SERVICES

Best Brooklyn Vet when Hope is Slim
Animal Kind
365 7th Ave. (betw. 11th & 12th Sts.), 718-832-3899

Knockin’ on doggie heaven’s door. Since our first visit, we’d been telling people to take their pets to Animal Kind if at all possible. For, all the times we’d been there, we never found the staff, from top to bottom, to be anything less than kind, helpful and straightforward. They clearly loved what they were doing, and did their damnedest to help these animals. We received regular updates on our pet’s condition, and were allowed to visit every day (a rarity, we’ve found). We even saw the vets pull off a miracle or two, saving animals who didn’t have a chance.

That’s why early this year, when there simply were no miracles left for one of our cats, we were relieved to have a place like Animal Kind around. They did what they could to keep him going, but when it was clear his time was nearly up, they called us and, instead of talking about putting him to sleep in a cold and sterile room, told us to bring him home, keep him comfortable and give him whatever he wanted to eat.

He died later that night. We were there, and he was in his favorite spot. If he had to go, there was no better way for it to happen. The following morning when we carried his body back to Animal Kind to arrange for the cremation, the doctors came out to express their condolences, as did the vet techs who’d taken care of him in the past—even the receptionists helped us—and we knew they were all sincere.

Not only did they handle the arrangements with the care normally afforded a family member, the doctor who’d cared for him even sent along a personal sympathy card a few days later. They went way above and beyond, and made everything so much easier than it would normally have been. We’ve heard countless horror stories about local animal hospitals over the years, but Animal Kind was a godsend.

Best Side Effects
Effexor XR

Happy happy, joy…oh crap. We were half-awake when the radio announcer enumerated our worst fears: anorexia, constipation, dizziness, ejaculation problems, impotence, insomnia, nausea, nervousness, sleepiness, sweating, weakness…

We turned down the volume, thought happy thoughts and went back to sleep.

The next morning, there it was again on 1010WINS: an advertisement for Effexor XR, the latest miracle drug that "may help get you back to feeling the way you used to-before the symptoms of depression started to interfere with your life."

Here’s an incomplete list of possible Effexor XR side effects, according to the manufacturer’s website:

"Agitation, anxiety, confusion, diarrhea, dizziness or vertigo, dry mouth, fasciculation (muscle twitching), headaches, hypomania, impaired coordination, insomnia, loss of appetite, nausea, nervousness, nightmares, sensory disturbances (including electric shock sensations), somnolence (sleepiness), tiredness, tremor, unpleasant mood, vomiting."

Thanks anyway, but we’ll stick with the depression.

Best Place to Get Cool Old Videos
(at a Personal Price)
The Playpen
693 8th Ave. (betw. 43rd & 44th Sts.), 212-582-8275

Bring the kids! We’re at the back of the Playpen porn shop, avoiding the eyes of the live girls while checking out the mainstream VHS tapes stocked to meet the city’s obscenity laws. We’re happy to find a copy of Absolute Beginners, but there’s no price tag. Considering that everything else on the shelves is $8.99, we’ve got a bad feeling. We walk up to the clerk, he confirms that our planned purchase is also $8.99, and we show our usual pained expression when something we want is slightly overpriced.

"Videos upstairs," the clerk helpfully notes, "are only $4 and $5."

"Great," we say, and head up the stairs to the side—before noticing the big pink neon lettering that proudly announces we’re approaching "The Male Box."

We lean back down the stairs, catch the clerk’s attention, wave our copy of Absolute Beginners: "Um, these kinds of videos?"

And, yes, it’s a wonderful cache of these kinds of videos—by which we mean cool films on VHS that you haven’t seen available in years. It’s certainly true that those stairs lead up to a bank of peep-show booths where a bunch of guys are nervously milling about. First, however, you reach a mezzanine full of great finds like Brewster McCloud, The House that Dripped Blood, the complete Vice Academy line of sexploitation comedies and other films that you’ve completely forgotten that you’re waiting to get on DVD.

There’s also a bizarre mix of rarities that you haven’t seen since that Mom & Pop chain went out of business back in 1989. Thrill to Rachel Hunter’s exercise video from 1989. Marvel at the entire infamous Genesis video line of lame exploitation schlock—including the impossibly cheap Invasion from the Inner Earth. Many of them are factory-sealed.

And, no, the film geeks haven’t yet scooped up all the good stuff. They’re too insecure about their sexuality to dare risk being caught on the steps leading up to the Male Box. We, of course, have no such qualms. Just as we’re not afraid to hold the clerk to his word when he tries to charge us $9 for a copy of Wonderland Cove we find up there.

Best Garden Supply
Saifee Hardware & Garden
114 1st Ave. (7th St.), 212-979-6396

Back to Eden. The one thing we miss about our suburban childhood is the backyard. Nothing fancy. Just some open air, a little Weber grill, maybe a patch of garden. But at the price of such things in these five boroughs, we may as well have held our breath for Katharine Hepburn to name us in her will. One more summer of vacuuming the petrochemical soot off our barren windowsills would have been too depressing for words, so we took it upon ourselves to go out and get that little plot of earth, even if meant buying it by the bag.

It turned out that Saifee, a corner store in the East Village, would have everything we needed: containers, potting mixes, seeds, bulbs, growlights, windowbox brackets, hanging baskets, even non-toxic pesticide soaps (those tiny spidermites are the bane of indoor gardeners, we’ve since learned). We stuck to reasonable crops, like basil, mint and chilli peppers, and we invested some time. And holy crap—all of it grew, and it’s stuff we can actually eat.

Now as we tend our garden, we can’t help but glance smugly over the foliage at the mean little cactus perched on the office windowsill across the way. This will easily hold us for now, and one day, we’ll be queen of the barbecue pit.

Best Use of War to Sell Beauty Products
Marcia Kilgore in Blissout (June 2003)

Kilgore Lout. The June catalog produced by those cosmetically superior folks at Bliss started out harmlessly enough. On page two, Marcia Kilgore, aka "Miss Bliss," tossed off this friendly heads-up:

"Summer is—at last—around the corner, and with it, those long stretched hours of sun signal an end to ‘fat-forgiving’ full-length trousers, dry-elbow concealing cardigans and the emergence of all wardrobe things sleeveless, shifty, and sheer."

But there was, you know, a war going on. We felt kinda bad about wanting to spend $70 for a one-ounce dose of Oxygenating Active Amplifier. Miss Bliss put our mind at ease:

"[W]ith the ongoing global conflicts creating continuously high levels of stress, a girl sometimes needs to focus on the superficial just to keep her sanity."

But, but, what if things don’t get better? With all those people dying and stuff, we felt kinda bad about wanting to spend $135 on a six-ounce tube of strivectin-sd stretchmark repair formula.

Again, Miss Bliss:

"[W]hile we all look for peace (at home and in the ‘East’), we can simultaneously harbor a hope that another kind of tension—that which measures the skin on the backs of our thigh—is mounting."

As a typical Bliss patron might say: Oh. My. God.

Best Plastic Surgery

Fake: the new real. Morning, high above the Aventura Mall in North Dade. We’re sunk deep in a brocade couch with a back issue of Redbook in our lap. No sound except for an imitation Italianate fountain of youth burbling in the corner.

On the other side of the waiting room, Dora, the receptionist, is quietly talking to a swarthy deliveryman at the gilt front desk. He disappears, and she trills our name.

"Are you ready?" No answer. She leads us into a smaller room with an examination table. She closes the door, and the swarthy deliveryman enters. He has startling blue eyes, a perfect tan and a black brush cut.

"I’m your anesthesiologist," he says, sitting down on a low metal stool. Suddenly we notice the platinum Cartier tank on his wrist.

He gives us a once-over. "Are you nervous?"

We nod briskly.

"I’ll buzz for a Valium. We’ll be ready for you shortly."

Fifteen minutes later, back in the waiting room, we feel ourselves downshift as the pill kicks in. We’re led into another examining room; pile our clothes in the corner, try to stand still and refrain from stoned cocktail- party chatter while Dr. H draws his incision points on our tits with a magic marker. Dr. H is young, early 30s maybe, and he has a slight accent and the softest camellia-white hands. The most boob jobs he has done in one day? Fifteen.

Dr. H wears a white coat with his name embroidered in blue on the breast pocket, which reminds us that surgeons, especially plastic surgeons, are elite auto mechanics, and they know it. This pleases us. Order the part, put it in and be assured that insurance won’t cover it. Simple. We’re not going to die on the table today.

His touch is beautiful, and he holds the marker like a sable brush. We tell him so, and he smiles benignly. "Don’t you think the term ‘plastic surgeon’ is tacky?" we ask. "You’re so much more than that."

"No, I’m not. ‘Plastic’ derives from the Greek plastikos, which means to shape. To change."

Through another door, into the operating room, which is small and decorated in more gold and red velvet, like a sadistic whore’s boudoir. Now we’re lying down, naked save for a shower cap. A nurse in a very short white dress holds up two miniature pizza boxes. "These are your implants," she says behind her mask.

We want to see them.

"No," she replies. "Sterile."

She is Cuban, and, like all plastic surgery fans, somewhere between the ages of 19 and 70.

The anesthesiologist’s meaty tan hands are on our left wrist, tying us off. A needle in the back of our hand. "You might feel a burning sensation," he says. "I’m here. I’ll be here with you the whole time." Goodbye, God. There’s coldness, we flinch and whimper like an old Collie bitch, and then nothing. The real little death.

We come up under a blanket and keep our eyes closed, shivering cold and fumbling at the IV in our hand. When we open our eyes, the nurse in the short dress is there, putting a straw to our lips. Gatorade. The door opens and our boyfriend comes in, looking frightened and excited. The blanket is pulled away and we look down at our chest, expecting to see a mound of gore and sutures. Instead, we see two perfect, gravity defiant 34Ds. She puts fresh gauze over our new, huge nipples, and thick white strips of tape around our ribcage.

"We asked for a Traci Lords," we say.

"I noticed," she says. To boyfriend: "Now this is how you help her sit up. Hold her under her shoulder blades. Like a baby. Right."

The IV is removed and we slide into a wheelchair. Back through the waiting room, where we spy a thin Polish girl curled up on the couch with an Elle in her lap, miserably holding an ice pack to her Botox injections. On the way out, another plastic surgeon in a white coat gently touches our cheek and wishes us well. "Okay honey? Of course you are. Enjoy."

Hours later, we’ve got our head in the freezer, and there’s a hot jet of vomit lurching at the base of our throat. It will only get worse, as Dr. H warned us. Two weeks of wriggling like a shrimp to the edge of the bed and bawling for boyfriend to help us every time we have to pee. When we bend forward, our tits surge with pain and slosh like twin stomachs bloated with soda.

Bad idea. Two weeks of hating our grandparents’ dark, ugly and disused apartment in what was now the outskirts of cracktown, lying half-dead, zebra-striped by the hot sun through the Venetian blinds. Two weeks of being propped up by the edge of the pool, itchy from the Percocet, not listening to the old peoples’ whispers and tut-tuts.

"Isn’t that Bunny’s granddaughter?" one of them asks as we limp past their canasta game. Sigh. "She’s always falling out of her bathing suit."

"Shoosh. Those aren’t real."

But that was months ago. Now we love our fake tits, and everyone—the cringing mother-in-law, the dour exes, the shrieking friends—are entreated, nay, ordered to squeeze them. Feel how real? Once we had shriveled dugs, beaten south by the caprices of weight loss, weight gain and sorry genetics. Now we have way more than a handful, and not since ninth grade have we been able to make this boast: We fail the pencil test.

Best Japanese Hair Stylist
Kino
Kino International, 214 E. 10th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 212-475-6826

No photos allowed. Best thing about going to a foreign hairdresser is the lack of chitchat. No small talk, no how ya doin’ can ya believe this weather? Just us, our hair and whatever newspaper is stuffed in our bag. With Kino, we get all of this—plus a mirrored studio that from the street looks more like the hallway of a spaceship than anything in the same genus as barbershop. The place is miraculously dirt-free, like an operating room from a 50s sci-fi movie.

Kino happens to be a superb hairstylist. Here’s his secret: Once you’ve you finally gotten over your fear of being the dirty Westerner who has ketchup somewhere (you just know it) on your outfit, Kino asks what kind of music you listen to. And that’s it. There’s no more talking, no labored conversations, and you get exactly the type of haircut you want.

Though we suspect that Kino is a mostly-dude dude, we wouldn’t discourage women from checking him out. Helpful tip: There’s no exterior sign, just a teensy little card in the mirror inside that says "KINO." Just because Kino’s place looks too cold for Kraftwerk does not mean you and your copy of the Post can’t go there.

Best Boxing and Yoga Class
BoKu
The Stable, 281 N. 7th St. (betw. Havemeyer & Meeker), Williamsburg, 718-387-3962

Left hook to downward dog. "Harder! Faster!" How often does a girl get to hear a big cute mook from Belfast scream these words as she pounds the crap outta him? Twice a week since we started taking BoKu. It isn’t some foul-smelling, hippy-dippy dietary supplement, rather a class that combines boxing and Kundalini yoga.

Taught by Irish imports Colum Meehan (the "Bo") and Ailish Keating (the "Ku"), the 90-minute, the class is split into two parts. First Meehan takes you on a hellish ride through boxing basics—jumping rope, endless ab exercises, loads of punching and a form of torture I hadn’t been put through since high school gym class: the squat thrust. Then, once you’re shaking from exertion, doused in sweat and ready to aim for his face rather than the pads he’s holding up in front of him, Keating steps in and takes over to stretch your ass. Keating is beautiful to begin with, but some days she actually looks like an angel sent down to save us from collapsing at the feet of the Belfast Bruiser.

We’d taken her yoga classes before, but was in the market for something a bit more strenuous. Boxing and yoga might sound like a weird combination (and maybe it is), but sweating your ass off for the better part of an hour and then going directly into 45 minutes of yoga feels pretty fucking amazing.

Best Fencing School
Salle Gitane
747 Amsterdam Ave., 2nd fl. (96th St.), 917-570-0078

On guard! Owned and run by young husband and wife competitive fencers John and Larissa Gonzalez, Salle Gitane is the fastest-growing fencing school in the city. And fencing is the fastest growing sport in the country.

"It’s not wussy," says John. "It comes from mortal combat. But it also combines grace and athleticism, and even ethics."

The honor codes of Renaissance Europe are reflected in the newly revived sport, which flowered in the former communist countries of Eastern Europe, especially Poland, where the founding coach of Salle Gitane is from. New York is the center of the fencing universe in the United States, and Salle Gitane has become the breeding ground for the next generation of stars.

Best Ceramics Studio
The Mudpit
228 Manhattan Ave. (betw. Grand & Maujer Sts.), Williamsburg, 718-218-9424

Remember that pottery sex scene in Ghost? There’s a lot to take in when you walk into the Mudpit. Shelves near the door are stacked with an array of co-owner Cindy Gatto’s reasonably priced handmade bowls, mugs and other work. Lovely and lovingly made, each piece is proof of her considerable skill. Other shelves hold student work in various stages of completion (along with the occasional lazybones cat). Ceramics aren’t the only handmade creations here: Mark Petrin, the other owner, built a large motorcycle from the ground up that, more often than not, is parked in the studio.

Downstairs are the wheels—14 of them. After years of collecting our friends’ pottery, we decided last winter to take a whirl at throwing. It’s no exaggeration to say it changed our life. Cindy is a brilliant teacher. Her knowledge and patience are extensive, and her explanations and careful demonstrations usher tricky concepts into the realm of the possible.

We shopped around, and the classes are a bargain. Moreover, this may be the only ceramics studio in NYC that includes open-studio time with its courses. That means you can come in and work whenever the hell you want. Most places send you packing after class, and if they let you come in other times at all, you have to pay extra. The Mudpit offers wheel-throwing, hand-building and mosaics classes, and individualized attention is matter-of-course. (Don’t be surprised when Cindy gives you an unsolicited, detailed analysis of your trimming skills.) At Mudpit, clay and glazes come with your class (which is pretty standard). You pay about $15 for your tools and nominal firing fees.

Best Rape Crisis Program
Saint Vincent’s Hospital
41-51 E. 11th St., 9th fl. (betw. 10th & 11th Sts.), 212-604-8068

Important work well done. When a rape survivor comes into the emergency room at St. Vincent’s, the front desk immediately pages the volunteer rape-crisis counselor on-call. That woman will head directly to the hospital, usually arriving within the half-hour, and she’ll stay with the client throughout the waiting, the rape exam and rape kit, and more likely than not she’ll help get the client home.

Volunteering in this program is a pretty serious undertaking. There are 40 hours of training: 10 classes over the course of a month, and if you miss one, you’re out of the program. The training covers a lot of ground. Women acquire basic counseling skills, learn about the rape exam in the ER, rape trauma syndrome and PTSD, the legal system and issues surrounding adolescents, substance abusers and domestic violence.

St. Vincent’s asks volunteers to commit to one year of being on-call once or twice a month. The pager may or may not go off, and the stress of waiting is almost worse than getting called in. Not everyone wants you once you’re there, but in general, people are glad for the company. Rape-crisis counselors offer assistance that’s at once basic and profound. They explain procedures—in English, Spanish and Chinese—that can seem overwhelming when you’re not tired and traumatized, and they are there to advocate for the survivor—i.e., that counselor is one person attending to the survivor without an agenda (unlike the cops or family members).

The counselors encourage clients to make follow-up appointments with the trained social workers who head the program, Christine Fowley and Edwina Key, so the service extends beyond that first, fucked-up day in the ER.

Best Free Kayaking
New York City Downtown Boathouse
Pier 26 on the Hudson River (betw. Chambers & Canal Sts.), Pier 66A on the Hudson River (27th St.), 72nd St. at the Hudson River, 646-613-0740

No tipping allowed. We visited one Sunday afternoon to find 15 kayaks skimming along the sun-glittered Hudson while 24 people waited their turn to march down the footbridge to the dock. The rules are simple: know how to swim, wear a lifejacket, sign a waiver, stay between the piers, return in 20 minutes (or come back if called), keep away from the sides and wall and—duh—don’t go swimming.

Staffed by volunteers who claim 12,000 visitors in 2002, the boathouse offers programs besides the kayak jaunts, such as training and summertime trips to Lady Liberty each week. This season, all three locations opened May 15 and will close October 15. With a fleet of more than 40 kayaks, waits are minimal, and they supply the equipment, instruction and lockers.

They didn’t even goad us into dropping something in the tip jar. Instead, reads a sign at the Tribeca location, "The only donation that we ask for is that you kayak safely."

Best Used Camera Equipment
Adorama
42 W. 18th St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.), 800-223-2500

Say "old cheese." We remain unconvinced when it comes to digital photography. We’ve always clung stubbornly to the notion that when something is done instantly and easily, it looks it. One upshot of the digital boom, however, is that pixelheads are more than eager to unload their older cameras and accessories. Apparently, quite a few of them do so at Adorama.

We were hunting for a lens for our old Canon SLR, visited Adorama’s website and were blown away by their selection of used equipment. They stock used lenses, motors, cases, flashes, cameras of all makes and varieties (yes, even digital), and more. All of it is graded—accurately, we thought—on an excellent-to-fair scale and cataloged meticulously. We jotted down some numbers, visited the shop on W. 18th St. and returned home with the lens of our dreams at a mere fraction of the new list price.

Of course, you don’t have to do the online research first, but we highly recommend it. The crowd at Adorama can get pretty hairy at any hour of the day, and the service, unfortunately, is sometimes less than friendly. But don’t let that stop you. This sort of quality has to come at some price.

Best Gentleman’s Shop
Linus
160 Spring St. (W. B’way), 917-237-0222

Or, who knew Germans could make a suit? Suit shopping should be an experience that affirms a man’s masculinity, not threatens it with misplaced pins or a price tag that would make John Wayne shrink back up his pant leg. We were surprised to find that the most affordable option, as well as the most pleasant, could be found on a Sunday afternoon in crowded Soho. Suits range in price from $299-$898, and many are three-piece. (A classic look that, we were informed by a salesman at Bloomingdale’s, we could best locate in our grandfather’s closet—and why not "borrow his wing tips" while we were at it?) Besides a sympathetic and accommodating staff, there’s also a tailor and a decanter of more-than-decent cognac to help ease the process.

Best One-Stop Gift Shopping
Kate’s Paperie in Soho
561 Broadway (betw. Prince & Spring Sts.), 212-941-9816

Epistolic and bucolic. Is there truly a one-stop shopping source for everyone on your Christmas list, from the Junior League aunt in Dallas who thinks you’re "just trash" to that high-school friend who’s writing poetry about Thor and picking up 13-year-old wiccans? Impress them both with a trip to Kate’s, where every imaginable color, size, shape and texture of paper resides in one manageable store.

Just like the bibliophile, the epistle-head cares as much about the actual writing as its look and feel. So why not throw in an ink well, or a wax seal while you’re at it? Now, if only they sold monocles…

Best Japanese Technology Store
TKNY
21 Ave. B (betw. 2nd & 3rd Sts.), 212-677-0500

One set of x-ray glasses, please. We’ve acquired the following things from TKNY since we discovered it a little more than a year ago:

One set of inflatable speakers. Yeah, like you blow them up, plug them in to your minidisc player or iPod. When you’re done, simply deflate and tuck them back into your messenger bag.

One SideWinder emergency cellphone charger. The blackout made us suckers for this sort of shit.

Two camouflage duct-tape wallets (for our teenaged siblings, we swear).

This list does not, of course, include the stuff we have yet to buy. Like, for example, projection keyboards that allow you to type from anywhere, an inflatable bong, a mopping robot and a portable, three-inch flatscreen that plays and records movies of DVD quality.

TKNY is always stocked to the teeth with random objects of questionable technological importance, and we dare even the most gadget-averse person to step inside and remain sober with Luddition.

Best Country-life Décor
April Cornell
487 Columbus Ave. (betw. 83rd & 84th Sts.), 212-799-4342

Fresh air—in stitches. This charming designer boutique represents an appealingly easy and elegant country lifestyle that—while we might not necessarily choose it as our mainstay—promises some relief from the harsher realities of New York life. Entering April Cornell’s domain is to walk into a flowery bower of bedclothes and dining accessories in the front of the shop, clothing for women and children toward the rear. Almost everything in the shop is fashioned from Cornell’s own silk-screened fabrics, a profusion of variously colored and patterned floral prints that are unfailingly pretty.

We find her blousy, loose-fitting women’s styles very comfortable, and we love her hand-knit and crocheted sweaters, some with touches of floral embroidery. The velvety sherpa and reversible hats are irresistible, and the children’s clothes, adorable.

Browsing through April Cornell at Home makes us imagine how it would be to live as she does—in a big house in rural Vermont. We learn that she’s French Canadian, originally from Montreal, and loves to paint. Flowers, of course. Some of those flowers actually adorn the hand-painted pitchers, plates and serving platters displayed in attractive settings in the book and boutique.

So, is April Cornell a French Canadian Martha Stewart? We don’t think so. She’s definite, but not domineering; comprehensive but not know-it-all. And we can’t imagine a Cornell product line at Kmart.

Best Bus Line
B61

Kiss me, on the bus. The B61 is our savior. Late at night, it winds its way through invisible streets—from Red Hook to Cobble Hill and Smith St., past the Navy Yard, along the BQE, through the projects, into the wilds of lower Williamsburg, up Bedford Ave., terminating in Long Island City. This bus reaches everywhere we want to go.

We’d never ridden buses much in the outer boroughs. There’s usually so much distance to cover that it doesn’t make sense. Even in Manhattan, the only bus we like is the M15, simply because there isn’t (yet?) a subway east of Lexington Ave., and the "Limited" feature makes it a little swifter. But on a whim one night we got on the B61 and have been converts ever since.

You see, we hate the G train. Some people who live on the G line get defensive about it. They’re always quick to say how often it comes, how it’s not so inconvenient, etc., but we know better. Waiting for the G is like waiting to get our weekly ration of toilet paper in Communist Russia. We feel, in some subtle way, like we’re demeaning ourselves by waiting for a train that’s just the first leg of a transfer trip anyway.

The G sure doesn’t care about our plight.

Conversely, when the B61 appears, randomly, on a small street in Hasidic Williamsburg or Red Hook, we feel as though it’s been sent just for us. Like some kind of mystical raft, guided out of nowhere just when we needed it that’s going exactly where we want to go. We know it’s stupid to take these things personally—the good and the bad, that is—but still, there’s something about that B61. It’s our kind of bus.

Best Gotham Writers’ Workshop Teacher
Deborah Emin

Tickle me Emin. The last stop for a blocked writer and the first one for a fully employed novice: the Gotham Writers’ Workshop, as seen on many a street corner in the little yellow box. It’s almost impossible to tell if a teacher’s any good by the information printed in the back, which is not to put down the numerous reviews and journals that have boasted their bylines. We took a class with Deborah Emin, and her effort, insight and guarded encouragement were the surprise of the season. (And this, coming from writerly types known to dismiss all writing classes as snake-oil-level scams.)

When asked about her teaching philosophy, Emin says simply: "If you really listen to what people are saying, what my students say, I can tickle out the story they want to tell."

Best Fruit of a Highly Coveted Engineering Education
The Cooper Cooler™
www.coopercooler.com

Way cool. In effect, the Cooper Cooler™ is to a fridge what a microwave is to a conventional oven, but it’s just for beverages. Using patented Chill-On-Demand™ technology, its sole function is to cool drinks very quickly. By drinks, we mean the kind that would suffer sorely from the direct addition of ice: anything from a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio to that one last can of MGD that wouldn’t fit in the vegetable crisper.

You fill the Cooler with ice, plug it in, insert the can (or bottle), give it a few minutes to spin and voilà!—you’ve got a frosty-cold beverage without the painful wait or the accidental freezer-related explosion. And despite the mysterious forces of carbonation that are, frankly, beyond our ken, Cooper-Cooled beer or soda will not erupt from its container when opened.

The kicker is, this little piece of gimmickry, now commercially available at an average retail price of $89.99, was conceived and realized by a team of engineering and design students and faculty working at the Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science & Art. That’s right. The prestigious, ultra-competitive Manhattan institution of higher learning founded by Peter Cooper is now endowing humanity with the resources it needs to party heartier. (Or is it hardier? They probably know the answer to that, too.)

We’re not trying to put it down. We’re sure that the Cooper Cooler could actually be put to some other practical applications. Not that we could think of any. Instead, we raise a can to our ingenious brothers and sisters of C.U. and look forward to their future endeavors: perhaps the supercharged chug funnel, or the anti-matter bong.

Best Meditation Teacher
Peter Doobinin, DNYMC

Om. Peter Doobinin might be taken aback at being named "best" at what he does. To hear him tell it, he’s just a conduit of some trusted, ancient teachings—but this is typical of the wisdom and humility that makes him so good.

His approach, based soundly in the school of insight meditation (this is vipassana—or clear-seeing—for hapless Westerners), is practical and down-to-earth. He will not attempt to transform you into some robe-flapping, sanctimonious pseudomonk. What he will do is guide you—gently, progressively and with an excellent sense of humor—through the different facets of meditation. He’ll also introduce you to some basic tools for real, everyday living (and for coexisting with others), which, when used properly, can bestow a sense of awareness, focus and tranquility. Most importantly, he’ll remind you that the main thing is just to begin again.

Peter offers several classes for beginners and enlightened alike, and you can read about them through his recently launched Downtown NY Meditation Community website (dnymc.org). If you’ve ever had the slightest interest in learning to meditate, we urge you to do something nice for yourself, and others, and give it a try. But please be warned—these offerings are not magical one-way tickets to instant, unending bliss. There’s just no such thing.

Best Kicks
Training Camp
1079 6th Ave. (41st St.), 212-921-4430

Keds R Us. When buying a new pair of sneakers, most people flock to 8th St. and suffer masses of NYU freshmen, punk punks and tourists for what they think will be a comprehensive overview of the trendiest colors and styles. It’s an unlikely store in Midtown that should be their destination.

At Training Camp, a narrow storefront hidden opposite Bryant Park, shoppers are few and they don’t linger. Almost every pair of kicks has character all its own—with special tread designs, non-Nike swooshes and loud colors. Brand names are only present when the style is too desirable to ignore. Most New Yorkers, partial to shades of black, white, gray and the occasional navy when outfitting their feet, will feel emasculated adopting the European practice of dressing seemingly heterosexual men in fluorescent oranges, yellows and pinks. But the gender-sensitive should rejoice in the fact that American women can find brown and tan throwback Converse or Swedish flag-colored Golas, while men aren’t afraid to try on lilac Nikes or red Keds.

The stock moves quickly and new styles are always arriving. It may take the clueless staff a while to check you out, but the experienced shoe whore will have no problem sending them off to retrieve a pair of peds or a different size and color. Cheap is not an overstatement: super shoes can be had for $20, while the occasional big brand can run you $50 or higher (but there’s always a sale going on that’s sure to slash that price in half).

The best thing about Camp is that, due to the small space, what you see is what you get; you’ll know within five minutes whether style and color have aligned to your benefit. When they haven’t, you can always join the local hoodies in the back of the store to stock up on cheap all-white high tops and basketball jerseys.

Best EscapeS from New York
Out of State
SeaStreak Ferry to the Jersey Shore

Jersey, sure. SeaStreak is the American sister of Italian line SNAV-Hoverspeed, which can ferry you from Naples to Capri. These people know what they’re doing. In starting a commuter ferry between the town of Highlands and Pier 11 (just south of South St. Seaport) and E. 34th St., they were assured an immediate customer base. Then, they let word get around.

It’s a great ride—past Governor’s Island, under the Verrazano and you’re almost there. About 40 minutes total. Highlands is adjacent to Sandy Hook, which is part of Gateway National Park, and Seastreak stops at the park on weekends. It’s all dunes, wildflowers and old abandoned military structures.

Sandy Hook is also the northern tip of the Jersey Shore. Bring a bike for easy access to Seabright, Monmouth Beach, Long Branch, Deal, Asbury Park, Ocean Grove, Bradley Beach, Avon, Belmar and Spring Lake. Every town is a few miles wide and has its own identity. This is some of the best biking in the tri-state area.

Or, bring a blanket and be relaxing on a national-park beach before your Hamptons friends have even made it out of Queens.

In State
The Lexington Hotel
113 Main St. (Rt. 132 & Rt. 142), Lexington, 518-989-6463

Head for the hills. Our night’s sleep there was interrupted by a couple of fistfights and some chemically fueled screaming, and we’ll be back for more. For, nestled amidst the lower Catskills in the bucolic, one-stoplight town of Lexington is the grand old Lexington Hotel, its big blue neon sign buzzing in no obvious relation to the peeling houses or lush forest surrounding it.

Recently re-opened under new Philly-based ownership, it’s something between a punk rock bed and breakfast and a friendly two-bar hostel, as if magically plunked down in the woods from above. The rivers and waterfalls flow in walking distance and the outdoor Jacuzzi is operational. At $25 a night and with musical acts shipped in every weekend, it’s our recommended spot to bring your laptop, check in for a week and finish up that script. Or you could just get nonstop-FUBARed, shoot pool and talk fish with the locals.

Either way, the welcome sign is lit.

Best Performance Art
Gyrotonics

Now cluck like a chicken! Fitness centers with picture windows are rarely a good idea. They tend to attract perverts with video cameras, for one thing. And for another, we’ve never been keen on the idea of being confronted with the sight of dozens of obese, sweaty, desperate and sad people in tights jumping around, grimacing, dragging themselves that much closer to the grave.

We do make one exception, though: We’re glad most of those fly-by-night Gyrotonic storefront operations have picture windows. We’re especially glad that the proprietors of these places always make a point of setting up their so-called "exercise machines" right up front, thus ensuring that their customers always put on a show. We could watch those people for hours. There’s something about a fat guy getting himself strapped into a torture device straight out of Fruits of Passion, then flopping around like an epileptic walrus trying to roll over—and paying for the opportunity, no less—that says more about the human condition in early 21st-century America than a roomful of Karen Finleys ever could.

Best Old-School Neighborhood Pharmacist
Carmine Palermo
Block Drug Stores, 101 2nd Ave. (E. 6th St.), 212-473-1587

A pack of gum, a candy bar and a rubber. Talk about a family business. Long-time East Villagers know that "young" Carmine, the pharmacist, is the son of Carmine Sr., now retired, who used to run the place. The Palermo family has owned the store since 1962, and they love serving the East Village. Carmine Jr. fills ’scripts with his wife Beth, also a pharmacist, and they recently put their teenage daughter to work as a clerk.

Every customer receives super-friendly, professional care. Carmine Palermo orders specific products for clients—like the hard-to-find natural tampons—and he helped cure us of a stubborn vaginal infection that wasn’t responding to medication. This is what pharmacists should be: healers with wisdom.

For more than 40 years, the Palermo family has provided great service to their East Village clients and spared us from the dreadful chains. It gives us a warm feeling to walk past and see Carmine Palermo sweeping the sidewalk in the morning when he opens this corner store for business.

Best Housewares
Aquarius Hardware and Houseware
601 Amsterdam Ave. (90th St.), 212-362-4173

I know just where to put it. Home Depot is much bigger, but it’s in the ’burbs. Aquarius Hardware and Houseware is an industrial-strength home-improvement store that’s on our home turf.

Aquarius purveys all the stuff, supplies and gewgaws we need to resolve our household issues—to handle all the grouting, sawing, screwing, caulking and other nagging, annoying tasks that our landlord refuses to do.

Like a typical New Yorker, Aquarius crams about 2500 square feet worth of goods into its 400-square-feet interior. Floor- to-ceiling shelves and pegboards display an eclectic collection of paint rollers, pot holders, moth balls, room fresheners, fans, air conditioner filters, water filters, paints, primers, pipes for plumbing, supplies for rooftop gardeners, nails, glue guns, light bulbs, shower curtains, plastic containers in every size and color, mops, pepper mills, Draino, small refrigerators, brackets, anti-pigeon stainless-steel spike strips, decorative ceramic owls and other essentials, including more than 120 drawer knobs ranging in style from silvery starfish to ceramic strawberries.

Though patronized by a legion of hunky handymen who obviously know their way around nuts and bolts, Aquarius won’t intimidate those of us who are home-improvement-inept. In fact, the helpful staff are much- appreciated enablers. Middalia Rios, always available to lend a helping hand or offer pithy, pertinent advice, approaches and gently inquires if we need assistance. Once, feeling more than just a little idiotic, we asked how to get a tube of sealant silicon into its dispensing gun. Without humiliating us, Rios took charge. Before we knew it, the sealant was ready and paid for, and we were on our way home to tackle the tub.

Best Indian Interior Décor
Pondicherri
454 Columbus Ave. (82nd St.), 212-875-1609

Trippy class. We’ve neither dined nor slept at a Maharaja’s palace, but entering Pondicherri gives us the feeling that we may know a bit about what that environment might be like.

This lavish home-decorating/clothing/gift shop is floor-to-rafter choc-a-bloc with bedspreads, pillow covers, chaise throws, table cloths, napkins, curtains and clothing fashioned from vibrantly colored Indian hand-printed fabrics.

"Pondicherri is a town in Southern India," we learned from owner Amba Singh. "Unlike the rest of the country, which was under British rule, Pondicherri was colonized by the French. Many of our fabrics have a French- provincial look, so we like Pondicherri as our shop’s name, but our fabrics are actually made all around India, but especially for us."

Cotton fabrics featuring floral or leafy patterns, or abstract curlicue designs, are fashioned into mix-and-match elements with infinite appeal. Some stunning duvets are sewn from heavily embroidered silk, others feature tiny reflective mirrors. We want all of them.

Hand-woven and embroidered rugs are stacked in one corner, patchwork quilts in another. Delicate organdy curtains hang from hand-wrought iron rods; standing racks display ethnic-style silk jackets, crinkly cotton skirts, shirts, trousers and nighties, and a hat tree holds straw bonnets in a rainbow of colors. We want all of them, too.

Best Activist Bookshop
Bluestockings
172 Allen St. (betw. Stanton & Rivington Sts.), 212-777-6028

Words in action. Bluestockings was a women’s bookstore collective until two local activists bought the business and reconceived it as an independent bookstore and activist resource center. In the words of one of the co-owners: "If more people define themselves as global-justice advocates rather than simply as feminists, that’s not a defeat but an exciting legacy of the feminist movement and other movements." In its new incarnation, people are flocking to the store who may never before have set foot in it.

The bookshelves are divided into sections such as civil rights/black liberation, activist tactics/strategy, transgender, anarchism, queer studies, feminist studies, DIY and global justice. It’s not all politics; you can find children’s books and cookbooks and zines and a range of other literature, including periodicals. Bluestockings will order things for you, and you can also shop from their website (bluestockings.com).

They also hold events just about every night of the week. With films, meetings, panel discussions, puppet shows, poetry readings—Bluestockings has quickly become a crucial resource for a range of communities. Incidentally, there’s a killer vegetarian restaurant next door called Tien Garden.

Best Oncologist
Dr. Jeffrey Tepler, MD
310 E. 72nd St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 212-650-1780

The c-word. There are few things as frightening as learning that you or someone close has been diagnosed with cancer. As soon as the test results have come back, your doctor will whisk you away to a specialist. There are plenty of oncologists/hematologists in the city, specializing in carcinomas, sarcomas, lymphomas and leukemia, but we want to be referred to Dr. Jeffrey Tepler.

Not to say his colleagues aren’t good, but Dr. Tepler is that needle in the haystack, and we really would trust him with our life. He treats us like a human being when dealing with sensitive issues; rather than being herded into chemo rooms like cattle, he and his staff paid attention to every tiny detail that would make us more comfortable. Most importantly, Dr. Tepler takes the time to explain everything to us—something more rare than you might imagine.

This boils down to one word: trust. When it comes to life choices, we trust Dr. Tepler to guide us through them.

Then the Parks Department hit up the entire dog-run community for $65,000 on an $80,000 renovation, Vinzant says. (The Parks Department claims $60,000 on $120,000.)

"The Parks Department is obsessed with keeping people with small dogs off the lawns," she says. "I have seen several grown men jump out of a car, hop the fence and run a man who had a Yorkie off the center lawn."

Nevertheless, the small dog run people have joined with a group of big doggies to write a constitution, form a nonprofit and raise $65,000, Vinzant says. But now there’s growling even within this alliance. What’s a chihuahua to do? Ignore it; there’s still a place for her. For now.

Best Celebrity Impersonators
Screaming Queens
212-714-8079

Fake fab. One can find strippers anywhere, and face it, Madonna impersonators are under every rock (where the real Mrs. Ritchie should be). When you need something truly offbeat, not to mention dizzyingly glamorous, you call Screaming Queens doyenne Miss Understood.

For more than 10 years, Miss Understood’s service has offered such "talent" as Iggy, the strolling Human Dessert Table; transexual tabloid favorite Amanda LePore; drag queen magicians; and stripping clowns. A visit to the SQ website offers a sneak peek at some of the theme costumes, Technicolor faces and mile-high hairdos of the performers.

Performers are available for birthdays, bridal showers and bachelor/bachelorette parties. Hell, you can even have one of them swing by your little cousin’s bar mitzvah.

Best Office Supplies
Lincoln Stationers
1889 Broadway (63rd St.), 212-459-3500

Or you can just steal from work. Lincoln Stationers is a true treasure trove of office supplies, personal organizers and other secretarial stuff you never knew you wanted. As we enter the store, we push ourselves past the temptations of the pen counter and leather-goods section, and begin our spree in the basement realm of office supplies. When we have the luxury of time—oh, who needs to go to the gym?—we take a while to decide between buying the regular file folders and paper clips or splurging on plastic, neon-colored sheaths and Italian curlicue paperclips in silver and gold.

Odd office-supply obsessions aside, Lincoln Stationers offers an embarrassment of riches. Back upstairs, we succumb to the Montblanc, Parker and Sensa pens, then finger the leather, lizard and ostrich Filofaxes and the all-inclusive collection of Filofax fillers, then turn the pristine pages of dozens of tooled-leather notebooks, then flip through samples of variously weighted and tinted writing paper, then survey accessories by Tumi and other top brands and—

Bottom line is, we find Lincoln Stationers’ superb stock of supplies so irresistible, we always set a spending limit for ourselves before entering the store. Occasionally, we abide by it.

Best Wedding Ceremony Provider
Reverend Laurie Sue Brockway
718-297-6400

DIY nuptials. "Your wedding, your way," offers the Reverend Laurie Sue Brockway, and, with her warmth, bright smile and fabulous sense of humor, she delivers. Specializing in interfaith, non-denominational and "creative" civil weddings—including same-sex unions—the good reverend’s intelligence, passion and flexibility combine to make her the top choice for couples seeking a unique, personalized ceremony.

Regardless of the kind of ceremony—spiritual or civil—Brockway will craft the ceremony to reflect the values of the people getting married. Sometimes this includes coaching the couple on writing their own vows, other times she provides the perfect words for them to express on their wedding day. Traditions as diverse as Judaism, Native American, Buddhism and Sufism, among others, can be integrated and celebrated as part of the couple’s marital rites, and special requests—what Brockway refers to as "wedding theater"—such as Celtic hand-fasting, Hindu seven steps, Hawaiian sand ceremony, African libation and Chinese chalice ceremonies can be incorporated.

Brockway, a native New Yorker, has presided over ceremonies at many classic locales, including the Tillman Chapel at the U.N., the Empire State Building and Central Park (a favorite spot for out-of-town elopements). She’s also done the job at offbeat venues such as Lola’s and the Angel Orensanz Foundation (an old synagogue). Wherever a bride and groom elect to begin their life together, Brockway strives to accommodate them.

Best Source for Artist Books
Printed Matter
535 W. 22nd St. (betw. 10th & 11th Aves.), 212-925-0325

Consignment shopping. Some of the books at Printed Matter are legit. By artists that you’ve heard of, or musicians, or whoever. Others—and these are the jewels—are mush from the artistic masses, items scraped together in manic bursts of creativity, small-runs of art projects that wouldn’t be out of place in a giant Cornell box. You may not find something to buy, but it’s an amazing place to browse.

Best Upper East Side Video Store
Couch Potato Video
1456 2nd Ave. (76th St.), 212-517-8666

The good, the bad, the disturbing. There used to be three in Manhattan. Then two. And now only one Couch Potato Video Store, standing alone in the yuppie ghetto known as the Upper East Side. It’s hard to find a decent video store in this ’hood, let alone find suitable movies on video in a world going to DVD. Soon the VHS will go the way of the eight-track, and there’s no one but ourselves to blame. Couch Potato Video exists for people like us. There isn’t another video store for miles that carries Lucio Fulci flicks or any other spaghetti-cannibal cinematic gem.

Even though much of the staff wasn’t born until after our favorite movies came out on BETA, they’re extremely helpful—nice kids lacking that movie-buff attitude—and the proprietor, Tony Barnes, is usually on-hand. Should you be in the mood for something current, there’s plenty—even on the dreaded DVD. See, Couch Potato Video is all about diversity, something this neighborhood has been lacking for quite a while. You can always find something, if you look hard enough or pick an employee’s brain until it’s bone dry.

Best Puppy Run
Small Dog Dog Run
Tompkins Square

See lil’ Spot hump. In 2001, the City Parks Department issued a requirement that pooch playgrounds make room for the tyke mutts—an upgrade that would cost anywhere from $5000 to $10,000. Current Tompkins Square dog-run users argued that a separate area would gobble too much space, go unused, split the community and lead to snarling along the fence.

"I thought, however, it would be a small price to pay for getting what was then supposed to be a $120,000 renovation," says Carol Vinzant, ex-manager of the run, which opened in 1990. "So I decided we should try it out before the renovation. That way we could figure out if it could work, how it could work best and, perhaps most importantly, end the debate that raged incessantly."

Some big-dog owners despised their new small-dog neighbors; others appreciated that more were using the park. The groups coexisted peacefully enough except on one hot-button issue: toys. Small-dog owners liked toys, but they’d already been banned for starting fights. So toys became a political, well, football.

Best Judaica Store to Get Thrown Out of for not Being Orthodox
Fellers Judaica & Gift Gallery
1205 Lexington Ave (82nd St.), 212-472-2300

What, our money isn’t green? After we moved and needed a new mezuzah for our doorpost, we went to Fellers for the case as well as the scrolls to put inside of it. A sweet girl named Miriam works there, and she’s always been quite helpful and happy to discuss Judaism, Borough Park and how to meet a nice Jewish boy on AOL’s Jewchat.

Then, our landlord painted over our brand-spanking-new mezuzah, which we knew wasn’t kosher. The scrolls inside are written by the scribe (sofer) and are considered kashruit; now, they were tainted.

So we went back to Fellers for another. We also had it in mind to ask for a couple sentences written on their stationery, explaining that it’s not cool to paint over a mezuzah. (We were seeking reimbursement.) When we walked in the store, sweet Miriam’s face lit up, but as we told her our sad tale, the Orthodox Hasidic owner jumped down our throat, insisting that it’s okay to paint over it and bellowed, "I’m not faking any letter for you!"

We explained again, with previous receipt in hand from his store, that we were there to buy another mezuzah and scrolls. We weren’t looking to pull a fast one, on anyone. At which point he insisted on knowing the name of our temple.

"Beth-El," we replied.

"What’s the name of your rabbi?"

And that’s where we’d had enough. We told him it was none of his g-d damn business, and when he told us to leave the store we shot back with a little tale of 1944. As far as we’re concerned, we said, our self-righteous shop owner would be marching in line right next to us, straight into the ovens at Auschwitz or Buchenwald. Hitler didn’t categorize, we pointed out. He hated all Jews, be they orthodox, conservative or reformed. And this fundamentalist shmuck had the chutzpah to throw us out of his store for not appearing Orthodox enough?

From now on, it’s back to Ave. J in Brooklyn to shop for religious articles, where they know better than to discriminate.

Best Dog Groomer
Anne Leone of Canine Castle
410 W. 56th St. (betw. 9th & 10th Aves.), 212-245-1291

Who’s my little cutey wutey? She was quite a performer in her day, so she knows glamour. She’s also a true animal lover, as evidenced by the myriad photos of satisfied, fluffy clients that adorn her shop. She’s Anne Leone of Canine Castle, for more than 40 years top stylist to New York’s best-looking pets. Confident and humorous, with eyes that sparkle at every four-legged friend who wanders in, Anne is a gem, a feisty blond who’s quick with a doggie biscuit and brilliant with grooming shears.

Her boutique, nestled in the far reaches of Midtown, is more than just a doggie salon. It is a carpeted cocoon, a safe haven for (sometimes) nervous pets, who may be wondering, who is this woman and why am I in her bathtub? Not to mention their (sometimes) nervous owners. Anne charms them all. There are no cages here, and animal tranquilizers are verboten. The dogs, and the occasional cat, are sedated only by a warm bath, soothing music and the gentle hands of Miss Anne.

Best Cheap Bleach Job
Marysia Beauty Salon
101 1st Ave. (betw. 6th & 7th Sts.), 212-777-2490

Don’t forget to tip, and mind the fumes. We prefer a blatantly false yellowish platinum; French Fry Blond, you might call it. If you don’t specify at Marysia’s, you’ll get the same subtle blond that everybody working in the shop has. Upon entering, Marysia rapidly sums up you and your haircare needs, which we usually supplement with the appropriate nonverbal gestures. Then, in rapid Polish, the dye queen relays instructions to one of the women in the shop. You need never utter another word—unless it’s to put the brakes on the automatic straightening blow dry—and the whole thing costs $25.

Best CraigsList Posting that We Pray Is a Joke
"i need hipster sperm, you need house cleaned…"

No webbed feet? "Hey I am a 19 year old Hispanic girl seeking smart, attractive, well dressed, hipster, to donate sperm. Need somebody with good health, disease free, and no funky family problems like webbed feet, or a fondness for plaid. Really fashionable artsy a plus! I am looking to get pregnant and would require it to be done the ‘old fashioned way’ Unless you would like to help me with the turkey baster (negotiable). In return I’ll clean your house for three months once a week on Sundays at 3 pm.

"send picture’s please...... your place."

Best Wine Buzz While Your Girlfriend Tries on Clothing
Lounge
593 Broadway (betw. Houston & Prince Sts.), 212-226-7585

Take your time, honey. We accompanied our girlfriend on a dress hunt not long ago, stopping in at Lounge, one of those cavernous, multi-level clothing boutiques on Broadway just below Houston. It was a pleasant surprise to find, at the back end of the store, a cute little wine bar with a surprisingly better-than-decent list of Italian varietals. It was even more pleasant to find ourselves downing two glasses of delicious San Giovese while our girlfriend, an inveterate clothes-horse, tried on one of everything.

We even ordered up the bruschetta for the hell of it, and were happy with the result. It filled our gut with a good honest weight. Judging by the two other tables of lone men, we weren’t the only ones happy for an afternoon glazing. While a big-screen tv would’ve been nice, we couldn’t complain. To guys who get dragged along on shopping excursions, we recommend steering by Lounge at some point. Just be careful when she asks if her "ass looks fat in these jeans." Drunkenness is no excuse for honesty.

Best Gastroenterologist
Dr. Michael Cantor
310 E. 72nd St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 212-472-3333

Incoming! For years, we suffered from problems than can be—how shall we say this?—quite embarrassing. Until, that is, Dr. Cantor made a prompt diagnosis. A colonoscopy is hardly anyone’s idea of a fun time, but it is necessary to diagnose colon polyps and other intestinal disorders.

In the hands of Dr. Cantor, our colonoscopy fears were unfounded. The only pain in the ass occurred the day before the procedure. Basically, preparation consists of having a normal hearty breakfast the day before the exam, followed by fasting with approved clear liquids. The night before and morning of the procedure, we drank Fleet Phospho-Soda so that we’d be completely cleaned out.

The day of our test was smooth sailing, not least because of the tranquilizers. After waking up from a delightful nap, we were handed a refreshing drink of orange juice by a member of Cantor’s hardworking staff, who were on-hand to answer whatever questions we had.

Now, at the first sign of serious stomach trouble, we insist on seeing Dr Cantor right away. The occasional recreational pursuit aside, our ass is, by and large, an exit—not an entrance. Yet our man’s insight, knowledge and kindness make the check-ups that much less harrowing.

Best Pet Adoption Group
Mighty Mutts/Kitty Kind
718-946-1074/212-252-3264

Friends for life. That purebred doggie in the window quite likely came from a puppy mill where bitches are loaded up with litters as many times as caninely possible before they fall apart. They tend to have more illnesses per puppy head than your average mutt, and who the hell wants some precious little poodle anyway?

Enter Mighty Mutts and Kitty Kind, the dog and cat rescue groups founded by John Contino. As a no-kill organization, Contino and his crew of volunteers scoop strays off the streets, rehabilitate them and find the right home for each one. In addition to adoption services, the gang also holds a nightly feeding run in the Mighty Mutts Mobile, making sure that countless homeless pooches around town are well-nourished.

Kitty Kind’s feline wares can be seen every day at the Union Square Petco, where every morning and evening, volunteers clean the cages and provide the cats with fresh food and water. On nice-weather days, they set up a few viewing cages outside on the square next to Mighty Mutts. Like their canine brethren, the Kitty Kinders are dedicated to helping as many animals as possible by matching them with the right owners.

While prospective owners are the brass ring, Mighty Mutts and Kitty Kind are always grateful for donations of money and supplies. Visit them at Union Square on any given Saturday.

Best Dyke Haircut from a Gay Man
Joe Calcagno
Ultra Hair Salon, 233 E. 4th St. (betw. Aves. A & B), 212-677-4380

A delish high and tight. Upon moving to New York, we were embroiled in two dysfunctional relationships: one with our live-in girlfriend, the other with our stylist. Things are still touch-and-go with the now-ex-girlfriend (we kept the apartment), but the relationship with the stylist dragged on much longer. She offered us comfort after we broke up with the girlfriend—a little too much comfort, really—and praise Jesus that we’ve established some boundaries in life.

When the stylist was laid up with a bad case of carpal tunnel, we shifted loyalties to Joe Calcagno at Ultra Hair Salon. There’s not an ounce of pretense in this former Staten Islander. He’s universally friendly and professional to his range of clients: hot dykes to vaguely suburban women to well-dressed businessmen to the generically downtown hip. They all get good hair. Joe will settle in for a nice chat if you want to, but he never minds when we fall asleep. The hair-washers are swell, too, and have tattoos worth pondering while your head is tilted back. And you get a great quickie head massage during the wash.

Best Exercise When You’re Drunk
Jumping on a trampoline at Chelsea Piers
Pier 60, 23rd St. (12th Ave.), 212-336-6666

Tiggers bounce, as do drunks. The last job we had involved some seriously soul-crushing work, but the company was nice enough to realize how much their employees hated their jobs. They bought us lunch—or at least pastries—every few days, and even gave us a paid day off for bonding and "team building" at Chelsea Piers. We had the run of the place, so we could bowl and ice-skate and rock-climb for free.

What we mostly did, of course, was drink free beer, and by 3 p.m., we were wobbly. Some fellow employees had gone rock-climbing, then found the trampoline. Which sounded like glorious fun, so off we went.

Three seconds of magnificent jumping later, a Chelsea Piers staffer told us to stop. "But our company booked the whole place!" we replied, instantly reverting to the six-year-old within. There would be no jumping without signing a waiver, we were told, and this somehow convinced us to return to the bar.

Later on, sober, we realized that this guy might have been full of shit. We’d been ice skating while wasted, and our coworkers were rock climbing when wasted—aren’t those activities more dangerous?

Next time we go to Chelsea Piers, we’ll sign whatever piece of paper it takes to absolve the management of liability. Then we’ll make a beeline for the bar, and then to the trampoline. And we’ll jump and jump and jump, and pretend like we own the world. Nyah nyah.

Best Post Office for Ogling
Prince Street Station
124 Greene St. (between Houston & Prince Sts.), 212-226-7869

Whistle while you wait. We’ve already got five sheets of commemorative Andy Warhol stamps, but fuck it. We can always use more. Especially if it means we can waste time on the company clock and stand on line for a while at the Prince Street post office, where every beautiful person in Soho seems to visit at the same time.

The line is always long and slow, and there’s always some lanky artist-type jerkoff wearing fur in the summer and whining in German into his cellphone, but we can put up with these petty annoyances for the pleasure of staring and pretending not to stare at the other people on line.

We imagine they’re unpaid slaves at Black Book or some other pretentious art/fashion rag, and that their stacks of envelopes contain a bitchy press release we’ll immediately throw out. But they’re so damn sexy, so damn earnest, and that press release probably constitutes the only real responsibility they had during their summer internships. We know we’re better than them, they know we’re better than them, but they still exude that confidence of people who know they’re worth ogling. They don’t flinch when you look, and they sometimes stare back, vacant but challenging.

Nothing ever happens for us there. We just buy our stamps and leave. It’s only a post office, after all. We just like to look.

Best Cheapo Upper East Side Pedicure
T Nail Salon
165 W. 72nd St. (betw. Amsterdam & Columbus Aves.), 212-873-2473

Nail files. How many times have you sat through a $20 manicure or pedicure and prayed that a) your impassive beautician pays attention to the fact that those clippers she’s wielding are very sharp, or b) that your impassive beautician has sterilized the clippers that she’s using as she draws blood in the process of randomly pinching at bits of your fingers that are not your cuticles?

After finding T Nail Salon, such questions are moot. We hold fast to the belief that every neighborhood has one or two T Nail-like salons in its midst: a trusty, affordable service that does not compromise your safety as part of its low, low prices. In appearance only (hand-written signs, 80s-era ivory leather sofa), T Nail shares some characteristics with its unfortunate stepsisters. Otherwise, the women of this business take an unusual amount of pride in their work, lavishing each foot and hand with a seriousness and attention that is a wonder to behold, especially at the phenomenal price of $19.99 for a manicure and pedicure (Monday through Wednesday). Our favorite artistes are Jaime and Sook, who have beautiful smiles, work a divine massage, sterilize their instruments and have never made us bleed.

Best Store For that Unoriginally Original Look
Metropolis Apparel
43 3rd Ave. (betw. 9th & 10th Sts.), 212-358-0795

This t-shirt’s like, only $25. So, you’ve just started your first semester at NYU and it’s your first time away from the hometown. Your footlocker is filled with every consignment goody from the Salvation Army back home, where you were so original. Problem is, in New York you’re just another liberal arts alt mall kid. Sure the pink scarf, glitter eye gel and brown polyester slacks gave you the slightly gay, slightly intellectual, slightly indie look that rocked back in the middle of nowhere, but times, they are a-changing.

No one can come up with anything new, so the ickiest, tackiest things throughout all of fashion history have somehow become cutting-edge. Where to find the ugliest crap to upgrade your wardrobe from flyover artfag to street-smart NYU film whore? Metropolis Apparel, nestled between those cheesy goth kids on St. Marks and the young urban professionals above 11th St.

While sifting through stinky, tattered, overpriced ski jackets from the 70s, you might find any number of pseudo-punk rock Paul Frank products, all the while being snubbed by the fashionably deceased sales staff. Not to mention you get to hear the newest music by the most talentless new artists while you shop. If you escape without killing yourself or someone else, then you will be, without a doubt, the coolest, most unoriginally original kid at Tisch.

Best Place to Commune with Hot and Very Bothered People of the Opposite Sex
Dept. of Motor Vehicles
Herald Square

Scamming in the DMV DMZ. Were you aware that if you’re from out of state almost every DMV-related transaction, aside from paying parking tickets, requires you to bring along your social security card? Neither were we. And neither was the dark-skinned young hottie standing behind us at the 34th St. DMV this spring. It was the information bureaucrat who finally informed us of this, shouting to the impatient mass huddled at the entrance. Though spared an additional 15 minutes of time waiting in line, the better part of an afternoon was wasted.

These hassles infuriate us in a special way, and this being no exception we began casting about for something small to crush. Something underfoot. Anything. A bug, a toddler. The hottie was pissed, too. And boy, did she curse like a scullion! "Jesus fucking Christ in goddamn fucking heaven!" Or something like that. Either way, it was a turn- on. And so we fulminated along with her, damning the city, bureaucracy, asshole public servants, Pataki, Bloomberg and the lot of worthless humanity. It was great. We felt like a cabbie in some crappy 70s film.

Eventually our angers subsided. With nobody left to curse, we rode the elevator down together, and then we bid the young woman a happier day than the one we’d just had. She flashed us a gorgeous smile: "And you have a nice day, too."

Best Used Bookstore that’s not the Strand
East Village Books
101 St. Marks Place (betw. 1st Ave. & Ave. A), 212-477-8647

It’s not the size of the ship, but the warmth of the crew. Unlike the Strand, East Village Books doesn’t have multiple locations, cannot boast "eight miles of books" and will never have "over 200 employees." Which is why we like it. East Village Books is small and cozy, and you’ll recognize the people who work the counter, because there are only four of them.

More important, it has the things we look for in a used bookstore: great books and a lack of attitude. The book guys will not roll their eyes if you ask for The Shining, nor will they stare blankly if you request A House for Mr. Biswas. They’ll just show you where the book is. (Which is a good thing, because in all these years, we still haven’t figured out their shelving system.) They don’t care if you browse, and we enjoy the music they play. But if you go: please don’t haggle. Despite a rent increase, most of the items are still dirt-cheap, and let’s be honest, no one’s getting rich charging $2 for Slaughterhouse-Five.

Also, check out their used CDs. The selection is small but you’re sure to find a gem for under 10 bucks.

Best Noncommittal Yet Tasteful Gifts
Exit 9
64 Ave. A. (betw. 4th & 5th Sts.), 212-228-0145

It’s sort of good to see you. Need a last-minute present for, say, your stepmother? Buy her a beautiful "designer" purse, white with buckles, for $22. And for that half-brother who will one day get your entire inheritance, but for now is a cute eight-year-old? A Cocktail Time nightlight: $21. An old friend you haven’t been seeing much lately, the one with the baby? Let her know she’s still hip with an elegant Ramones t-shirt for toddlers ($18) or some glitter putty ($3.50), if the kid somehow turned four while your back was turned.

These are not dirt-cheap gifts; it’s not, say, the sale bin at the dollar store. But neither are they particularly expensive. Show you care enough to drop a 20, and not much more.

Best Pet-Food Store
Pet Delight
756 3rd Ave. (25th St.), Brooklyn, 718-788-7970

Bow wow, yippy yo yippy yay. This store isn’t much larger than a walk-in closet, but you’ll find cheap, premium, byproduct-free cat food and dog food you’ve likely never seen before. You’ll also learn a lot about the pet-food industry, should you ask.

For example, ask for a cat food recommendation, and they’ll probably tell you anything but Iams and then proceed to explain that it was stores like theirs that talked up Iams for years and that since Procter and Gamble bought Iams, changed the recipes and started putting crap into their cat food, it’s a total fucking disgrace.

You will realize that if you really love your cat, you cannot feed them this bad food, even if you usually give your cat ice cream and tortilla chips. Then you will buy cat food that is made with chicken and peas and maybe even blueberries, and because it’s less expensive than Fancy Feast at your neighborhood grocery store, you won’t feel like an asshole for doing so.

Best Brooklyn Darkroom
Mackenzie Color Lab
47 Thames St. #102 (betw. Morgan & Knickerbocker Aves.), Bushwick, 347-881-9803

All that’s fit to print. We were making our biweekly pilgrimage to B&H photo when we fell in amongst half the recently graduated class of SVA and two fashion-mag stragglers. Shoptalk quickly turned from anticipated purchases to financial woes.

"After paper and film, how can I pay $13 an hour to print?" one grad whined. Welcome to the real world, sweetheart.

A "hrumph" rose from the front of the pack. "I pay about $9 an hour."

We skirted the students and charged the bag check, nearly knocking over the Hasidim who reached across the counter for our backpack. Mr. $9-an-Hour told us about Mackenzie Color Lab in Brooklyn.

The next day, we booked an All Day Special—eight hours of printing for $60. We arrived a few minutes early and were given the quick tour. Our private enlarger room had relatively new equipment, a drop table and stool, and the small lounge area featured local delivery menus, free coffee and tea, magazines (featuring some of photogs who also print here). There are five enlarger rooms (color only), with a Colenta processor to share and a small selection of Kodak paper for sale. We saw the processor spit out only one dirty print, but it was nothing a q-tip and water couldn’t handle.

Mack’s has a family sort of feel. The kind of family that leaves you alone when you’re working, but jokes with you between prints. The kind of family that sometimes procrastinates together, sometimes offers color-balancing advice. By noon, we’d met Rafael, the owner, who offered to develop our new film in the full-service lab next door while we printed. Anna, working the desk (and thus the stereo) let us plug our iPod into the main system—and we split delivery costs for lunch.

Settling up at the end of the day, we remembered that even cheap printing isn’t so cheap, but with Mack’s reasonable rates (did we mention free coffee?) and friendly staff, we always push out the prints with a smile before hopping the L back home.

Best Surf Camp
Cabarete Surf Camp, Cabarete, Dominican Republic

Surf’s up, mein freund. Cabarete is a beach town on the Dominican Republic’s north shore. It’s small, windworn and infested with Germans, who are a fine people once you’ve pumped a little rum into them. For what it’s worth, the Germans in Cabarete fall into two categories. A great number of surfers, windsurfers and kiteboarders here are "Pro-sport" types. These volk don Lycra rashguard, bulky, waterproof diver’s watches and wear those prismatic, wraparound sunglasses popular on the North American bass fishing circuit. Kempt and serious even in their beachwear, they may seem a little stiff. But Germans, as we know, are all closet fisters and teabaggers, so this can’t be the case.

A smaller group within the island Germanic diaspora are the Wandervögel, Germany’s answer to hippie surfers. Younger and more casual, they eschew nut-hugger bathing suits and sometimes appear in public with their shirttails untucked.

Why do we mention all of this? If you happen to travel to Cabarete—and there are many reasons you might want to, one of which being the absence of Americans—you will definitely find yourself among the krauts. An omission here would be tantamount to inept reporting—like discussing bratwurst and leaving out the mustard.

As for the surf camp, imagine a half-acre rectangle of land with manicured gardens and a narrow stream bisecting it. Add a footbridge, several thatch-roof bungalows, two cottages and a small swimming pool. Tuck it back from the town’s main road and next to a lagoon and surround it with dazzling red framboyan, fragrant bougainvillea, palm and coconut trees and expanses of wild sugar cane.

Now imagine paying more to board your dog back at home than on accommodations for yourself. $25 per night got us our own delightful one-room studio, complete with full kitchen, bath and patio. Surfboard rental and ride to El Encuentro, a popular reef break with peak-season swells averaging around 12 feet, cost an additional $15 a day. An hour’s drive up the coast delivered us to Playas Preciosa and Grande where there were more excellent waves and stunning vistas and coastal caves we explored by boat.

If you suck as badly at surfing as we do and find yourself in need of a day off, the DR’s gorgeous north shore is traversable by horse, bicycle, scooter and motorbike or by car. Holger, who runs the surf camp with alacrity and precision, will set you up with the transport rental of your choice as well as many accurate tips on what to check out. In the last five or so years, the DR has come into its own as a popular all-inclusive, resort lover’s destination. Cabarete town and Cabarete Surf Camp are an exception to this trend. Which goes to show, any place inhabited by Germans can’t be all that bad.

Best Foster Home for your Clothing
Rejoice
182 Orchard St. (betw. Houston & Stanton Sts.), 212-777-6606

An army of one. By rescuing clothing from the bottoms of Salvation Army and Goodwill bins, we instantly feel an invisible bond form. And so, when we’ve changed sizes—it shrank, dammit!—or moved on stylistically, the thought of carelessly returning them to their thrift-store point of origin is hard to accept. Send our old friends back from whence they came? What if no one wants our beautifully worn NYPD rookie-league tee, or the red, white and blue terrycloth jacket? What if they remain forever wedged between paint-stained sweatpants and yellowed sheets? Or get torn into kitchen rags?

Thanks to Rejoice, there’s now a foster home trustworthy enough for our favorite forsaken duds. Before seven p.m. on most weekdays (5:30 on weekends), the store pays for your fabric friends—but only choice items. Of the bulging shopping bag we’d brought, only three items made the cut: a light, brown-and-tan down vest; blue short-shorts with green piping and a palm tree patch; and a white Op sweater crossed with a rainbow chevron. We chose the $11 in cash over the $22 in trade, but the money was almost beside the point. We were leaving three old friends in good hands until new adopted parents could be found.

Perhaps someday we’ll see them on the street. We may be a little jealous, sure, but mostly we’ll remember the times we had together and be glad that someone else has come to love them.

Best Place to Steal Books and Take a Dump
Barnes & Noble
Multiple locations

And with so many sections to choose from. Barnes & Noble is by no means the city’s best bookstore. It is, however, one of Manhattan’s few multilocation establishments with easily accessible bathrooms that can actually be used by human beings. The laissez-faire sales staff will not stare at you like a war criminal when you request to use the facilities, nor will they make you lug a key chained to a cinder block to unlock the door. So if you make the mistake of wolfing down a San Loco burrito and a Jarritos tamarind soda on a warm afternoon, chances are there is a B&N nearby to suit your impending needs. Just find your way to the children’s book section—where the bathrooms are usually situated—and answer the call of nature, guilt-free.

And while there, why not sample some literature free of charge? "Invisible loss," as it’s known in the trade, is low on the aforementioned employees’ list of priorities—especially on the weekends, when the average B&N is strewn with readers sprawled out like a homeless encampment of New Yorker subscribers. Unshelved books abound, and many’s the impoverished grad student or helpless klepto who takes advantage of this relaxed climate. For those armed with a thick leather shoulder bag and a larcenous, literary soul, the possibilities are legion.

Best Cheap Incense
Our Guy, Washington Ave.
(Sterling Pl.)

But not cheap in sense. In most Brooklyn boroughs, residents never want for incense. They can always flag down a merchant with foil-wrapped packages riding a bike past their house or peruse the tables set up in front of bodegas on their way home. Not so in Manhattan. If you live on major streets in the village or Chinatown, you’re fine, but throwing down a dollar for ten dry, crumbling sticks of Cool Water blend is a crime.

Two months ago, we stumbled upon a guy working Washington Ave., five blocks north of Eastern Parkway. He was lackadaisically selling grips of heavy-soaked packages for $3. We only had two dollars on us so he cut us a deal for 100 pungent coco-mango sticks, which is a hard-to-find blend in Manhattan. We can’t promise that he’ll always be there, or that every variety will be in stock, but for the best deals in Manhattan sometimes you have to take a chance on a trip to Brooklyn.

Best Place to Overcome Your Fear of Poetry
Mid-Manhattan Library
455 5th Ave. (betw. 40th & 41st Sts.), 212-340-0833

Ya gotta hear it, stupid. Pretty simple, really. Start with the good stuff and listen to it. It wasn’t until a friend lent us a cassette of W.H. Auden reading his work that we realized what poetry can be. Eager to find more poets to wrap our ears around, we’ve since searched used book stores, Craigslist and eBay, but’ve found the best source (and a free one, to boot) is the Mid-Manhattan branch.

The Mid-Manhattan’s poetry-on-cassette collection is catholic with a small "c,"’ covering most major poets from the Bard to the Beats (we’ve been on a Stephen Spender jag of late). It also includes a healthy smattering of work by African, Caribbean, Asian and Native American poets. We prefer to read along as we listen, and so it doesn’t hurt that the poetry sound files are mixed directly in with the book collection, making accompanying texts easy to locate. And unlike NYPL’s 42nd St. branch, Mid-Manhattan is a lending library, which means we get to take the stuff home with us and file share for posterity.

Aspiring bards and pros may also be interested in knowing about the branch’s ongoing poetry workshop. Award-winning poet Nicole Lieberman conducts the workshop every Tuesday from six to eight p.m. Pre-enrollment and sample submissions are mandatory. Call for details.

Best Downtown Second-Hand Store
Church Street Surplus
327 Church St. (betw. Canal & Lispenard Sts.), 212-226-5280

We ain’t talking Soho. We’ve always referred to this fashionable army-navy store, so out of place among the plastics emporiums, hardware stores and bootleg CD stands, as Label’s, and we’re not alone. Label, an owner, is usually around, eager to move the merchandise, making friends fast while cutting deals.

You’ve probably seen the place a million times walking east on Canal, but maybe never understand the bounty within. For years, we made weekend pilgrimages, riffling through racks of leather coats, fur stoles, overalls and 40s-style dresses, looking for the parts that would become complete outfits. A sheer flapper dress and a vintage pink slip turned us Great Gatsby for a stretch of high school. Woolrich jackets and button-downs got us through the early 90s. Countless Halloween costumes started as simple accessory purchases—four ties for $10, $30 cowboy boots and even a $25 bandleader jacket.

There’s no hiding the fact that sales are on the staff’s mind, but everyone is tolerant while we mosey about. We always try on too many things and narrow down the selection, but we also always make some solid purchases: a $15 pair of jeans, a $12 wrap skirt and an $8 army bag. And then we’re out.

Best Trainer
Bobby Beckles
917-553-0583

Medicine balls are for throwing. The morning after our first boxing workout with former champion Muay Thai fighter Bobby Beckles, our body was nothing but pain. Our shoulders, our midsection, the arches of our feet—everything we touched or moved responded with agony. Even our coccyx was chafed from those 100 sloppy sit-ups at the end.

We were there to learn, and learn we did. Less than two months later, our body has transformed from a decent frame hidden under three layers of beer fat and fast-food flub, to a leaner and tighter machine we’re almost proud of.

Our man Bobby is patient but demanding, giving us first the technique and then expecting us to demonstrate it. Meaning: first the bag, then the ring. So far, we’ve only suffered a sore jaw, a scrape or two on the forehead and several rounds of wounded pride. We don’t have a solid hook yet, but our right-cross is coming along, and our upper-cut is formidable when we remember to turn.

Beckles works out of several different gyms, but we recommend signing up with patient zero of the boxing epidemic: Gleason’s Gym on Front St. (in what is now called Dumbo). The facility is rough-and-tumble in a very good way, with all manner of people working out—professional and semi-professional fighters, Golden Gloves contenders, softies like us—and we admit to being intimidated on our first visit. After six weeks of hitting the bags and pounding pads and grunting through hundreds of sit-ups, we’ve earned a sort of tolerance (if not yet respect) from the regulars. We may be the skinny white man who throws like a girl, but at least we’re persevering in the interest of improvement.

Best Photo Lab
Flatiron Color Lab
110 W. 17th St. (6th Ave.), 212-633-9191

Worth 200 words. We’ve decided that we’re the best photographer in the world, but if we’re to be honest, the talent isn’t ours at all. It belongs to Flatiron Color Lab, our favorite of Pro Film Lab’s locations. Since we usually take pictures at night, we routinely drop off underexposed images, pushing film two to four stops. Sometimes, we decide that we know what we’re doing, and try to cross-process slide film. No matter what curveballs we throw at our poor photo guys, they continually connect. Color images are balanced for brightness and tone; our black-and-whites, printed on color paper, come out with greater depth and luminosity. We no longer compromise the depth of a blue sky for the richness of a skin tone, and are always astounded by the contrast levels.

They’ll take color, slide, black and white, infrared, medium and large-format films. They’re more expensive than Duane Reade, but, surprisingly, cheaper than most of the professional shops in their neighborhood.