My dawg Jett, a.k.a. the lezzy Nelly, has been ailin’ of late ’cause she got dumped by her squeeze of the week, some fine hoochie-mama with bodacious ta-tas. The girl went Unabomber on me, and locked herself in her room with some bud and a bottle of Tanqueray. “What you…
One of the bonuses of dwelling in a real metropolis is having a reputable Indian eatery within reasonable distance of one’s digs. When I resided in New York, I was the luckiest I’ve ever been in this regard. My building was near 23rd Street and Lexington Avenue, and just a…
Death and taxes. The two unavoidables of human existence had me knee-deep in the dumps. It happened after I visited my local H&R Block on Camelback to see how much I didn’t get back from the supposedly massive Bush tax cut. Okay, I admit, I did qualify for a piddling…
Like Snoop says in that joint they play all the time on Power 92.3, “Green’s for the money, the money, the money.” But green’s also for the mainstay of P-town bar-band culture, the Emerald Lounge, the kind of place where hot bands rub up against friendly drunks and stoners. It’s…
Let me share a little secret with you: Journalists love to eat and eat well, but we’re also notoriously cheap. In part, this has to do with the fact that almost no one gets rich off scribbling for a living. And probably, deservedly so, if you judge by what’s sometimes…
Dime time. That means, 10 o’clock on a Thursday night, and I’m chillin’ at my homegirl Jett’s pad as she readies herself to ride on da club. The crib’s split between her side and that belonging to her roommate, T-Dog. One guess which side looks like a Hummer did doughnuts…
Allow me to address a theme that runs through a number of missives I’ve received from my detractors, most of whom have this ass-backwards notion that restaurant reviews should be as chipper as the banter of those coifed nimrods over at Good Morning Arizona. That is, when somebody deigns to…
Hey, Phoenix, where the freaks at, baby? Your 300-pound mack of wack and his lezzie Lara Croft been hankerin’ for some underground weirdness of the first water. We craved the bizarre, the bugged-out, the deviant — and the plain ol’ nasty. Luckily, a light bulb illuminated above Jett’s spiked ‘do:…
The good news first: I’ve recently had the pleasure of eating at the hippest new sushi joint in the Valley, with maki rolls so innovative, and yet professionally prepared, that I’d almost be willing to move upstairs from the place so that I could get my daily fix. Now the…
I’m at home splashing on some Pierre Cardin musk, preparing to step out and get skunked at the illustrious Bikini Lounge on Grand Avenue, when the celly beeps to the tune of Too Short’s “Shake that Monkey.” Of course, it’s that lezzie lady-pimp of renown, my partner in nighttime inebriation,…
Though I have yet to visit Siam, I have lived in the next best place for Thai cuisine: Los Angeles. In La-La Land, there are nearly as many Thai restaurants as there are taquerias in Phoenix, and I became so accustomed to that country’s unique mélange of spicy, sweet-and-sour flavors…
That Big Playboy in the sky works in mysterious ways. The Lesbian Johnny Knoxville and I had chosen to ride on Minder Binder’s ska-punk Thursdays, expecting to find folks bouncing their heads to the sounds of local, Von Dutch-wearin’, AFI wanna-bes. But when we arrive at that big, red barn…
Pardon my language, but all of these low-carb-South Beach-Atkins fanatics can take a giant bite out of my billowy boxers. Why, I’m as dyspeptic as John Ashcroft with a grapefruit-size gallstone, and all because of this asinine Atkins drivel that would have us forgo one of the most satisfying gustatory…
The ads running in Phoenix’s local media couldn’t be more straightforward, and seemingly guileless. Beneath a photo of one of the art world’s most popular icons, Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen, is the title of the exhibition now on display until May 30 at the Phoenix Art Museum, “Degas in Bronze.”…
Oh, the things I do for my beloved public! I was at home the other day, enjoying a bottle of Shiraz, nibbling on a hunk of Kerrygold Dubliner cheese, and exploring sites about numismatics on the Internet, when I checked my e-mail to discover an impassioned missive from an employee…
It was eye-popping: Countless teenage bimbettes in low-cut jeans or short pleated skirts and provocative tops. If I had a dollar for every glimpse of skin-glittered ass-cleavage at Britney Spears’ Glendale Arena concert on a recent Wednesday night, I could afford a swimming pool full of Kris, and a set…
Drift Polynesian Restaurant and Tiki Lounge, ,
Ever since blowing into this desiccated town from El Lay’s relatively humid climes, a number of fellow lowlifes have told me about a notorious gangbanger club at 2424 East Thomas that even scares the bejesus out of Phoenix SWAT. Apparently, the nightspot’s also the Saturday after-hours hangout for brown-and-black Phoenix…
My personal mantra in all things culinary and cultural mimics that wry, clock-wearing philosopher of yore, Public Enemy’s Flava Flav, who was fond of advising listeners, “Don’t believe the hype!” That ageless, pithy axiom can apply equally to Jay-Z’s announced intention to resign from rap (not again!), as well as…
All you P-town ballers grab a pencil and take notes: Kreme and Jett don’t go anywhere before 10 p.m. Maybe if the Legislature ever gets off its ass and ups the drinking cutoff to 2 a.m., like most non-Mormon-inspired metropolises, then I can finally trade up to 11 p.m. In…
As you might surmise from my pork-lovin’ Tar Heel roots, there’s nothing I adore more than a mass of shredded swine. But here in the desert, so far from the slaughterhouses of my native North Carolina, I’ve rarely come across restaurateurs who can prepare pig so that the meat is…
The dance floor at Hot Pink squirms like an orgy with clothes: Women and men, women and women, men and men and a number of more complicated combinations gyrate together — humping, grasping, petting each other to the cyberpunk snarl of Billy Idol’s “Dancing With Myself.” Blue and red lights…
