Ankkkarlo Pride

The feisty finch spars with KTAR's Darrell Ankarlow-brow, suggests anger management for an Assistant P-town police chief, and skewers fake Art Detour Gypsies

Expect Darrell's immigrant-bashing to continue, and expect this rascally raven to stick to him like Super Glue. His latest stupidity? Advocating a placard merchants can hang in their windows so they can claim (chances are, falsely) that they hire Americans instead of illegals. Perhaps Ankarlo and pals should harken back to the days of Bull Connor in racist Alabama and reprise a sign that was common in that time. You know, the one that read, "Whites Only."


Like Jack Nicholson's character says in the Adam Sandler flick Anger Management, "Temper's the one thing you can't get rid of by losing it." And, boy, did Assistant Police Chief Andy "Aggro" Anderson lose it back on November 5, 2006, while teaching his teenage daughter how to drive. The patience-challenged assistant chief was in a Volkswagen Cabrio with his kid at the wheel when driver Steve Mitchem honked at the pair from his big-ass pickup truck. That's when Anderson blew his lid like he was Yosemite Sam and had just been mooned by Bugs Bunny.

Fred Harper

Mitchem was on his way home from a furniture store when Anderson's daughter paused too long for his liking at a green light at 64th Street and Greenway. That's when he tooted at the twosome, and Anderson stuck half his bod out the V-dub's passenger-side window and executed a single-finger salute. A war of unoriginal macho energy erupted between Mitchem and Anderson, with each telling the other, "Fuck you," and Mitchem taunting the off-duty cop.

Instead of acting like the cool-headed leader of men he's supposed to be, the aggressive Anderson ordered his teenager to tail Mitchem like they were in that Starsky & Hutch movie, pursuing some dood who'd stolen Huggy Bear's fur coat. Anderson's description of events in a subsequent memo sounds almost effete by comparison to his hotheaded actions:

"This driver in his large truck was now towering over us and driving very close to our vehicle and shouting and laughing and continuing to gesture and taunt me in a bullying manner. I reacted by flipping him off again and also returning his 'fuck you.' I then told him to pull over so we could further discuss the issue. It should be noted that I had no intention of taking any kind of enforcement action. I simply wanted to speak on level ground face-to-face with this unbelievably obnoxious bully. He agreed and suggested I follow him."

Reading this internal statement to the PPD, you'd think the two had a spot of tea afterward and settled the conflict with a vigorous game of badminton.

However, Steve's wife, Marcie Mitchem, who happened to be following her hubby home, was frightened enough to get on her cell and call 911. By the time all three vehicles were parked by Mitchem's East Hearn Road driveway, Mitchem and Anderson were confronting each other, with Anderson's daughter bawling her eyes out in the VW. Marcie mentioned to the men that she was on the horn with 911. And like a real dickwad, Anderson whipped out his badge and told them both, "I am the police."

Fortunately for everyone involved, the incident didn't escalate, though following someone home in this manner almost seems like a prelude to one driver or the other getting his freakin' head blown off. What the eff was Anderson thinking? They actually let this guy play with loaded firearms? Sheesh.

After Anderson drove off, he must've realized he'd fucked up, because he circled back to Mitchem's home, and both doods hugged it out. (Well, kinda — they apologized to each other and shook hands.) To Anderson's credit, he admitted in his memo on the incident that "My actions were out of character, isolated, and very regrettable."

Understatement of the year, Andy.

Marcie Mitchem had a little advice for Anderson, which she conveyed via one of the cop investigators of the Anderson bird-flippin' affair.

"Mrs. Mitchem asked me to relay to Chief Anderson that perhaps he should not be the one to teach his daughter how to drive in the future," wrote the investigator. Funny. Something tells this testy toucan that Anderson's kid feels exactly the same way.


This cultcha-lovin' vulcha made the rounds at Art Detour as usual this year. But other than The Lost Leaf Gallery's display of two Lite Brite-like Mooninite devices — part of that viral marketing campaign that scared the bejeezus out of Beantown — the hottest thing happenin' was a makeshift "Gypsy Village" set up in a vacant lot adjacent to the funky Firehouse art commune on First Street just off Roosevelt.

Conceived and constructed by painter/photog C.R. Vavrek, this kooky camp, titled Artist Loft: Low Rise, Low Rent, consisted of four ramshackle, box-like structures made from cardboard, refrigerator containers, wooden artist palettes, and "authentic hobo garbage." Wanna see what it looked like? There's a short YouTube video of the faux encampment at this Web address:

The mutton-chopped, ponytailed Vavrek said the hipster Hooverville's a commentary on how downtown gentrification's supposedly pushing out supercool artist types like himself. Just like the Gypsies were forced to travel 'round Europe, downtown artists may someday be forced to live in cardboard boxes. Or, heaven forbid, in Glendale! All 'cause they can't afford bitchin' downtown condos.

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Geez, Lemons, you're such a windbag.

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