As the debate has raged over the latest beast on the ASU campus, the looming lavenderish hulk of the new Fine Arts Complex, it’s become clear that Tempe might be a difficult spot for a normal person to find somebody to like–seeing as how the available cliques harbor only lugheads…
I blame Ronald Reagan for many things, but most of all I blame him for his polyp. I remember his polyp almost as clearly as I remember his face. And during the polyp’s heyday, I saw nearly as many likenesses of it: It stared out at me, puffy and pink,…
As soon as it became clear a couple of months ago that Mayor Terry Goddard was abandoning the Municipal Center project, I phoned Ed Wundram. Wundram is the professional adviser who in 1985 oversaw our much-touted international design competition for a monumental building complex to house city government on the…
The stories follow a pattern: The mother is anxious, the doctor is pooh-poohing, and the child nearly dies–or does. The career of Kingman pediatrician Ahmad Khan, the doctor entrusted with Christine Clawson’s care, is distinguished at least in part by the unsettling stories that some Kingman mothers and grandmothers tell…
I called Cameron and Heidi because I cannot imagine what it feels like to be an entirely likable person. I cannot imagine that the day will ever come when drill squads of military men will tramp across the TV screen and chant about me some version of, “We like Cameron…
In the basement of the well-worn Kingman courthouse, the spectators who’ve arrived for the Clawson bail hearing are spilling out into the hall. As they wander around in the hall’s narrow dead end, their faces are alert for word from within the closet-sized courtroom that a way has been found…
On the morning of the biggest anti- abortion demonstration in Phoenix history, the prayerful, placard-bearing, demon-eyed enemies of abortion weren’t the real story. The real story was the complacent, glad-handing, slow-footed Phoenix police, who milled among the lawbreakers as though they’d stumbled into a party. This came as a huge…
I’m glad Rose Mofford isn’t my mother. She’d probably never shut up about those years when she chauffeured me back and forth to the orthodontist. “There were a lot of other things I wanted to be doing,” she’d remind me. “But time and again I gave up my plans for…
