Arne's Located in a spooky, red brick factory building in the industrial strip between Montrose and the Heights, Arne's is the perfect department store for all of your ghoulish needs. Hike up the stairs and past the still-operating conveyor belt and you'll find enough freakish fashion options to outfit an apocalypse. Whether you're into witches, devils, vampires, demons, trolls or fluffy bunnies, Arne's has got you covered. Choose from not one but two varieties of beehive wigs, ten kinds of boas and four types of horns that attach to your head. Arne's is the Wal-Mart of the underworld; creepy deals slither off the shelves. Get a witch's cauldron for only $3.96 or a plastic butt for $4.92. With so much to choose from, you might have a hard time making up your mind. If all else fails, go for the pregnant nun, complete with inflatable belly.

The nice thing about having a mall like Town & Country crash and burn is that rent plummets to the point that more obscure independent stores like Toys for All can move in. Specializing in vintage toys and games spanning the entire spectrum of obsessive-compulsive hobbies, from Beanie Babies and Barbies to board games and Hot Wheels, this store even manages to carry a larger selection than the average chain mall stores. The only downside is that the place serves adult clientele more than the under-12 set. Still, the shop carries enough of the latest toy lines and harder-to-find items from the current fads to keep the little ones smiling. Hours: Monday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., and Sunday from noon to 6 p.m.

Flea Market Row Driving up Airline past I-45 and 610 on a Sunday afternoon, you might think you're approaching a Rolling Stones concert or a sold-out Houston Texans game. But nope. You would have known if the Stones were coming to town, and the Texans play in that building down by the Dome. So what the heck is going on up here? Just an average Sunday on Flea Market Row, with half the city out on a shopping -- and drinking -- expedition. The markets are within walking distance of one another and all feature live music from the region's best Latino musicians. The fare is traditional: bootleg Chingo Bling T-shirts, Dope House Records CDs, Mexican blankets, Day of the Dead stuff, tools and cigarettes. Bring ten bucks and get a beer, some nachos, a rusty pipe wrench and a butane lighter and stroll to the sounds of mariachi, Tejano, cumbia and even some rock en español.

Stacked unceremoniously under the sale racks at the back of Vanessa Riley's boutique are sheets and sheets of drawings of chic, oh-so-European women in slinky, oh-so-European suits and gowns. Their haphazard nondisplay belies their significance. This is no ordinary designer store where some anonymous underling in a faraway fashion house conceives the ready-to-wear fare. In this boutique, the woman who drew those sketches is standing in her red suede stiletto boots amid her three-dimensional creations: feather-boa-topped jackets, ankle-skimming coats, sharply tailored pinstriped suits and sensual silk spaghetti-strapped dresses. Riley runs about the shop asking in her brassy British accent if she can help you find something. And if you don't find something you like, well, Riley will just whip up something special for you. For an extra $45, any of her designs can be custom-cut to fit you in nearly any fabric you choose. Pinning and tucking and draping and complimenting, Vanessa Riley will make you feel like a supermodel, only shorter. Fabulous, darling.

After spending way too much money on Day of the Dead bread at a bakery inside the Loop last year, a friend-in-the-know pointed us to this bakery, fused to the side of a taqueria near Hobby Airport. Order your Day of the Dead bread early, as this popular panadería gets muy busy closer to the holiday. No need to wait if you've got a taste for some pan dulce. Walk in, grab a tray and tongs, and help yourself: empanadas, galletas, maranitos, whatever you fancy. It's all there, and it's all delicious. After you make your selections, they'll ring you up and bag your goodies. A recent visit cost just a little more than $5, with two bags of delicious desserts tantalizing us in the car the whole way home.

Anybody who has tuned in to PBS's Antiques Roadshow marvels at how veteran appraisers quickly scan somebody's closet clutter and come up with rich histories and details on such obscure items. Paul F. Wishnow takes it one step further. Each Sunday morning on KPRC Radio (950 AM), he delivers a wealth of information without even seeing the items of interest to callers. He guides them through a thorough examination that usually yields the elusive answers to the value and heritage of the possessions. Time has increased their worth -- and it certainly has added to his expertise. His dad had Houston's oldest antique shop (it opened in 1922) when Paul was born. Wishnow Furniture and Antiques is still going strong (his father died in 1958). In 1974 Paul picked up his accreditation from the recognized U.S. and international appraisers' societies, and has been gleaning the gems from the junk ever since.

"We doctor shoes. We heel them, we save their soles and attend their dyeing." So goes the motto of Herman Shoe Repair, a mom-and-pop outfit run out of a converted old house in the Heights. The place, owned by veteran boot repairman Herman McCarty, is pungent with the smells of leather and polishes, the way any good shoe clinic should be. What sets Herman apart is the quick, dependable service and the reasonable rates. Resoling boots starts at $41.50, and takes up to two hours. Old boots return transformed to their former glory, with sturdy soles, attractive heels and impeccable stitching. Herman's dedication to his clients leaves him little time for anything else. When asked for some basic facts about his business, a harried McCarty replied, "I ain't got time for this right now. I've got customers."

Jim Burwell Rover Oaks Pet Resort offers boarding, grooming, classes and all the other amenities available at today's high-end pet facilities. But more important than the expensive clippers and gourmet dog food is owner-founder Jim Burwell, who has an uncanny ability to communicate with dogs. Not some weird "dog guy," he's more a gentle "dog whisperer." Even when coaching large groups of animals, his soothing tone and gentle demeanor have pooches eating out of his palm. Burwell can take on spastic Jack Russells or bossy, burly boxers and gentrify them into well-mannered mutts. (Does he secretly stash a steak in his pocket?) His pleasant persona is so reassuring, you wouldn't have a problem leaving your kids with him, much less your golden retriever. Burwell's Rover Oaks is the perfect place to let the dawgs out.

Though not expected on the market before early next year, FrogPad, developed by Houston-based FrogPad L.L.C., could revolutionize the exploding market for wireless Web technology. While the gadgets -- smart phones, handheld PCs and personal digital assistants, like the Palm -- are getting smaller and more sophisticated, manufacturers have yet to figure out how to incorporate a practical, easy-to-use keypad that allows the full range of letters and numbers to be entered. Smaller than a pocket paperback, the FrogPad offers the same functions as the traditional 104-key "Qwerty" keyboard, but with only 19 keys. The secret is in the location of keys for the 15 letters used most frequently, which, combined with four secondary keys, allows for easy one-handed use. FrogPad is relatively effortless to master: Users can learn how to type 40 words per minute in ten hours, compared to the 56 hours it takes on a traditional keyboard. The first widespread use of FrogPad likely will be on cellular phones. Inventor Kenzo Tsubai and his partner, Linda Marroquin, recently met in Helsinki with representatives from Nokia, whose strategy, according to its 1999 annual report, is to combine mobile phones and PCs into a single "personal communication tool."

We don't know about your pets, but ours don't like to take medication. At all. We have the battle scars to prove it. Instead of buying cases of first-aid ointment to heal all the wounds received while trying to administer medication to our asthmatic cat, we discovered it's cheaper and easier to call BCP Veterinary Pharmacy. They work wonders with asthma medication, insulin, antibiotics -- you name it. Instead of wedging a pill between little FiFi's clenched teeth as she scratches every inch of you to get free, you can give little FiFi a VetChew, a medicated treat flavored with chicken, tuna, shrimp, liver, beef, seafood or even fruit flavors. If little FiFi is too finicky, you can get the medication in a transdermal gel, which you rub into your pet's ear, where it is absorbed. BCP is the brainchild of Houstonian Jennifer Gimon, R.Ph., who now boasts clients in homes, wildlife refuges and zoos all over the globe.