To be the best, a music store has to carry a vast selection. For those whose tastes run all over the board, you can find everything from your favorite Jello Biafra or Henry Rollins spoken-word CD to Peter Allen's At His Best. You also will find everything in the middle -- jazz, hip-hop, industrial, rock, R&B, dance, rap, blues, imports, boxed sets and, of course, Elvis. Whoever orders the Latin music should get a raise; it's not limited to Ricky Martin and Jennifer Lopez. Soundwaves also boasts one of the largest, if not the largest, preowned CD selections in Houston, which you probably already know from the buxom yet "flat-busted" women from the television commercials. The store also has a peculiar section with skate and surf merchandise, but before heading over, you may want to surf to www.soundwaves.com and pick up the $1 off coupon.

"The world was silent except for the shrill cry of insects, which was part of the night, and the sound of wooden mortar and pestle as Nwayieke pounded her foo-foo," writes Chinua Achebe in his 1959 novel Things Fall Apart. He is describing a scene as basic to traditional Nigerian life as the beat of the udu drum -- the pounding of yams into the glutinous mass known as foo-foo or fufu. African Variety Food Store offers big beautiful yams for those with time and energy to pound. For others, this purveyor of West African goods sells a powdered form of yam (as well as cassava and plantain) that can be whipped up in minutes into a delicious mound of fufu for dipping in soups. The smell of dried fish pervades the establishment, which is tucked amid Chinese businesses in a sprawling strip mall. In addition to the desiccated cod, shrimp and bony bonga fish, one can find cans of palm oil, melon seeds, and a variety of herbs and vegetables that provide the city's thriving African population with tastes of home.

Got a pampered pooch with persistent problems? We heard about Pete Stewart's Good Manners Dog Obedience School through a friend who owns three huskies. Figuring someone with a pack of dogs oughta know, we checked it out for ourselves. Like most "parents," we were a little apprehensive about dropping our little one off for two weeks, but our fears were unwarranted. We watched as Pete, armed with a collar, leash and a handful of treats, took his 47 years of experience training dogs and matched it up against the powerful will of three-month-old Molly. She was sitting, staying, heeling and lying down with nothing more than the gentle command of Pete's voice in just about two shakes of a dog's tail.

Now that there are several stores catering to the large and growing Russophone community of Houston, it's possible to pick the best one. This little spot, located in an obscure strip center in southwest Houston, is a true general store in the American sense, selling foodstuffs, prepared to-go items, CDs, videotapes and even Russian-language editions of Playboy and Good Housekeeping. Those nostalgic for a taste of home cooking as it was prepared in Minsk, Pinsk or Minusinsk can acquire such hard-to-find items as unfiltered sunflower-seed oil, canned cod livers, Georgian sour plum sauce, salt-pickled mushrooms and jellied veal. Those non-Russophones who find themselves in need of a bit of shopping advice can turn to co-owner Aleksandr Kogan. He's a walking encyclopedia of a man who can discourse authoritatively on Russian and Soviet food, with forays into topics such as history, literature, electron microscopy and even the poisonous reptiles of Kyrgyzstan. For further research, one can browse a Russian-language lending library in a back room. An adjoining storefront houses a Russian folk-dance school, and the store sells tickets to Russian concerts, plays and even the odd Moscow cat circus when such undertakings find a Houston venue. And you thought synergy was an English word.

The Guild Shop Walking through the doors of the Guild Shop is like being on stage with Monte Hall. On the price tags you'll find three prices. Next to each price is a date. The price goes down as the dates progress. So if you think you can hold out for a few days on buying that wicker wheelchair or matching set of tombstone salt-and-pepper shakers, you might save up to 75 percent -- provided no one else wants it. It's a tricky proposition. You may really want those vintage Star Wars bed sheets, but surely you can't be the only one. Should you get them now or wait a week and save $8? Let's make a deal, indeed.

A scratchy tape of "The Wedding March" blasts from a boom box in a room in Kipperman's Pawn Shop, the walls of which are painted pink and gold with a mural of flowers splashed across one wall in hues of Mercurochrome and MD 20-20. Owner Ted Kipperman, dressed in red vestments, has pronounced another couple man and wife. The wedding service, for which Kipperman provides a free Polaroid memento, also comes free if the couple buys their wedding rings (or a gun) at the pawnshop. During the mid-'80s oil bust, people were pawning everything, but they just weren't buying. Kipperman, who likes to stay on top of the times, came up with the idea, in part because rings and guns are the most expensive items in a pawnshop. He obtained a minister's license, and he has married scores of couples since he started. A few years ago the idea man took convenience to the next level, converting a guard shack at the shop into a drive-thru wedding chapel. Couples can use their own cars, or they can rent a limo from one of Kipperman's fleet of three. Roll down the window, say "I do" and roll down the road, either admiring your shiny new ring or packing your new piece. Kipperman likes to give people choices.

Academy Sporting Goods Whether you're looking for a Mossberg Maverick 12-gauge 28-inch synthetic shotgun or a Beretta U22 Neos 4.5 handgun, Academy is your place. With low daily prices on all hunting and protective firearms ($219 for a Smith & Wesson 22A; Rimfire is practically unheard of), they've got specialty gun shops around town beat by an average of $50, and enough ammunition in stock to make David Koresh green with envy. The knowledgeable gun staff will gladly help you fill out the 4473 ATF worksheet required by Big Brother. Once it's determined by the FBI that you're sane and of age and meet a few other state requirements (only Texas residents may purchase handguns in Texas, for instance), it's off to happy hunting land or target practice country or wherever the hell you want to go -- hey, you've got a gun now, it's your shot.

It kills us to let this secret out, but Houstonians with good taste already know it: Not only does Wherehouse Music have the most impressive collection of used, mostly pop CDs, arranged nicely and in a customer-friendly way (in alphabetical order and by artist) along a handful of 20-foot-long display rows, but the store also has the best artists. Makes you wonder if Wherehouse feels any shame paying up to $4 per used CD for what are obviously lost or, dare we say, stolen goods. What "person" in his right mind could have honestly let go of Imogen Heap's wondrous 1998 debut, I Megaphone? Yet there it sits, for the low, low price of $2.99, in the "H" section, right alongside Elton John's classic Captain Fantastic and Freedy Johnston's perfect This Perfect World. Either yokels are growing fonder of mainstream commercial radio pop, which explains their parting company with great music like the aforementioned, or something fishy's going on at Wherehouse. The latter is doubtful. Painfully so.

Like connoisseurs of fine wine, vintage shoppers have their high standards. While those in search of the perfect merlot might sniff the cork, hold the glass up to the light and sip with discernment, vintage clothing shoppers must know: Are there any noticeable stains? Does the zipper work? Do polyester pants make my ass look huge? Fans of these queries, take heart: The Way We Wore is the store for you. Friendly owner Pam Nunnally will be glad to help you find just the right smoking jacket, or honestly tell you if those '70s-style heart-shaped purple sunglasses make your head look freakishly large. The store (an old house in Montrose) is well organized, the clothes are in good shape, and the tremendous selection of '40s swing dresses, ruffled tuxedo shirts and '70s disco gowns seems to go on and on. And if you're looking for an outfit for a special onetime affair, you can rent instead of buying. Yes indeed, if The Way We Wore were a bottle of wine, it would be a $300 bottle of some fine chardonnay. Except when you leave this store, you'll be drunk with happiness and looking really sharp.

A few weeks back we heard a woman walk into the bakery and say she was new to the neighborhood and needed to find a good place to order a cake for her mother's upcoming birthday celebration. If there were such a thing as the dessert jackpot, this woman had hit it. She asked a few of the people in line about the bakery's reputation. One person gestured to some of the letters on the wall -- letters from a former governor and president, as well as one from a former governor-turned-president. Another person told her to walk into the dining area (Acadian Bakers also serves lunch) and take a look at the pictures on the wall. There are photographs of cakes in all kinds of shapes and sizes and colors, a sign that the bakers of Acadian are up for any decorative challenge. More than mere bakers, they are cake designers. So what can you get ready-to-go should your sweet tooth cry out for immediate satisfaction? Go for a lemon bar, but only if you're a lemon lover. If chocolate's your thing, try the brownie chocolate mousse cake. Those are the favorites of the woman behind the counter, and she should know.