A masterpiece of meat-puppetry, that’s what Jett and I are watching, along with hundreds of other corset-and-chaps-wearin’ sensation seekers as the clock clicks past 10 p.m. or so at The Sets in Tempe. The occasion is the June 4 Arizona Fetish Ball, dubbed the “Fetish Prom” for theme’s sake, and…
Like the late, great Rodney Dangerfield, Buffalo wings get no respect, no respect at all. The name “Buffalo” hardly engenders esteem, as that burg’s other contributions to the culture include Millard Fillmore, Vincent Gallo and the Goo Goo Dolls. Probably doesn’t help that the word can be used as a…
“Kreme,” sighs the Jettster via phone as we consult on our next nocturnal escapade. “I need a lap dance.” I’d only just gotten through to the J-unit at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, following a series of phone calls trying to locate her sorry ass so we could sketch out…
Whenever I visit The Gelato Spot, that new purveyor of Italian “ice cream” across from Zen 32 at 32nd Street and Camelback Road, I’m often reminded of that classic short story by Irwin Shaw, “The Girls in Their Summer Dresses.” It’s the one where this Gotham couple gets into a…
Like Houston MC Mike Jones says, if you don’t grind, you don’t shine, so the bisexual Eva Green and her cohort (that would be me) always make the scene, even when our funds are tight. As this has been the case of late, Jett and I have been on the…
Pizza is one of those foods I enjoy too much to actually indulge in very often. Once the feeding frenzy begins in earnest, I’ll go through an extra-large pie solo and start on the cardboard box if any cheese has dripped onto it. Keep your hands and feet away from…
“Take a hit off this Indo, Kreme,” Snoop Dogg advises, passing me a spliff the size of a Subway sandwich. “One toke’ll give you Chinese eyes, nephew.” I grab the fatty and inhale ’til the cherry’s blazin’. My lungs feel like that cherry looks, but I’m doin’ my Kremealicious best…
For this food critic, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as gnawing on a hunk of butt while perusing the Scottsdale-based Serbian Times and occasionally wondering how many pierogi a grown man can ingest before he explodes. The butt in question? Smoked pork butt, silly! From Stanley’s Home Made Sausage Co…
It ain’t easy being the Jay-Z and Beyoncé of the nightlife scene here in the PHX. For real, goin’ out every week, gettin’ our drink on, and sliding up on some of the finest squirrels you’ve ever seen may look like a sweet deal, but once in a while, the…
As any Birkenstocks-clad liberal arts major will tell you ad nauseam if you let him, the word “empire” is a loaded term, a Pandora’s box of negative connotations. From the conquest and subjugation of native peoples to Darth Vader and the Death Star, empires lack any redeeming characteristics. Or so…
“Can I rub your tummy for luck?” asks the gorgeous dime-piece before me in the lounge of the James Hotel’s J Bar in Scottsdale, her smooth skin the color of Ghirardelli chocolate. As her hands are already caressing my abdominal protuberance, I figure it’s best to reply in the affirmative…
I’m fairly skeptical about the concept of some sort of cosmic justice, whether it be a benevolent graybeard on a throne up in heaven, or something less silly, like the notion of karma. After all, not enough bad things happen to the right people. If my idea of karma were…
No such thing as bad publicity? Tell that weak sauce to Jodi Upton, owner of the hip-hop club CBNC (short for Coyote Bay Night Club) at Scottsdale’s Papago Plaza, which has been hurtin’ ever since former Arizona State Sun Devils football player Brandon Falkner caught a fatal bullet in the…
Like most foodies, I’m fond of almost all ethnic cuisines, and I’m always heartened to hear of another attempting a toe-hold in greater Phoenix. Indeed, upon learning of one, my first instinct is to pull on my socks and head out the door quicker than Pope Benedict XVI can sputter…
If you’re fresh to P-town, and know the lay of the cit-tay about as well as Ashlee Simpson knows how to hold a musical note, then let Professor Kreme school your ignorant ass on the chillest spot in the PHX, the Zona’s world-renowned lounge paradise Chez Nous, at 675 West…
I may pique the interest of Michael Jackson fans by saying so, but who knew that the, uh, cojónes of young calves would make such a mouth-watering appetizer? Not me, as I must admit to never partaking of this well-known Western delicacy before stopping by the reopened and revitalized Stockyards…
Submitted for your consideration: the worst sushi I’ve had since I made the mistake of walking into a Todai many years back. Sushi that makes Trader Joe’s prepackaged California rolls seem like the food of the gods. Sushi so repulsive that it’d make Pope John Paul II sit up on…
For my chedda, the most creative cats and kittens in P-town’s clubland belong to this city’s Goth-trance underworld. The playas and playettes of the hip-hop scene may dress fly, and the Scottsdale party people may look like they stepped out of a catalogue for Abercrombie and Bee-ahtch, but they don’t…
We need some new rules here on the Ponderosa, and the first one is that for every bad meal I have to endure, my belly deserves to be placated with a satisfying one. Truly, last week’s trek to Armadillo Grill was so hideous that I should be pampered like a…
It’s the witching hour at Sadisco, and the bisexual Brittany Murphy and I are watching a Victorian snuff-play done to throbbing industrial music that sounds like rusty steel grinding against broken glass. One by one, women dressed like Heather Graham’s whore buddies in From Hell are chased onto center stage…
Is it possible to predict a lousy dining experience as soon as you enter a chow house, without a peek at the bill of fare? You betcha. For instance, if the teenage hostess is on her cell phone calling her boyfriend, or the waitstaff’s forced to wear suspenders adorned with…
Harvard prez Larry Summers has been excoriated in the past few months by feminists, fellow academics, and the politically correct for suggesting that innate differences in guys and dolls might help explain why there aren’t more ladies present in the upper echelons of science and math. You know, the old…
