Chef Eulet King’s smile is as warm and inviting as a Bob Marley tune — think “Three Little Birds,” with the line, “Don’t worry ’bout a thing/’Cause every little thing gonna be all right.” You might even hear that melody wafting through the air of King’s modest Irie Jamaican Restaurant…
The Bird’s been crowin’ like a rooster after an all-nighter in the henhouse over the spanking Scottsdale voters gave the pro-Proposition 401 crowd on September 12. The absurd anti-lap-dance law bit the canvas like a bum boxer, with 52 percent of the electorate essentially telling Mayor Mary Manross and the…
Are the Navajo Nation and the Nation of Islam goin’ on the warpath together? That’s the scenario this carping canary initially imagined when it heard that none other than part-time south Phoenix resident Minister Louis “Lightning Rod” Farrakhan addressed the Navajo Nation Council at Window Rock, the Navajo capital. Farrakhan,…
Starring: Jesus Cristo as Himself Danny DeVito as God, a.k.a. “Big Poppa” Sheriff Joe Alzheimer’s and his deputized Posse of Alter Kockers Senator Jon Kyl as “Satan” Redneck Minutemen Loads of Illegal Immigrants Mayor Phil “I know I look dark, but I swear I’m not a Beaner” Gordon as Judas…
“Don’t portray us as a bunch of wackos,” 9/11 “truth” activist Kent Knudson warned this Walter Winchell of warblers during a recent interview. “We have our facts. We have evidence. We have witnesses. The government has nothing.” Nothing but, like, some science ‘n’ stuff. Knudson’s one of the main wacktivists…
The Bird chortled its freakin’ tail feathers off the other day watching Arizona’s daily press get played like a $2 harmonica by billionaire hucksters Peter and Harry Morton, and their PR butt boy Jason Rose, who by now should have about the same aura of believability as the kid who…
So I’m minding my own business, lounging in my triple-XL Underoos, crunchin’ on a big bowl of Cocoa Puffs and watching a rerun of the Squidbillies that I’d taped off Adult Swim, when the PHX’s Zooey Deschanel checks in with me via land line. “Hey, Kreme, whatcha doin’?” queries the…
Is Congressman J.D. Hayworth a boob or an anti-Semite? This rascally warbler knows there’s beaucoup evidence of the former, from J.D.’s days of almost starting fistfights on the House floor and reading lame-o Top 10 lists into the Congressional Record, to his embroilment in the Jack Abramoff scandal or his…
I’m chillaxing at the bar in the revamped and newly het-friendly lez club known as The Biz, formerly Ain’t Nobody’s Bizness, which up until recently mostly served the mulletcore of the PHX’s lesbian community. Beside me is a phatty who, despite her roundness, is good enough to do. Except that…
Last week, this park-lovin’ pigeon decided to take advantage of P-town’s “cold snap” of highs in the 90s and flap down to Wesley Bolin Memorial Plaza, right across from the Arizona State Capitol, for a summer stroll through that public promenade filled with monuments both large and small, both moving…
Tricky T’s on the tables at Camus this Sunday, dropping tracks as diverse as Damian Marley, Devo, Nine Inch Nails, and old-school Michael Jackson, while mixologist extraordinaire Carson Quinn prepares another one of his amaretto-infused Carson City Martinis for your 300-pound Paul Wall of the PHX. Yep, it’s the Lord’s…
The expectations game can be as dangerous for restaurant owners as playing mumblety-peg with a 10-inch, razor-sharp Bowie knife. If you roll into town telling all and sundry you’re the bee’s knees, pour $1 million into your eatery, and brag that your venture is going to be the only “authentic”…
Great Knights of Columbus, this carping canary can barely believe the scuttlebutt whispered in its ear-hole by a well-placed source in the offices of the Maricopa County Attorney, somebody The Bird will hereafter call Deep Beak! According to Deep Beak, our tough-talkin’ County Attorney Andy Thomas should be renamed Candy…
Pink Taco is to Mexican grub what the House of Blues is to soul food, or P.F. Chang’s is to Chinese. Each of these spots doles out eats for yupper middle-class, gringo palates. So if you’re expecting either a gourmet meal or an authentic ethnic dining experience when you go…
How often do you get to peep porno at a city attorney’s office? This pervy pelican’s referring to Mesa City Attorney Debbie Sphincter’s (uh, Spinner’s) office, where the top prosecutor keeps alleged lewd e-mails on file. See, Mesa coppers were sending these un-PC missives to each other until an internal…
The late ’70s. California. Macrobiotic cooking. Wacky New Age cults. Jogging. Yoga. Tibetan Buddhism. Jerry Brown and Linda Ronstadt. Uri Geller. Wheat germ. Meditation. The Esalen Institute. UFOs. Patty Hearst. Est. And my own personal fashion icon, the Reverend Jim Jones, the man who made guayaberas and dark sunglasses look…
What with Hot Pink! having shot its last hipster wad at Karamba this past April 28, there’s a huge, gnarly hole on Friday nights waiting to be filled. The twentysomething sleazy scenesters who rule the white-kid club scene here in Sand Land need an appropriately skuzzalicious venue wherein to work…
I wonder if Damon Brasch could do for veganism what American Apparel founder Dov Charney has done for generic clothing: make it sexy as all get-out. Brasch is the owner of Green, New American Vegetarian, a purveyor of vegan comfort food on Scottsdale Road in Tempe, not far from the…
You’ll recall this squawker’s scribblings regarding the whole Pink Taco brouhaha a couple of months ago. Scottsdale Mayor Mary Manross objected to the gynecological name of the Mexican-themed grub shack, which was setting up its second location at Snottsdale’s new highfalutin shopping/condo complex the Waterfront (“Raising Manross’ Hair,” April 27),…
There’s been no love lost between myself and those belonging to the Valley’s veg-head clan. And I’m a big enough man — literally as well as figuratively — to admit that certain prejudiced perceptions of the vegan/vegetarian tribe have heretofore inhibited my gustatory outings. Generally, when someone says the words…
I don’t know who’s been peeing in God’s Rice Krispies lately, but too many people I know have been dying. Seems like every time I turn around, someone cool has keeled over here in P-town, usually way before their time: a pal’s stepdaughter, a friend of a friend, or someone…
Why have I been skipping around the office, of late, humming Iron Butterfly’s heavy metal classic “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” as I go? Have I been doing peyote again? Swallowed a bag of ‘shrooms, followed by a tab or three of X? Yahweh, no. My drug of choice is made evident by the…
