landing ship submerged off Key Largo as an artificial reef. Other barflies at Jack's had bragged about the wreck-diving there before, but this guy was pushy. "It's like a freaky, sunken ghost town down there. I've been down eight times." This sent us over the edge, so we whipped out our iPhone and pulled up the ship's Wiki page. We explained to our margarita-soaked friend that even if the complicated pockets and caverns of the wreck didn't disorient and kill divers, the toxic levels of PCB eventually would. With this, he brandished a rusty ship compass from his pocket and said, "But where would I get these?" We told him even those who stayed on dry land had access to the thousands of sunken treasures. "There's a place," we whispered, "down by the Miami River with ship wheels, anchors, retro metal diving suits, and busty figureheads. It's called Stone Age Antiques. You'll never have to deep-sea dive again."

Angel Sosa Sr. opened Leader Service in 1977 on a high-traffic vehicular artery through the city of Miami. More cars drive past it every day than there are liars in the auto-repair industry, and that's a lot. Today, the shop is busy as ever thanks to a solid reputation for honesty, quality repairs, and commitment to excellence. Look for the Marathon gas pumps out front or you might miss the low-key, signless shop. Angel Jr. began turning wrenches there at the age of 18. Twenty-four years later, he's the boss, but if needed, he'll still get his hands dirty to personally explain what's wrong with your ride. Leader isn't the cheapest shop in town — with oil changes from $29.95, A/C service checks from $39.95, and front brakes on most cars from $129.95 — but we recognize the shop for its honesty. Like Angel Jr. says: "The best advertising is word of mouth. When you walk in knowing that someone was there and left satisfied before you, that's the best." He also offers this free tip: "Maintenance is cheaper than repair. Take care of your car, and you won't need a mechanic to fix it."

Want your hooptie to look a little less crappy? Start by making sure you have four matching hubcaps. Ramirez Tires has an entire lot packed with thousands of hubcaps/wheels/rims/dubs, most of them priced for the extreme budget shopper. For some reason, the grimy employees seem to regard all customers with unveiled animosity, you'll do a lot of pointing if you don't speak Spanish, and the shop's phone is disconnected. But you're looking for a $5 wheel cover for your dented 1994 Corolla. What did you expect, the white-glove treatment?