NEWS & COLUMNS

Best Downtown Mac Repair

Digital Society
60 E. 10th St. (betw. B’way & University Pl.)
777-3093

iDoc. This Mac fixit joint offers thoroughly reliable and efficient technical service at costs that match the competition. Now that that’s out of the way, what we really prefer about Digital Society is its bedside manner. See, if there’s an ass-end to the synergy ideal and the supposed ease of managing one’s life through a box, it’s just that: our entire fucking world is in there. A sick laptop is no longer just an inconvenience, it’s a disaster. In the past it bothered us not, to be corralled like cattle, to have to take a number deli-style, wait wait wait and then describe our PowerBook’s symptoms to some preoccupied, side-glancing service department techie. But now, the damn thing is an extension of us. Its cancer is our cancer. And we want the best treatment available.

Thankfully, Digital Society comes off more like a physician’s family practice than steerage for puking Macs. This feeling begins with physical details of the store, which is small, well-lighted, sedate and situated conveniently on the ground floor on 10th St. It extends to the highly competent service department and in particular to Manny, an accommodating tech guy who’s not once balked at giving us the ad-hoc consult when we were really desperate. And it also includes a respectful, intelligent attitude toward customer consideration–need a quick power-supply loaner or a short-term battery swap? Not a problem. We confer this accolade with some hesitation, not wanting to spoil a good thing and all, but we’ve got faith that the good doctor’ll continue to deliver.

Best Goofy Name
For a Pet Store

Pets for Less
490 Court St. (betw. Huntington & Nelson Sts.)
Brooklyn, 718-222-9132

When You Don’t Care Enough to Get the Very Best. Hello, Mr. Pets for Less Shopkeeper, sir. We’re looking for a pet, a boon companion to give us affection and comfort for the next, oh, seven to 12 years. A furry li’l ball o’ somethin’ we can cuddle and curl up with and feed and groom and teach to do tricks and just love love love.

But we’re not looking to spend a lot on it, y’know?

Yeah, that’s what we want: a discount kitty. You got something with maybe like three legs you can cut us a deal on? Or some mangy old dog with only a year or two left on its ticker? A dead goldfish? A really psycho African gray? What’s that thing lying in the back of that cage? That dirty thing that ain’t moving and looks like the business end of a well-used dust mop? What can you do for us on that?

Best Place to Find
Your Signature Scent

Demeter
83 2nd Ave. (5th St.)
473-3450

Smells Like a Winner. In the interest of full disclosure, we must admit that we bought the Cliff’s Notes to Moby Dick when we were juniors at Syracuse. We were never assigned Remembrance of Things Past, but would have probably cheated on that assignment too. Aside from that Monty Python skit where they summarize his work in song ("Proust in his first book wrote about, wrote about..."), the only other thing we know about Proust is that he went on and on about that damn cookie. It never fails–every opening paragraph of any article about nostalgia or memories of growing up mentions Proust and his madeleine.

We guess if we had to pick a sense memory, it would involve trading Bonne Bell lipsmackers in the girls’ locker room at Northeast Junior High, after swim class. We know, not very classy, but there is a place that recreates that sensation, but on a more sophisticated scale: Demeter, the fragrance shop in the East Village. Actually, it’s more accurate to call it a fragrance library. They have every scent you could imagine, from Sugar Cookie to Holy Water to Ginger Ale, with Earthworm and Popcorn and Pipe Tobacco thrown in for good measure. It’s so much fun to wander around and check out Christopher Brosius’ eclectic offerings in their simple but beautiful packaging. You can take some of the little tester strips and pick a bottle at random and say to your friend, "Hey, it really does smell like tomato!" or "Check this out, it smells just like a laundromat!" If you tire of that, you can alter your mood with one of their Attitude Adjustment lotions: they offer Vexed, Crabby and Jilted, to name a few, along with Happily Foaming Bath Gel. All in all, the store reminds us of that literary classic we read in high school, Scents and Sensibilities. (Well, we did a report on it, but we never actually read it...)

Best Way to Kill a Rat

Get the NYC Dept. of Health
To Do It for You
442-9666,
www.nyc.gov/html/doh/html/pest/pestrat.html

Die, Foul Beasts! We were so busy looking for our keys that we hardly saw the flowerpot tremble or the nosy culprit emerge, but when he brazenly pranced about our feet, we took notice and vengeful action. But only after shrieking and performing a mindless dance, of course. Turned out that the lone rat was a member of a gang that numbered close to a dozen and resided a few doors down in a set of window boxes.

The job was clearly too big for us to handle, so we called in reinforcements–namely "the inspectors" from the Pest Control Services Division. This branch of the health department was formed in 1964, when it was realized that the rat population had grown disturbingly large. A telephone call or e-mailed rodent complaint form alerts the unit of the problem, then a team is quickly dispatched–usually within 24 hours–to inspect, exterminate and clean up the corpses. Now we confidently cruise through the city, knowing that pests who cross us will feel our wrath. (Note: Death doesn’t come quickly to street-savvy rodents; they usually move about in a drugged daze for a day until they finally drop dead and can be collected.)

Best Williamsburg Hair Salon

Mousey Brown
144 Bedford Ave. (N. 9th St.)
Brooklyn, 718-486-7971

Mighty Mousey. Meredith Chesney (known around these parts as Miz Jolene) was homesteading Williamsburg eons before it became Bedford Ave. U, and her perseverance has paid off in a steady clientele so satisfied that getting an appointment with her is like getting front-row center seats for Hairspray. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she and her gals give great cuts. They can do ultra-trendy, they can do runway chic, they can get you prepped for that job interview or that big date, they can do that hipster dork thing the boy geeks in Williamsburg do, and they can do our fucked-up-but-with-purpose look so well we actually commute to W-burg from rather a long way off to see them. It’s a casual, funky-cool atmo, too, which takes a lot of the stress out of getting your hair cut. But we’re not kidding: Ms. Jolene has been away all summer, so her appointment book is probably a nightmare, and you want to be booking weeks or a month in advance to see her.

Best "Looks Like a Pump,
Feels Like A Sneaker"
Plus-Size Party Shoes

LaDuca Shoes
534 9th Ave. (betw. 39th & 40th Sts.)
268-6751, www.laducashoes.com

Like Sideshow Bob’s, Only Bigger. Our feet are wide and getting wider by the year, and this does not bring us shame. We like shoes a lot, and we see nothing wrong with that. We’re proud of our broad and bucolic feet. To us they scream "America."

Unfortunately, America does not agree with us. Even in these tolerant times, we suffer on a steady diet of mukluks and moonboots, clogs and Nikes. Our prom shoes were acquired during a field trip to Patricia Field’s; we’d seen them first on RuPaul. And yet designers do not want to make shoes for us. May we take this space to make a public service announcement? High-end designers, do women like us not deserve attractive and varied stiletto wear as do our sisters in the lotus-blossom sizes?

For now, we’re happy at LaDuca’s. We found this tidy storefront while walking back from Cupcake Cafe. Beautiful, 40s-inspired heels lined the window, and only after walking in did we realize we were shopping at a dancers’ store. So much the better, we thought–if a woman’s going to be working out in these shoes, they’ve got to at least be comfortable enough to get us around a buffet table.

Phil LaDuca, a dancer and shoe designer, helped us choose a petal-pink, strappy version of his standard shoe–as perfect a Degas fetish as you can get in a size 12. The design was sent to his manufacturer in Italy and arrived a month later. In all, we spent a very reasonable $169.95 for the shoes, another $15 for the soles (the shoes arrive outfitted for the stage, not the street, so you’ll have to take them to a cobbler if you want to wear them outside), and ever since we’ve been wearing them like sneakers.

Best Cheap DVDs

NYC Liquidators
158 W. 27th St. (betw. 6th & 7th Aves.)
675-7400

Loaded with Extra Features. It’s kind of dingy, and awful cramped, and you can’t really go in there cold thinking you’ll find a specific title. But you will find something. And chances are good you’ll find something you never knew existed.

On one recent trip, we picked up King of the Zombies, Bowery at Midnight, Lon Chaney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame, Evel Knievel (starring George Hamilton), I Spit on your Grave, Too (not a sequel) and Invasion USA (which contains the greatest Christmas scene of any movie, ever). They have an excellent blaxploitation selection and a great Faces of Death knockoff selection, too. And most all of them cost about $5. Sometimes if you’re grabbing something fancy, like The Big Doll House, they can go up to $10, but that’s about as high as the prices get. You won’t find another store in town–even counting other liquidators–with prices like that.

Beyond the DVDs (which still constitute a relatively new and small section), NYC Liquidators carries hundreds of videotapes, thousands of CDs–and their collection of just plain weird porn still can’t be beat, if only for the titles alone (our most recent favorite was Big Fat Fuckers 8). Very little of it seems to be in any order at all–but that’s what makes going there all the more fun.

He was dragged to detox in handcuffs on a Wednesday. If we were to be glib about it, we’d add that two nights later we shuffled onto the unit in dirty cutoffs with a Kate Spade handbag dangling from our wrist, flanked by two ruddy, cheerful ambulance drivers.

It had been 72 hard hours since our last beat shot of dope and coke, and the blessed psych meds were starting to take the edge off. Despite the ripening goose egg on our forehead (after waiting five hours for a hippie to do our intake, we got a touch bratty and bashed our head repeatedly against the Monet poster on the wall in the crisis cubby at the ER), we finally felt something like high and mighty. Big emphasis on the mighty.

The nurses on third shift started cooing over our handbag during the strip search. In a haze of Seroquel–the Miller of antipsychotics, administered by rote to anyone who goes ape in central booking–we informed them that our handbag cost more than they make in two weeks. That’s great, honey, the bigger nurse replied, as she tossed us our tanktop. Here’s a bar of soap and do you need to brush your teeth? Sure you do. It won’t be too easy on the gums but you won’t mind. Hands us a dimestore toothbrush in a cellophane sheath and we wonder if we’re going to get hostile again.

It doesn’t happen. After a dim interval, we’re face-planted on a crackling twin bed, retching in the foamy darkness as another nurse dumps the contents of our handbag. Loose pills and tubes of lipstick spatter onto the linoleum. We’ll be flushing your Xanax, honey, she says gently. That Clonidine will be kicking in soon. Try to get some sleep.

And our last thought, before commencing the long, blank thrash toward dawn, is the same last thought we’ve had for months: Fuck.

Best New Bag

Balenciaga
Available at Kirna Zabete
96 Greene St. (betw. Prince & Spring Sts.)
941-9656

It’s the Anti-Bag-of-the-Moment Bag. Recession-special prices have hit the most unlikely of products–fashion’s must-have designer bags. While we’ve been guilty of suffering from acute handbag fever in the past (let’s just say we own one too many Prada bowling bags and Marc Jacobs schoolboy satchels), we’re savvy enough to have passed on the Fendi croissant (too silly), the Christian Dior saddle (too ugly) and the Gucci Mombasa (too...too). But we can’t resist Balenciaga’s fall handbag, a substantially sized 70s-style sack-like suede tote in brown or black, with of-the-moment metal ring hardware. It’s roomy enough to fit everything–our bulging Filofaxes, multiple cosmetic bags, oversize wallet and extra pair of shoes. We love the supersoft velvety texture and its quiet cachet. And at a mere $650–a refreshing change from the line’s high-ticket numbers of past seasons, which ranged from $950 to $1150–we can sort-of-afford-it in our newly employed state. Best of all, it doesn’t even have a silly name.

Best Store With Hot Salesboys
Trash & Vaudeville
4 St. Marks Pl. (betw. 2nd & 3rd Aves.)
982-3590

Viagra in Pleather. So maybe we don’t need green hair dye, a new pair of bondage pants or pink furry creepers, but since we’re shopping anyway we had better pick up some eye candy. Although the clothing at Trash & Vaudeville may not be for the fashion weak-at-heart, the hottie sales boys will definitely melt yours (that is, if you have one, you frigid yuppie). Sure, some boys come and some boys go, and some just keep working retail, but we are constantly hot for the boys in that store. Often we find that our favorite items in Trash & Vaudeville think and breathe and unfortunately don’t come with a price tag.

Best Preteen Loafers

Tod’s
650 Madison Ave. (60th St.)
644-5945

A Brief Window. We really like Tod’s. Not only are the salesladies attractive and friendly (in stark contrast to other uptown, upscale boutiques), but the loafers for kids are high-quality and won’t wear out before your child needs a bigger shoe. So the hand-me-down factor is excellent. We’ve patronized Tod’s exclusively for black or brown loafers since our sons entered their strict, dress-code school several years ago.

Alas, there’s a gap at Tod’s in their inventory of shoes: Up until the age of eight or so (at least for kids who aren’t already 6 feet tall and being scrutinized by basketball scouts), you’re in good shape. After that, it’s off to the races in finding loafers that’ll fit, since Tod’s, like Prada, inexplicably skips options until your progeny enters his teens. You’d think in New York City finding quality merchandise in the feet category wouldn’t be such a pain in the butt. But it is. You’d probably have better luck in St. Louis.

Best Boots

Christian Louboutin’s
Can-Can Knee-High Fringe Boots
Available at Jeffrey New York
449 W. 14th St. (betw. 9th & 10th Aves.)
206-3928.

And We Deserve Them. Every September we New York gals like to buy new boots. Calf-hugging square-toes. High-heeled ankle booties. Knee-high faux-crocodile leather. There’s something very tough and urban about boots (they look ridiculous in shopping malls and carpeted offices). But this season, we’re not buying clodhopping street-savvy shit-kickers. We’re going to make do with last year’s outdoor boot because we are spending our annual boot budget–$650–on the most frivolous, major-event, can-only-wear-it-twice-a-year, crotch-high Christian Louboutin can-can boots. Fashion fetishism at its best, the boots are joined together by three layers of flapper fringe. Like everything sexy, they look even better from behind. They are forget-it-all-boots, "September 10th" boots, escapist, lighthearted, fanciful and outrageous. Who can be sad and depressed in these boots? We feel better just stomping about in them in front of our closet mirrors at home.

Best Coiffeuse

Laurie Foley
Bumble and Bumble
146 E. 56th St. (betw. Lexington & 3rd Aves.)
521-6500

Great Bangs for the Buck. When she’s not styling the Paris/Milan/NYC fashion shows, or coloring the hair of our favorite female celebrities, Laurie Foley uses her cutting magic to transform our hair into a work of art. She’s known for creating a seductive texture with one’s hair. We have a curly mop, and needed someone who really understands how to work with what mother nature gave us. That someone is Laurie Foley. Whether she’s using scissors or her custom straight blades, she always carves out a haircut that is unique and, most importantly, looks good on us. We’ve never left her chair unhappy (well, except that one evening when our hair was all dressed up with no place to go). Instead, we always feel exhilarated. The last cut we got, we went from medium length to ultra-short, and left feeling sexier than ever. It’s not the length that matters. It’s how you wear it.

Best Environmental Lawyer

Joel Kuppferman
New York Environmental Law
And Justice Project
334-5551,
www.nyenvirolaw.org

Dig It: A Decent Lawyer. We usually hate environmentalists. What with the majority of them being smelly hippie tree-huggers, we’d much rather side with the evil corporate guys in the fashionable suits and neatly slicked-back hair. They are usually men of few words, and enormous power. But after the attacks on our city last year, we found those guys in suits to be almost as dangerous as the terrorists themselves. And that’s why we love Joel Kuppferman. Being one of the first guys to notice that everyone downtown started to have the same cough and feel the same way (shitty), Joel took action and teamed up with OSHA, the Uniformed Firefighters Association and residents downtown in order to find out just what the fuck was going on. While the EPA was telling everyone the air we breathed was clean and safe, it was Joel who took superhero-like action, and got the government to finally admit maybe things just weren’t as they seemed to be. Joel, to this day, is leading the movement to clean up Lower Manhattan, and if it weren’t for him, a lot of us might be dead. We love ya, Joel, but dood, cut yer hair!

Best B&T Female
Bonding Exercise

Navel Piercing at Cliff’s
288 E. Main St. (Rte. 112)
Patchogue, NY, 631-447-2253

Navel Academy. We’re bleeding profusely in the back of Nic’s new car. Admittedly, we’re kind of enjoying it–cupping our hands to our belly like we’re holding in a messy gut shot, and braying like Tim Roth in Reservoir Dogs. Nic is in the passenger seat in full recline, and although she’s not bleeding–the loop of metal decorating her cola-bloated little belly looks as fresh as a posy–she’s complaining away. Still hurts. Still hurts. We’re not in pain, but we wished we didn’t take that megadose of Motrin (a notorious anticoagulant) a few hours earlier.

Nic’s best friend Jamie is 19 and a veteran of the piercing wars. She’s driving us home on the LIE at a terribly swift speed. Jamie has her nipples, bellybutton and "somewhere else, hee hee" pierced. She’s laughing and passing us wads of kleenex, plastic bags, whatever, in a sad attempt to sop up the blood. Meanwhile, in rapid-fire Riverheadese, she’s telling us about the piercing place she was going to take us to, except when she was there last week the owner pissed himself while she was talking to him. Much eye rolling and ewww, that’s fucking sick. So we’re going somewhere else.

Nic has just popped her piercing cherry. As for us, we had our navel pierced last year by a teenaged harridan with a hoop earring at the base of her throat, and stupidly, she pierced us with a thick horseshoe. Why? Because we demanded it, and our money was green. Three months later, the skin around the metal was dried up and dead, and one day we simply pulled it out.

In Western Mass, chicks with navel piercings are rare. Come to think of it, there are barely any chicks in Western Mass, period. Strictly wash ’n’ go types. Not so on Long Island, where every girl is high maintenance modified. Tats, booth tan, hair, heels, piercings–there is no end to the stuff. And the men of Cliff’s understand that. And, unlike my sullen harridan of Pittsfield, MA, they know what they’re doing. And no amount of pleading and bitching will change their minds.

Cliff’s looks and sounds like any white and chrome tattoo/piercing shitshack: Pantera on high, four or five dudes with large calf tats and lip studs hanging out, perhaps there is the insect whine of a tattoo gun audible under the din. We wanted gold. No go, our piercer said. And we want a barbell-shaped piercing. Nope, he said. It has to be a stainless-steel ring, nothing else. And it had to be 14-gauge, which looked small to us. "You’re tiny," he said to us, as we reclined back in the chair and lifted our shirt. "You don’t want anything bigger. Trust me."

With forceps, he clamped the lid of skin over our navel, told us to breathe in and on a count of three: "One," we recited with him, and then ping. "You’re done," he said. "Next." Nic flopped down onto the chair and pulled her already pubis-grazing Superlows down even farther. All of the men present crowded around. Five minutes later, we were tipped over in the car and speeding home, barely $35 poorer. And now, months later, we have a healthy hole in our navel, and all the tacky jewelry we could ever want.

Best (Potential) Beating of the Wiz

Best Buy
60 W. 23rd St. (6th Ave.)
366-1373
See bestbuy.com
for Other Locations

The Best One’s Actually in Jersey. Sorry to see the Wiz going through such bad times. To be honest, though, we were ready to kiss the chain goodbye the minute we saw that Best Buy was about to open a convenient Chelsea location just a few blocks from the New York Press offices.

Fans of schlock DVDs have known for years that Best Buy offers great deals in cheap trash. We’ve picked up all kinds of great horror and sci-fi films for $9.99, while the other big chains have still been trying to get us to cough up $14.99. The CD selection isn’t as impressive, but there are also surprisingly good buys when the occasional errant import item shows up in the racks.

Sadly, the Manhattan location is kind of a disappointment. The store has gone for this stupid spacious design that’s probably supposed to look sophisticated. The selection really suffers–especially in the DVD and CD sections. Still, we have faith that this new Best Buy will eventually get with the program. There’ll likely be an umpteenth DVD release of The Evil Dead series sometimes in the next 12 months, and we just know that Best Buy will be the place for the best…um, buy.

Best Temp Agency to
Score A Full-Time Gig With

Delta Wordsmith
10 E. 40th St. (betw. 5th & Madison Aves.)
725-1727

I’ve Got Work to Do. It’s bad out there for the wage slave. Here we were, college educated, been-around-the-block, happily ensconced in our cube at the cube farm. The paycheck with the pink slip arrived, and we were out there again, resume in hand. We went to employment agencies who told us to network, to retrain, to relocate. Bullshit, we said. We’ll stay. We’ll temp. We’ve done it before, we’ll probably do it a few more times before we’re through. But this time, we’ll go where the gigs are. We’ll go to Delta Wordsmith.

Sal, our Delta Wordsmith counselor, is a cut above the average temp agency pimp who thinks of nothing but commissions and putting a warm body where a client needs one. He took into account our needs, skills and schedule, and actually managed to keep us working 35 to 40 hours a week at gigs we were suited to. Ultimately, he found us a permanent position at a higher salary and better bennies than the one we lost, all within six months of losing it. This is no small feat in this economy.

Delta has the connections and the drive, but more than this, Delta also has the common sense to treat its temps and clients with professionalism and respect. Delta will help you find a job, even during this, the worst economy in years.

Best Salvation Army In
Which to Peruse
A Fantastic Selection
of Über-Fab Bags

41 W. 8th St.
(betw. 6th Ave. & MacDougal St.)
995-5384

Who Knew? We must have been too busy getting tongue piercings and buying incense to notice that this Salvation Army has been on 8th St. for about three years. But we’re happy we finally did.

Following the parameters of the time-honored adage that looks can be deceiving, we discovered that there lay behind the storefront three floors of the Salv Arm regular merchandise, with the added bonus of a plethora of bags. Cardboard boxes of purses sit next to the bag check as you immediately walk in and briefcases line the shelves along the first-floor walls. Piles of luggage–some matching sets–rest at the bottom of the rear stairs, which themselves are strung with messenger bags, backpacks and the occasional string grocery sack. Each landing is a resting place for larger suitcases and surplus bags that there isn’t room to display. If one of the straps is missing, it’s not a problem, there’s a box of extras just in case. With such a selection we feel quite secure in mentioning this source to the likes of you.

Best Free Auto Assistance

Delancey St., Beneath the Williamsburg Bridge

Trolling for Help. There’s never been much joy to be had joyriding in Buford, our sluggish but strong-as-hell Mazda B3000 pickup. Still, a drive’s always nice. On a sunny Saturday morning in early spring we pedaled down to the quiet stretch of Delancey St. that runs parallel with the Williamsburg Bridge above, hopped in the truck, hit the ignition and listened to a "click click click" sound that is known in the auto trade as a dead battery. In this case, our third friggin’ dead battery in as many months. Boy were we pissed. About to give in and use our last free AAA roadside assist, we noticed that over about four spaces to the left was a guy and his girlfriend waxing their Monte Carlo. Off to our right, a big-bellied Puerto Rican guy, finishing his coffee and newspaper.

"No problem," said the big-bellied man, when we asked if he could give us a jump off his Mitsubishi Montero. He hooked up the jumper cables and we moaned on about the way Buford, who really is reliable otherwise, had been dying on us of late. The man listened politely, got our truck running again and then called us over to the passenger side door. "Looks like your glove box door is not totally flush with the dashboard housing." We hadn’t noticed this from the driver’s side. What it meant was that the button that shuts off the glove box light was never fully depressed, which in turn meant there was a constant slow draw of juice from the battery. Embarrassingly simple, monumentally stupid, completely overlooked.

The man went over to his car and came back with a Philips screwdriver, gave three twists to the glove box locking mechanism and wished us a happy day. We thanked him for sparing us a garage appointment and headed out down Delancey. Cruising along, we noticed more owners hanging by their parked cars, some with their hands buried deep inside the guts of their engines, others underneath, changing their oils and a few just shootin’ the shit.

"Car culture down here?" we remarked to no one in particular. "Who’da ever thought?" As we entered the FDR south from Grand St., we gave Buford a loving pat on the dash and filed it away for next time.

Best Fabric Store (Sort of)

Mood
225 W. 37th St., 3rd & 4th fls.
(betw. 7th & 8th Aves.), 730-5003

Following a Thread. When you step out of the elevator directly into the showroom of Mood Fabric Store’s new location, the first thing that strikes you is that it not only seems to go on forever, but that, unlike most fabric stores, there’s plenty of room to breathe and move around. This past summer, when they moved their enormous store from 39th St. down to 37th, they gained not only a ton of extra floor space, but a whole extra floor altogether.

Once you start going deeper into the store, however, that initial sense of space and freedom vanishes, and soon you find yourself in some mighty cramped and twisted quarters, piled floor to ceiling with massive rolls of every kind of textile imaginable, in every conceivable pattern. Problem with this–as with most fabric stores–is that they are arranged in no order whatsoever. Thousands upon thousands of rolls, and the only way to find what you’re looking for is to, well, keep looking.

They do have everything, though, there’s no denying that. In the end, what you’re dealing with is the Strand (no pun intended) of fabric shops–with a staff (when you can find them) that’s just as helpful, knowledgeable and courteous.

Best Wedding Photographer

Angela Cappetta
566-1855,
www.angelacappetta.com

Precious Moments. With her candid style, photographer extraordinaire Angela Cappetta is able to capture those "special moments" at your wedding that otherwise are lost forever. Moments that tell an infinite story with just the slightest expression on your proud grandmother’s face, or the baby-soft hands of the groom as he slips on the wedding ring. Or, in our case, when the best man tried hitting on our mother, or when our flower girl tripped down the aisle spreading rose petals and joy throughout the room. Her framing is thought-provoking. Edgy yet elegant. But don’t go telling everyone about her. You know your wedding album has to look better than your neighbors’. Ours did.
Best Reason to Clean Out

Your Closet

Beacon’s Closet Used Clothing Store
110 Bedford Ave. (N. 11th St.)
Brooklyn, 718-486-0816

Heloise Would Approve. I like reading books and articles on household hints, but I must admit that some of them sound like more trouble than they’re worth. I mean, am I really going to scrub the bottom of my pots with a mixture of baking soda and salt, and then polish them with a cut lemon? No, if they were that dirty, I would probably just throw them out. If I am going to drag my ancient waffle iron from the shelf, the one that weighs roughly half a ton, am I going to say to myself, "I wonder if I have any ginger ale to substitute for the liquid in my favorite recipe, to make the waffles more light and fluffy?" Again, probably not.

The tips they give for closet makeovers seem equally unlikely, involving as they do rigging up bars at different heights and buying little plastic dividers at one of those stores called Hold It! (or Stop, This Is A Hold-Up! or whatever). Aren’t closets just sort of there when you move in, and you have to accept them as they are? Still, the one sensible hint that usually shows up is that you should periodically go through your clothes and get rid of what doesn’t fit or what you don’t wear anymore.

One of the best places to cart all your unwanted items to is Beacon’s Closet in Williamsburg. They will sort through your vintage items or ultra-modern stuff, and give you cash or credit for the things they take. Sometimes, you have to slink away in shame when they cheerily tell you, "Nothing this time," but if that happens, they will donate your stuff to the Salvation Army. Chances are, though, they’ll take something and then you can happily buy something you will actually wear. Or you can take the money and buy steel wool. Did you know that you can stuff it into any cracks in the baseboard so that rats won’t come and gnaw on you while you sleep?

Best Kids’ Sneakers

Niketown
6 E. 57th St. (betw. 5th & Madison Aves.)
891-6453

An Athletic Theme Park. Grumpy old geezer that we are, the very notion that our kids refuse to wear high-top black Converse sneaks (or even Keds) is an unwelcome sign that the hourglass is spilling sand at an alarming rate. Three times a year we visit the madhouse known as Niketown, a confusing, multi-floor tourist destination that’s pure hell on a parent unless you arrive promptly at 10 a.m., when the palace gates open.

There’s a disturbing reason why so many preteenagers prefer the footwear at Niketown: most don’t know how to tie shoelaces. That such a basic skill is now a lost "art" befuddles us, but that’s beside the point. Surprisingly, the sneakers at Niketown aren’t prohibitively expensive (which is a blessing, considering that growth spurts necessitate frequent purchases) and the selection, at least to our kids, is just swell. Velcro, zip-ups, slip-ons, day-glo models, all the thrills are on Niketown’s shelves. Despite the frenzy at the store, the staff is patient, fending off complaints from snotty, demanding customers, and does its best to accommodate the desires of kids who hem and haw over what footwear will impress their friends at school.

It’s all beyond us, and during the interval of when possible choices are sent up to the fifth floor from the basement we daydream, or doze, and try not to think about simpler times when buying sneakers at the local shoestore was a five-minute, in-and-out excursion.

Best Source for Insightful
Tips and Lollipop Laments

"Daily Candy"/www.dailycandy.com

Gotta Have Our Daily Fix. Every weekday, without fail, "Daily Candy" sends us an e-mail suggesting the best kitsch items, ways to improve our wardrobes or directions to the best designer sample sales around the city. They scour the city for cool ideas and tips that would go undiscovered by novice city dwellers. (If you’re not e-mail savvy then just pick up a copy of The New York Sun: the "Daily Candy" column is syndicated.)

Without "Daily Candy" we wouldn’t have stood in line for 20 minutes to get our hands on the latest Miss Sixty merchandise, or have a doormat made from recycled flipflops. And our back would be achy had we not found out about Tui-Na massage.

Thanks for your extensive knowledge of the city, succumbing to a girl’s wants and giving it to us in one nifty, nice-looking package–complete with chic illustrations and snappy endings. We can’t wait for your stocking stuffer ideas. As you know Santa wants more than cookies this year.

Best Source of Emergency
Short-Term Housing

nyhabitat.com
255-8018

Don’t Leave Home Without Them. We found ourselves in need of quick, short-term, furnished housing this year. Trolling the temp-housing websites, like everything having to do with real estate in Manhattan, was a disheartening experience, until we hit on nyhabitat.com. The website shows you clear–and, we discovered, realistic–snapshots of available furnished rooms and apartments. Written descriptions, prices and dates of availability were also no-bull, with none of the bait-and-switch tactics rental agencies are so infamous for in this city. We picked a couple of potential spaces, and a friendly and efficient agent showed them to us promptly, with no nonsense and no hard sell. She hooked us up with a brand new efficiency, in the neighborhood of our choice, at a decent price. We took it for six months, and when we needed to extend our stay a couple more there was no hassle. It was perhaps the least stressful, most straightforward real-estate experience we’ve ever had in Manhattan.

Best Brazilian Bikini Wax

J. Sisters International
35 W. 57th St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.)
750-2485, www.jsisters.com

Bushwhackers. For years in this great nonjudgmental city we searched for a person who could oblige our desire for more-than-partial pubic hairlessness without shaping our mons venus into a tufty heart. Just the basics, ma’am, we insisted, but please, could you go up the back? We tried the dank and sleazy places first, assuming they’d seen our kind before, but no–we only got the squeamish, the inexperienced, the sloppy-wristed. So we listened to our mother, God bless her–for teeth, for eyes, for hair, get the best! she always said–and we found ourselves at the prohibitively flash J. Sisters salon, home of the Waxists to the Stars.

There are many -ists to the Stars, and we’ve tried most of them. Our eyebrows, for example, are shaped by the Shapist to the Stars, and our Retin-A is prescribed by the Dermatologist to the Stars, and while none of them will see themselves getting a shout-out in this space anytime soon–we know they’re reserving their best work for clients who’ll mention them by name in In Style magazine–we felt we had say something nice about the J. Sisters. These women are true, native talents.

A person’s success at waxing has to do with the speed and angle with which she can flip her wrists, and this ability or lack thereof has ruined many potentially good waxists. Giselle, our waxist, flicked her wrists quickly and with precision, and we were completely hairless in no more than 10 minutes. Her style is painless; her bedside manner charming; her squeamish factor veering asymptotically toward zero. Later we realized that having Giselle do our dirty work comes out cheaper in the end–$55 dollars for the whole deal, where before we were starting at $30 and getting killed on the hidden costs of additional requests. And thanks to Giselle’s combination of soothing post-wax creams, to this day we remain completely ingrown-hair-free.

Our boyfriend, who will remain nameless but who knows who he is, asked us for the sisters’ address so that he could write them a thank-you note. "Best Brazilian Bikini Wax?" he said to us, looking over our shoulder at this title. "You should rename it ‘Best Sex Aid.’"

Best Stores in Which to
Buy Wendy Tabb Jewelry

Fragments
107 Greene St. (betw. Prince & Spring Sts.)
334-9588
53 Stone St. (William St.)
269-3955

She’s Easy on the Eyes, Too. Ever need that perfect pair of earrings for that "special" dinner date? Or the necklace that guarantees the attention you need when you need it? Then look no farther than the Fragments stores, right here in Manhattan. Both carry jewelry by our favorite designer, Wendy Tabb. Her pieces, strong and presenting a rugged individualism, are also delicate, organic and highly fashionable. Just last month one of those Sex and the City women was wearing her earrings on the cover of In Style. So you know her jewelry must be in. But we at New York Press like to pride ourselves on knowing that her work was great "way back when." We’ve always enjoyed Wendy’s sweet silver items, and are now happy she’s gone gold. Literally. With her new castings, we’ve found she truly is what we’ve been seeking at the end of the rainbow.

Best Haircut and Blowout

Armondo at Suite 303
222 W. 23rd St. (betw. 7th & 8th Aves.)
633-1011

King of the Wind. Long ago, we made a vow always to be able to afford Armondo, no matter what financial and geographical change-ups were lobbed our way. The man is worth it: He took us through our tiny bangs and blonde-streaks phase with humor and aplomb; and when our life went into turnaround and we suddenly needed to sport a deflated black velvet Elvis, he did that too. And he made it look nice. Pretty, even. Armondo–a big Joker’s Wild of a man known to wear overalls and a bald pate or gorgeous suits and a raven quiff, depending on his mood–cuts heads with irony and grace. He looks at our hank of hair (we occasionally go years between haircuts, and he never scolds us) and he divines the future. He invents new trends on our heads, and we’re only too happy to be his guinea pig.

We were to attend our office party this past spring, and we wanted to look good on the outside, at least. We were staying at the Chelsea, so we took the elevator to the third floor, wandered in to the salon and happily surrounded ourselves in the atmosphere of Suite 303, which usually involves the eggy smell of perm lotion, an endlessly ringing phone, dueling blowdryer gusts, loud music and lots of ribald jokes. Someone in a shower cap over a headful of strong bleach is usually smoking out on the narrow balcony that looks out over 23rd St. That day was no different. We plopped on the couch and waited for Armondo to notice us.

"Hi," he said distractedly, as he was finishing up a haircut. Then he did a double take and studied us in the mirror. "Well, hi. You look great. How are you?"

"Tired," we said.

"Well yeah, of course. Go get shampooed and put on one of the smocks in the bathroom."

Moments later, we were in his chair, staring into the big mirror, and Armondo had his hands on our shoulders. He was watching us look at ourselves. "What are we doing?" he asked.

"Layers. Sexy. Bratty. Maybe a little rollerderby?"

Say no more. Armondo immediately understood. The man grew up on magazines and sitcoms, like we did. He produced his shears, his black eyes went opaque with concentration and we were off.

During the course of our conversation (the Hamptons, the blowup downtown, our new old man, partying), we saw what he was getting at. Off came the old bleached-out hair, and our own shiny light-brown hair emerged. Our eyes turned green again. He was going for something more Sabrina, and way less Jill. The cut was fast and slapdash precise. "This is gonna look hot," he said matter-of-factly.

And then he produced the blowdryer. If Armondo is an artist with the shears, then he’s a humorist-king with the wind. Slowly, with thick, long strokes, he pulled out our natural curls until our hair fell in silvery-brown sheets around our shoulders. It was 70s softcore through a Vaseline-coated lens. Yum. The final touch–and Armondo is beautiful with those last-minute off-kilterisms that make a haircut perfect for the life it sits on–was the longish, thin strand near our cheek that he pulled out and away from our face. It was out of place, a wee bit disheveled, and it suggested gas-guzzling ragtops and a life led at 80 mph on the interstate. Now we were truly hot. We put on the ankle-killing sandals, the tourniquet dress with the slashes that exposed strategic ovoids of skin from nape to sacrum. We breezed out of there, about two bills lighter.

A few days later, the curls sprang back, but the style remained gorgeous. Four months later and it still looks good–a bit ragged, but good. Armondo will be seeing us soon.

Best Pharmacy

Bigelow
414 6th Ave. (betw. 8th & 9th Sts.)
533-2700, www.bigelowchemists.com

Bigelow, Bigelow, Biii-ge-lowww. Since 1838, Bigelow has lavished its loyal New York customers with an attentiveness usually reserved for 5th Ave. heiresses. Their knowledgeable staff greets regulars by name, and everyone from stock boys to managers is eager to make your shopping trip easier. We have long relied on this apothecary as a source for hard-to-find European products we foolishly became addicted to when abroad. We’re not insisting that foreign products are better, but they do look great. Elgydium toothpaste from France, packaged in a minimalist white and navy metal tube, absentmindedly left on the bathroom sink, seems exotic instead of just sloppy. And it’s way more fun to take your vitamins when they come in the just-add-to-water form of Redoxin effervescent tablets. Regular pharmacy products can be found as well, including condoms and tampons, but they reside with a sense of class along the original wood shelving. If you don’t believe us, give them a call or log on to their website, and you’ll quickly learn that the customer comes first, and has for 164 years and counting.

Best New Beauty Treatment

Japanese Thermal Reconditioning
Warren Tricomi Salon
16 W. 57th St., 4th fl.
(betw. 5th & 6th Aves.)
262-8899

Flat-Hair Society. We’ll never pay for a blowdry again. Japanese reconditioning has made bad-hair days a distant memory for a certain segment of the straight-hair-mafia: we girls who never leave the house without battling the flat hair iron, or who spend every other day in the salon having our wavy hair blown out. We had a friend whose curly hair was a closely guarded secret–even her boyfriend of two months didn’t know those Rapunzel tresses weren’t natural. Which is why the Japanese treatment is a bargain. It lasts six months, costs $600-$800 depending on the length of your hair and the process takes three to five hours (cancel your Saturday, you’ll be spending it in a chair!). But it’s worth it: after what seemed like an eternity of glossy magazine reading, our hair was silky, soft, and flat. Gloriously flat. Out-of-the-shower and out-the-door flat. It dries flat. None of that burnt-frizz disaster we had the last time we tried to "relax" our hair. Sign us up for another six months of flat hair bliss.

Best Rock ’n’ Roll Haircut

Shorty the Barber
Astor Place Hairstylists
2 Astor Pl. (betw. B’way & Lafayette St.)
475-9854

Hair Mettle. Astor caters to all kinds, and with men’s haircuts running $12-$15, they’re a real bargain, not to mention a safer bet than a $5 beauty-school chop. Wednesday through Saturday, head downstairs to the back-right corner, where you’ll see the wall plastered with Johnny Cash and El Vez posters, vintage 40s/50s girlie art, tacked-up photos and fliers for rockabilly bands and hotrod shows. This is the chair of Christopher S. Davie, aka Shorty. The man himself, an early-30s transplant from Seattle sporting heavy forearm ink, a precisely trimmed slick-back and credentials as both cosmetologist and barber, holds forth:

"I do everything, man, but I like to do fun haircuts. I do a lot of punk haircuts, greaser haircuts, lately I’ve been getting a lot of requests for faux-hawks. I used to be into sculpture and carving and this is kind of a new extension. There are a lot of places in New York that are quote-unquote rock ’n’ roll, but I don’t think a guy should have to pay more than $35 for an entire appointment...including shampoo, shave, cut, blowdry, tea and cookies, whatever..."

Ladies are welcome too. Shorty’s only request: "Don’t come here to get mullets."

Best Ukulele Shop

Mandolin Brothers Ltd.
629 Forest Ave. (Oakland Ave.)
Staten Island, 718-981-8585

Several Strings Attached. While there are a few (very few) decent places left in Manhattan that still sell and repair ukuleles–Matt Umanov’s comes to mind immediately–the Only Uke Shop that Really Matters in the five boroughs remains Staten Island’s world-renowned Mandolin Brothers. It takes some doing to get there, and the place itself is a little strange (it’s just an old house, after all), but there’s no beating them. While the front room is devoted to guitars and banjoes, there’s a narrow back room as well, its walls covered with mandolins and ukes of almost every imaginable style and price.

Given that most of the ukes they sell are antique models (not too many people are making new ones anymore), prices can run upward of several hundred dollars. But at the same time, that also means that the stock is always changing, so if you’re looking for something very specific, chances are they’ll have it at some point.

Neat thing about Mandolin Brothers is that the friendly and extremely knowledgeable staff points you in the right direction, encouraging you to pull things off the wall, play, experiment, get the feel of each model. Then they leave you alone. They know that if you’re going to go to the trouble of actually getting there, you’re going to take good care of their merchandise.

Best Surprisingly Good Workout Deal

Radu’s Physical Culture Studio
24 W. 57th St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.)
581-1995

Pain, and Gain. There we were, craning our necks to assess our butt in a bathroom mirror. Was it the mirror that was too small, or was it our butt that was too big? At that moment the name "Radu" came into our head–Radu, Cindy Crawford’s well-muscled wingman of the mid-90s. We’d been working out for years, in a manner some were calling "excessively," and yet we felt our body lacked an overall symmetry we expected from our level of exertion. So we decided to call Radu. We didn’t know anything about him, other than he helped Cindy, but that was good enough for us.

While the private sessions are about as expensive as you would expect for a personal trainer, and Radu charges celebrity rates–$150 an hour–to work with him personally, we discovered that the group classes, which are led by any one of his trainers, can be just as hard and just as good.

Radu’s classes incorporate a series of movements and exercises–sprints, crunches, lifts, curls–in such a way that the body doesn’t have time to recover. Our bodies tend to do the least work necessary during exercising, so that a long workout might not be as efficient as a shorter, more rigorous one. Radu designed the classes with these principles in mind–we cut our workouts in half, and doubled their effectiveness. For $20, about the price of a yoga class, you’re getting the benefits of a genius. His classes fundamentally changed our body in about two months–we dropped two sizes on top and one on the bottom and our muscle tone evened out. But Radu’s classes also raised our pain threshold, so that we’re capable of doing twice as many, say, situps, not only because we have the strength for them but also because we’re better at tolerating pain.

Best Salon

Prive
Soho Grand Hotel
310 W. B’way (betw. Grand & Canal Sts.)
274-8888

Head Case. Beauty burnout. It happens to the best of us. We’ve done Fekkai uptown and Valerie’s on the Lower East Side, and, in a fit of exasperation with the escalating price of a good haircut, have even gone back to our college staple, Dramatics, for in-between trims. Finally, a friend recommended Prive, a Parisian-style salon in the Soho Grand Hotel. We were skeptical, but once we stepped into the airy, light-filled room, our nerves were immediately soothed. For one, none of the uptown attitude. No insect-like models arrayed on couches, pouting over manicures. No snooty receptionist sizing us up. No hyper-frantic chaos so common on Madison Ave. Instead, we receive gracious welcomes, a migraine-busting scalp massage with our shampoo, and our stylist, Elena, painstakingly cutting our shaggy layers for almost an hour. Nipping, pruning, perfecting. There’s even a certain magic in the lighting and installation of the place, because the mirrors cast back the best reflections we’ve ever seen. We look thin, chic, completely familiar, but absolutely transformed. We’re definitely going back.

Best Place to
Buy An Enlarger

B&H Photo
420 9th Ave. (33rd St.)
444-6615

Smartypantses. Now, we don’t want anyone to immediately assume that we’re anti-Semitic. We’re not. We’re just grossly intimidated by anyone who knows everything about something of which we know relatively little. Like cameras. Or photography in general. However, because we’re impatient and were told by our old favorite camera place that it would take 14 days for them to do some black-and-white reprints, we had to take matters into our own hands. Twenty minutes later we were five minutes into the most terrifying hour of our life. Having been convinced by the fast-talking know-it-all attitude that we’d end up buying $4000 worth of extraneous equipment, we soon found ourselves practicing the speech we use to take on the returns clerk. So imagine our surprise when we got home to find we had exactly what we needed to print pictures in the bathroom, nothing more. What’s more, we managed to assemble the enlarger, mix various chemicals, read The Basic Darkroom Book and produce the aforementioned prints about 12 days before the "professional" studio could have.

Best Brooklyn
Manicure/Pedicure

Modern Nail Salon
920A Fulton St. (betw. Washington Ave. & St. James Pl.)
Brooklyn, 718-789-3470

Tantalizing Tootsies. We started patronizing Modern Nail Salon because it’s a block away from our apartment. And because we’d rather support local businesses than trek into the city only to sit next to affluent white women with lots of rings on their fingers or snobby twentysomething hipsters flaunting too much Marc Jacobs and Frankie B attire. Plus the banner outside boasts $13.99 manicure/pedicure. It’s been a year since Modern Nails’ grand opening and the sign hasn’t changed–lucky for us, since we’ve developed a once-a-month habit.

Most of Modern Nails’ clients come for acrylic nails or tips with airbrushed designs. We just like our cuticles trimmed and our toes made inoffensive during sandal-wearing months. Even though New York Health Dept. has banned scraping, they’ll still do it for a buck (if you bring your own scraper). The bottoms of your feet will be smooth, to go with your ravishing toenails.

While getting our feet pampered we utilize the chair’s massage feature–we like the "wave" setting, which fluctuates between butt, lower back and upper back pulsations. The manicurists also massage your hands and legs. And upper back and neck once your manicure and pedicure are complete. If that’s not enough, all the employees say thank-you as you leave. Where you gonna get that in the city?

Best Newsstand in Which
To Find Everything You Could
Possibly Be Searching For

Nikos
462 6th Ave. (11th St.)
255-9175

Name It, They Got It. Nikos is one of those beautiful Greenwich Village institutions that’s nonetheless very easy to miss. Long and narrow, packed to the rafters with every type of newspaper, magazine and literary journal, it sits on the corner of 6th Ave. across from Famous Ray’s. We rely on it for having new issues of political mags like The Nation and The New Republic; and we can pick up the New York Observer or the latest McSweeney’s after flipping through XY or Details without feeling rushed. Spanning everything from your British fashion books and home improvement titles to business magazines and obscure journals, Nikos has it all.

Best Record Store

HMV

Missed It by That Much. When the Herald Square HMV closed last year, the clearance sale was kind of a disappointment. So it’s understandable if nobody cared when the HMV at 86th and Lexington went under. It was pure luck that we strolled in and found amazing CDs and DVDs selling at absurdly low prices. This was the kind of shopping where you could easily drop a quick $1300 just based on what you’d make back on eBay from the rejects. Actually, we’re pretty sure we’ve seen a profit.

Other lucky shoppers then discovered more bargains as the remaining stock was sent out to the other HMV stores (see www.hmv.com for store locations). It was a marvelous end to a lousy summer. And there might even still be a few good buys out there.

A lot of the cheaper items have been repriced at triple the cost, though, and we’ve seen other CDs we’ve bought put back in the regular bins with their original $24.95 price tags. Still, there was simply too much clearance stock for it all to be gone by now. You’ll have to wade through a lot of Eurodisco, but stop by an HMV and see if you get lucky.

Best Video Game Store
To Survive 9/11

Game Trade Center
59 Nassau St. (betw. John St. & Maiden La.)
528-2640

The Game of Life. If it weren’t for the Game Trade Center, we would have lost our minds. Really. After that terrible day last September, we desperately needed to escape the smell of smoke-laden fear, and those horrifying images replaying on our television sets like a stuck record. And so, bravely, about a month after the World Trade Center became Ground Zero, we made our way to the Nassau St. location where the store had moved to about three months earlier. Wearing our respirators, and stepping through piles of asbestos and who-knows-what, we found our favorite videogame store not only open, but alive with business, and new games! Filled with brave Wall Streeters and the usual locals, the stored provided us with our latest fixes for our Sony PlayStation 2, as well as games for our Nintendo products and Segas as well. We needed the escape, and they provided it.

There are many types of heroes who took us through the weeks, and even months, following 9/11. So Game Trade Center, especially being only a few blocks away from where it happened, we salute you.

Best Guide To NYC Hotspots

The Girlshop Guide to NYC Shopping
At Area Bookstores/www.girlshop.com

We Just Wanna Have Fun. All we used to have were our local papers, magazines and websites to tell us about the hip restaurants to eat at, the chic shops to splurge in–and sometimes the places not to visit. Now we are so happy to have found a new all-in-one book, listing all the cool spots in Manhattan. Penned by girlshop.com, the ultrahip retail website, The Girlshop Guide to NYC Shopping has an adorable cover with an illustration of the "Girlshop Girl" standing in front of a glitter-covered Chrysler Bldg. (That eye-catching cover alone makes it a great gift for a Manhattanite or a wannabe.) Inside, there’re listings for many places we’ve never heard of, as well as places we have, but didn’t know exactly where they were and were too lazy to find out. We have no excuses now. Also included are neighborhood maps and even listings in an order that you can follow as you stroll through a particular neighborhood. We plan to put on our shopping shoes and visit each neighborhood in Manhattan...until we need to buy new shoes. And then, we’ll start all over!

Best Garden to Get Your
Wedding Photos Taken In

Jefferson Market Garden
70A Greenwich Ave. (6th Ave.)

Pictures Perfect. We do not want a traditional wedding. We are planning a funny little ceremony at an Indian restaurant, very small, very private. However, we do want to have some nice photos taken for those who cannot be there, as well as for ourselves to remember the day. We came across the Jefferson Market Garden on a bright, hot July day and knew right away it was the perfect place to have our wedding photos done.

The garden, situated on Greenwich Ave. near 6th Ave. in the heart of the Village, is next to a 19th-century Venetian Gothic building that is now the Jefferson Market Library. The wrought-iron fence, rose bushes, butterfly garden, fish pond, paved walk and manicured lawn lend themselves to the romance of an Old New York wedding photo–the kind described in an Edith Wharton novel. Our mother might not be too thrilled about the chicken korma at the reception, but she will treasure the photos forever.

Best Computer Repair
Shop for Cheap Soda and
Panicked Hipsters

Tekserve
119 W. 23rd St. (betw. 6th & 7th Aves.)
929-3645

Hi, Tek! When we strolled a dark 23rd St. and noticed the renovations in progress, we whispered, with trepidation: "Whose shop will set up?" It was empty aside from electrical casings and a lifesize plastic shark splayed across four yellow chairs. We assumed it was going to be horribly art-related–an addendum to the sparse Dugal-style galleries of middle midtown. Or, worse, an Old Navy.

Much to our surprise, months later, incident light glinted off a steel sign in a familiar font. Tekserve was back, and bigger. Most importantly, they brought their 10-cent Coke machine with them. Maybe we’ve been coddled, growing up using Macs instead of PCs, but we expect more than a little funk from our computer experts. If Tekserve was a dreadlock, it’d be affixed to George Clinton. Really. We mean that. The staff isn’t just knowledgeable, they’re sarcastic, have a sense of humor and, we’re convinced, have all been CPR and first aid trained. They know just how to keep us from hyperventilating when our shaky-handed 5 a.m. coffee has killed another keyboard on deadline. They’ve recovered all the information from our G4 after physical damage to our hard drive. They’ve never complained when we’ve come in, taken a number from their gorgeously mechanical number-giving device and run our fingers over the lank curves of Apple’s newest innovations. They don’t even kvetch when we stand in the way and try to figure out which old radio set is our favorite.

During our more casual trips, it’s always good to see someone raking his fingers through choppy hair in exasperation. At least we’re not the only one. Besides, they might need comforting and a drink. So, kudos to Tekserve–a homegrown outfit that deserves to keep on growing. They’re one of the few institutions that can pull off using iMac casings as wall sconces (arguably more useful than the actual machine). They wear a 6-foot plastic shark with grace. We’ve bought it, we’ve broken it. They always saved the day.

Best Women’s Pants

Alvin Valley
Available at Searle
609 Madison Ave. (58th St.)
753-9021, www.searlenyc.com

Elicits Pants. Why is it so hard to find a good pair of pants? It’s not, really. Every couple of years, a pair of pants comes along that embody the zeitgeist’s silhouette. Joseph pants were all the rage in 1994, with their superskinny legs, Chloe jeans with their trademark tuxedo stripe were plastered on every yoga-thigh this side of Soho in 1996 and Alice Roi was the label to sport just two years ago. This year, we are gaga over Alvin Valley’s trousers. With a low-waist, wide leather bands at the hip, a skinny-but-flowy leg and a straight cut, they are just sexy and tight enough to generate envy from stylish girlfriends and admiring looks from cute guys at swanky parties. They’re flattering to tomboy and curvy figures, and are priced from a decent $220 for denim versions to the high $368 for all-weather wool. Our favorites are the angled ruched pinstripes with asymmetrical leather fringe. They rock a very expensive rock ’n’ roll diva vibe.

Best Place to Get A Professional
Manic Panic Hair Dye

Seagull Haircutters
240 W. 10th St.
(betw. Hudson & Bleecker Sts.)
989-1807

Pretty Flamingo, Please. When you grow up in New York you learn not to let go of a good thing, and Seagull is no exception. For 13 years this West Village oasis has served as hair salon and hangout for locals, who are just as likely to stop in for a Tiger Lily-orange Manic Panic touch-up (okay, maybe that’s just us) as to lounge around and enjoy their morning cup of coffee.

Outfitted with varnished wood checkerboard floors, restored 1950s barber chairs, a wall of mirrors and a big comfy purple couch with leopard-print throw pillows, Seagull’s the perfect environment for oddballs wary of carbon-copy trims and Jennifer Aniston do’s. Stylists Liz and Molly tend to a hip crowd seeking chic cuts, original colors and a laidback atmosphere made sweeter by the extensive collection of 70s rock records in regular rotation on the turntable. We’ve been coming faithfully for 12 years and haven’t had one complaint, except sometimes we feel a little guilty for not hanging out longer.

Best New Reason To Hate
Crunch On Lafayette St.

The Starbucks of Sweat. Crunch Gym seems always to offer a new reason to make you feel like a sucker for joining. It is strictly an accident of location that we have renewed year after year in spite of their history of nonworking saunas, turbo marketing and, most horrid of all by far, poor spelling ("Judgements").

This year’s gripe has to do with the recent remodeling of the 2nd floor of the Lafayette St. branch, which is where we go to work out while we’re busy not judging others. New York fire code had required an emergency exit hallway be constructed along one side of the floor. And so it was. And in the process, the entire useable area shrunk by at least 400 square feet. Bad enough that the construction work wore on for almost a month, screwing with our exercise routine. But it’s also resulted in reducing the size of the boxing/kickboxing area, rendering half of the Everlast bags unusable. (This, after the end-on-end and uppercut bags disappeared earlier in the year, never to be replaced.)

We’re aware that you can’t mess with fire code. But we’re also aware that in Manhattan, joining a gym is a lot like renting a furnished apartment. Most of what you’re paying for is space. A tenant would have a pretty good case against a landlord who downsized his living room midway through their contract. Will this earn us consideration at renewal time? We doubt it, for in the land of "No Judgements" it is the merchant, not the customer, who is king.

Best Extinction

Audio Cassettes at the Virgin Megastore
52 E. 14th St. (B’way)
598-4666

No Sides Now. Rock axiom: If one is buying Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion Un et Deux (on CD), then one is going to buy at least three blank cassettes (preferably a brick of heavy black Maxells). Why? For the mix tapes one is going to make, of course. Other bands might benefit from a CD mix, but we believe that the G’N’R sound thrives on an analog, bipolar this side/that side format. Kinda like Axl.

Maybe on the thoughtful mix we’ll lead off with "November Rain." Or perhaps the mix will have more of an embittered boogie theme, making "Locomotive" the ideal side one, track one. The possibilities are as varied as Slash’s body odors.

After a dreamy interval spent wandering the main floor of the Virgin Megastore, Use Your Illusions in hand, we realized that we had been looking for the blank cassette section for a long time. No joy. Maybe the Maxells are behind the counter? We approached the register, cash in fist. The cute kid who took our money ribbed us a bit about our purchase–just how big of a Guns N’ Roses fan were we, he wanted to know. Can we whistle along to "Patience"? Do we own The Spaghetti Incident?

Yes and no. Where are the cassettes?

Video cassettes? Over there, he pointed into the distance.

No, audio. We’re making some mix tapes based on Use Your Illusion I and II, we added brightly.

His response made us feel old: We don’t sell them anymore, he said, mock grimly.

We stood there for a moment, confused and senile. Audio tape is going the way of the 8-track?

Been that way for a long time, he said sympathetically. Months.

We backed away from the register, and saw a world of flimsy jewel cases and scratched CDs, prismatic and weak; already we missed the solid thwack of a tape case closing deftly in our palm, the hilarity (or horror) of a tape that drags, gets eaten by the deck or otherwise fucked up; we also bade farewell to the dangerous fumble of trying to flip a tape (already an extinct phrase) on a winding road. It’s all gone forever, since most of our mix tapes (a couple of them are more than 25 years old; that’s ancient in cassette years) are melted, broken, sandy or stolen. We saw CD tracks 1-whatever as a long, featureless spool of songs that would drone on without the all-important healing pause of the entr’acte afforded by tape.

Maybe those snobs are right: digital and liquid music killed the analog star, and the loss is almost unquantifiable. Tapes have gone pre-Cambrian–existing only in the realm of the aging metalhead and almost nowhere else–and now, if the Virgin has her way with the rest of the world, the warped spaces between songs will be gone for good.