Goods & Services

Culture is too often measured in art institutions. Yet places like Volumes give you the real pulse of a city’s art and design. To say this is our only source of Archi-Lit would be to damn it with faint praise. Everything about this store — its selection of books, its movable fabric walls and ceilings, and owner-designed shelves — distinguishes it as the city’s best recent Design den.

The place is small, but it’s substantial enough for browsers in search of a book about Gaudí to stray into a collection of writings by Walter Benjamin or Le Corbusier. Its ambitions are considerably larger. In addition to selling books, Volumes in the past year has sponsored film festivals, lectures, book drives and exhibitions of drawings and photographs. The result is a smart, elegant hub in a downtown that, the last time we looked, still has plenty of room for architecture and intellects to flourish.

A dreary corner of our retro bachelor pad benefited from a trip to this ultracool memorabilia superstore, which we found piled high with outlandish lamps. We resisted a ’70s salad-oil rain lamp, a fabulous ’50s floor model, and a light-up Lucite tiki god, opting instead for a pair of honest-to-gosh vintage lava lamps and a plastic tree with illuminated foliage.

Shoppers looking for a less illuminating experience, meanwhile, will take a shine to Go Kat Go’s extensive inventory of faboo furnishings, keen kitsch and groovy garb.

Remember that incident back in the ’80s, when some yahoo was killed when a giant cactus he’d been shooting at toppled over, crushing him to death? We do, and had the cactus survived, we would have been the first to give it a prickly high-five.

What happened to that cactus, we don’t know, but we hope it found a loving home with the folks at Spur Cross Gallery. For more than 17 years now, the gallery’s owners have been scavenging fallen saguaros and making them into beautiful art. (Don’t try this yourself! It is illegal to take saguaros, living or dead, from the desert without a permit, and no permits have been issued since 1991.)

It’s impossible not to be touched by the grandeur of these once-green giants, now stripped to skeletons of wood bleached gray, white and yellow. They soar from the top of the Gallery’s roof, lounge against its fences, and decorate its cool interior.

Some are small and smooth, made into wall sconces. Some are medium size, and hollowed out to be fitted with a light bulb inside. The largest — hundreds of years old — are untouched, their gnarled bases formed like melted candles, their tall arms still reaching for the sky.

Such beauty doesn’t come cheap. Plan on shelling out $200 for smaller specimens and as much as $8,000 for the gallery’s tallest cactus, a 20-footer. (In the interest of botanical discretion, we’ll refrain from making any jokes about “sticker price.”)

We suppose it was inevitable. Late one afternoon last spring, we espied Ralphie the Pug, Ranger the Rottweiler, Ginger the Pomeranian and Lizzie the Golden Retriever mingling easily in a corridor at Biltmore Fashion Park. Neither the dogs nor their masters seemed to have much familiarity with the meaner streets of our great metropolis. Both pups and humans were well-groomed, spiffy, comfortable in their skins — or fur. Every Thursday (except during the hot summer months) from 6 to 8 p.m., up to 80 canines crowd into this puppified shop on the venerable mall’s north side to gobble their treats — some of which seem more fitting for the two-legged animals. And they say it’s a dog’s world. So it is.

Most garage waiting rooms have all the appeal of, well, a garage waiting room. Call the decor Grease Monkey Hell: a few plastic chairs, an out-of-order pop machine, a table covered with old cam-shaft catalogues and a TV permanently tuned to Jenny Jones.

At the Car Repair Company (catchy name, guys!), purists can still read dog-eared issues of People if they’re so inclined. But you’ll find most stranded motorists ogling the owner’s collection of cool car kitsch. In addition to several old gas pumps (including a 1940s Sinclair model with the famous dinosaur logo), there’s a display case filled with vintage car toys like Hot Wheels, a Hasbro Amaze-A-Matic (“The fantastic car with a brain!”), a miniature Hooter’s van and something called Hairy Hurdles. Car culture accouterments are represented by a miniature Ramada Inn travel bag, a 1960s Kodak Instamatic and a variety of old pop bottles. A battered traffic cone from a race-car driving school, vintage car magazines and the tail end of a hot pink Cadillac Fleetwood bring up the rear.

The only thing possibly missing from this remarkable roadside attraction? A tape loop of a kid whining, “Are we there yet?”

With the hundreds of discount dens, bargain barns and 99-cent stores around the Valley, it takes a lot to get a seasoned bargain hunter to raise an eyebrow. But when you combine clean, intact men’s, women’s and children’s clothing and footwear, plus housewares, with 50 to 75 percent off retail prices, the Dillard’s Clearance Center can make even the cynical bargain shopper’s eyes pop out of their sockets.

The Dillard’s Clearance Center is the seasonal outlet for Dillard’s department stores in the area. That means you’re scoring the same merchandise for which you wouldn’t allow yourself to pay full retail, the only drawback being you’re buying corduroy pants and flannel shirts in April. But rest assured these garments aren’t ripped or stained, like you might expect from other discount venues that sell returned goods.

This bargain bonanza does come at a cost. Unlike other Dillard’s stores, this one doesn’t feature elaborate visual displays. But at prices like these, you’d have to be a dummy to quibble over the lack of a few mannequins.

Looking for a lock-pick gun? Trying to peep at your boss’s confidential mail but don’t know where to pick up the CIA Flaps and Seals Manual? Got a hankering to brew up some marijuana beer but can’t find the infamous how-to book (labels included)? Underground Mall is the spot for all that and a grip of other tools, toys, manuals and herbal pseudo-drugs that’ll have you about one inch this side of a jail sentence.

On a recent spree, we scored issue #8 of Super Taboo (an animé-porn comic, $2.95), a pack of tobacco-free “Ecstasy” cigarettes (agonizingly awful-tasting, $5.95), and got the hard sell for (but didn’t purchase) a rain-forest-derived hallucinatory herb called Salvia (sounds pretty cool, $32.95). And thanks to the sleaziest array of fetish videos imaginable (or, more accurately, unimaginable), kink fans will think they’ve died and gone to Al Goldstein’s rec room.

For an even larger selection of subversive fun, check out Underground’s catalogue, wherein you can find toys like the “Mind Molester,” a 1″ x 11/4″ electronic chirping device you hide that chirps one second every five minutes ’til it’s found ($29.99!); or try “Mega Sonic Nausea,” which emits ultrahigh frequency sound waves that generate queasiness in all within earshot (a great way to clear a classroom, $99.99).

For the porn-inclined, foul-minded, criminal-hearted or just plain curious, the Underground Mall is a gold mine.

Did you long ago give up hope of ever finding a copy of preteen belter Lena Zavaroni’s 1974 novelty disc “Ma! He’s Making Eyes at Me”? Sorry, we got to Prickly Pair first and beat you to it.

Not only did we zone in on Zavaroni, we also carted off such hard-to-find goodies as a pre-Cher Sonny Bono 45, a Herman’s Hermits EP, and a Beatles eight-track (still in the shrink!). Now closing in on its 20th anniversary, Prickly Pair isn’t your average house of wax. Its huge inventory of singles (several hundred thousand vintage platters, plus heaps of newly minted jukebox 45s) is given special attention: The records are catalogued by artist and title on the store’s computer system, and kept out of reach of customers, so they’re always in order and accessible to fanatical collectors and casual listeners alike.

Clued-in counter helpers are glad to grab a stack of singles by any artist on your list, and will probably offer little-known details about the artist and tunes you’re buying, besides. (Bet you didn’t know that little Lena died of anorexia a couple of years back.)

Where is it written that a huge national bookstore chain is inherently inferior to a cramped, poorly stocked counterpart run by aging unicorn-huggers who can quote chapter and verse on J.R.R. Tolkien?

If it’s in print, one of the army of friendly staffers at Borders will direct you to a section of the store devoted to that very same school of thought. And in the unlikely event Borders can’t help you? Well, you can always schlep over to the aforementioned maverick bibliothèque and listen to a clerk bend your ear with an oral rendition of that “big business is bad” diatribe.

Us? We’re bookin’ to Borders.

Readers’ Choice for Best Bookstore — New Titles: Borders

Squeezed out of its longtime Mill Avenue digs last spring by the prospect of competition from a yet-to-be-announced national chain, this beloved independent bookstore didn’t surrender. In fact, its second store is now thriving in its second location — in a Tempe strip center just two doors from another used-book shop.

Like its defunct flagship store, the new offshoot hosts book clubs, travel talks, author signings, poetry corners, kids’ story times, psychic readings and more. Gone are the musty old corners that inspired treasure hunts. But the larger spot offers bigger, blended collections of used and new books, a still-artsy greeting-card selection, an expanded children’s corner, an adjacent cafe, and still-funky merchandise ranging from candles to kazoos.

Granted, national bookstore behemoths and their online cousins do offer convenience, selection and competitive pricing beyond Changing Hands’ grasp. But you’ve got to hand it to this 26-year-old hometown fave: In addition to books, its shelves are stocked with soul, history and the guts to refuse to bow to the giants.

Readers’ Choice for Best Bookstore — Used: Bookman’s

If aerobics are too low-impact for you, and the mere thought of yoga-induced bliss puts you to sleep, you were born to do Pilates.

This fast-growing fitness trend, pronounced “pul-LAH-teez,” increases strength and flexibility while developing an athlete’s awareness of one’s center (abs, back and butt). Using specially designed machines, LaPierre (whose New York accent perfectly complements her unique, no-nonsense approach) can lead you through an infinite number of exercises, all designed to put your flabby abs — as well as some other muscles you never knew you had — firmly back in place.

LaPierre maintains that Pilates is for everyone, regardless of their physical condition, and anyone reluctant to join group fitness classes should take heart: Pilates is performed on a private or semi-private basis. You’ll appreciate LaPierre’s candor, not to mention her workout’s effect on your love handles.

So it doesn’t have five floors and special columns that light up during the summer solstice. We still like going to the Mesa Public Library.

It’s got an impressive collection of material, yet it’s small enough to navigate. And it’s got chess sets in the youth area, a bulletin board offering jobs to teens and a sheet music index. But what will turn you into a Mesa library fan is its honor system copying policy. The first 10 sheets are free, whether it’s stuff you print off the Internet, copies made from microfiche or microfilm (usually 25 cents apiece) or any other stuff you might want to slap on the copy machine glass.

One rule, though: You can use the copier to duplicate library material only. Do you copy?

Thank heaven the owners of Saints and Sinners rent a retail space at the Willow House coffee shop, allowing us to pick up devilishly fun gifts on the cheap — and on the go.

Along with traditional “Day of the Dead” sugar skulls, you can find a cast iron Catholic Nun bottle opener for a ten-spot. For 12 clams, pop pennies in a coin bank shaped like a Mexican wrestler’s head. Need to release some tension? How about a set of head-butting, arm-swinging wooden fighters for $1? And $8.50 will get you a pair of Mutant Women From Outer Space salt and pepper shakers.

An offshoot of the late, lamented flagship store in Glendale, this Saints and Sinners nook obviously doesn’t have the extensive selection as the original location. Still, we never fail to find something kooky and unique — and still have change left over for a coffee refill.

Don’t you dare go write a fat check at an upscale antique boutique before spending an afternoon digging through the funky furniture shops on this stretch of Bell Road.

Camouflaged in a motley section from 24th to 29th streets are four wonderlands of eclectic furniture and accessories, some of it used, some new, others identical to Scottsdale gallery pieces but without the price tags that pay for the landlord’s Jag.

Our top choice is Another Time Around Furniture, a 10-year-old business that originally sold pre-owned items and now specializes almost entirely in new items from all over the world. Treasures include rustic bookcases (kiln-fired so they don’t crack like kerosene-dried cheapies), Tiffany-style lamps from Quoisel, Meyda and Dale and, on one visit, a $200 hand-carved Paris bench. Prices range from $5 to $4,000 furniture sets.

A close second is J&K Furniture next door, a claustrophobic warehouselike building where furniture spills out into the parking lot. Cupid’s has a bohemian emphasis, while the Furniture Registry specializes in furnishings from the Lucy and Ricky Ricardo era.

For lower-end comfort, a honkin’ big La-Z-Boy is hard to beat. But for higher-end visual pleasures, the furniture at this intimate showroom just down the street from the Phoenix Art Museum is about as good as modern design gets.

The gallery specializes in mid-century furnishings from the original production lines of such companies as Herman Miller, Knoll and Dunbar. A knowledgeable furniture aficionado who’s always tracking down new troves of tables, chairs, sofas and dressers, proprietor David Sheflin specializes in works by wizards like George Nelson, Hans Wegner, Edward Wormley, Charles and Ray Eames, Warren McArthur and, every so often, Frank Lloyd Wright.

Hidden between the big names are one-chair wonders and other little-known designers whose works cause design neophytes and jaded connoisseurs alike to tilt their heads in curiosity. Just don’t make the mistake of asking, “Did anyone design this?” As Sheflin will be quick to point out, “Furniture does not design itself. Someone designed everything.”

So maybe money can’t buy good taste, but at least you’ll have a running start at acquiring some — for a price — at Showcase at the Peak. With two ever-expanding locations, this emporium specializes in exotic imported furniture and home accessories from far-flung places around the globe. Though many of the things Showcase at the Peak carries are new, made-to-look-centuries-old items, they still reflect a sophisticated sensibility carefully developed and nurtured by quick bucks acquired from successful day trading.

You, too, can be the proud owner of a Moroccan Berber-made goatskin lamp festooned with intricate designs of henna paste. And won’t your neighbors be green with envy when you show them that pair of six-foot, carved-and-gilded Mexican candlesticks you bought here by mortgaging your first-born? The last time we spied on Showcase’s inventory, we literally stumbled over, among other treasures, Balinese woodcarvings, Italian majolica pottery, primitive Moroccan ceramics, inlaid mosaic (zillig) tile tables and hand-painted Moroccan tea tables.

From Japanese tansu and antique Tibetan chests to a turn-of-the-century Chinese shrine that looks like a puppet theater, Showcase always seems to have a constant stream of items guaranteed to add a certain élan to that poorhouse you’ll be decorating after you shop here.

No, we’re not going to tell you where to hook up with a Girl Scout wanna-be — or even a bakery that sells triple-fudge cookie confections. What we’re talking about here are old Kodak Brownie cameras and other vintage photographic equipment lusted after by seriously insatiable shutterbugs.

Zoom in on Collectible Cameras, a picture-perfect repository of photographic equipment dating back almost to the dawn of the daguerreotype. The north Phoenix showroom carries literally hundreds of old twin reflex cameras in mint condition, early 35mm single lens reflex models by all the top manufacturers and vintage field cameras (including an old beauty we spotted made of cherry wood). Primordial point-and-shoots, old Speedgrafix (you know, the kind of camera that crime-scene photographers used to pop off in the 1940s), lenses by the load, medium format studio cameras — Collectible Cameras even handles old enlargers and light meters you’d swear were used by Ansel Adams. And if you happen to find a vintage Leica lurking in your linen closet, this place also buys cameras.

Say “Cheese!” — and check out the store’s Web site at www.ritzcam.com for a complete list of inventory and current prices.

Drooling over that sleek ‘n’ slinky postmodern design look that permeates the pages of haute decorating mags like Elle Decor and Metropolitan Home? You know, the kind in those glossy spreads showing futuristic furniture that looks like it’s straight out of a 1960s Euro-hip sci-fi thriller?

If you’re the young, urban hipster type with wheelbarrows of cash, a generous trust fund and/or a discriminating decorating mindset backed up with a viable credit card, Ferraras is the place to make your scene.

Once specializing in accessories, this award-winning design studio has changed course, concentrating now (in addition to designing hot residential and commercial environments) on high-end contemporary furniture and lighting from Italy, the Netherlands, Canada and the U.S. It’s the perfect stop for furniture shopping when you have boodles of bucks and need some tasteful direction for creating the ultimate po-mo pad du jour.

Marcello and Ursula will dig it the most.

Cryogenics? Why freeze the dear departed when Dr. Don can turn a photo of your late loved one into a commemorative fridge magnet? Yes, a fridge magnet, complete with the name of the deceased and a brief message and/or dates of time on Earth.

Untraditional? Perhaps. A funeral crowd-pleaser? You bet!

Cost of these postmortem mementos is about 70 cents apiece when purchased in lots of 1,000; prices vary according to style and number of magnets ordered. Remembrance pins are also available at a lesser price.

Until someone comes up with a tee shirt emblazoned with GRANDMA WENT TO HEAVEN AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STINKIN’ TEE SHIRT, we can’t think of a cooler — or more useful — way to remember someone who’s no longer with us.

No one needs a pair of vintage hatpin cushions or a 60-year-old pressed-glass punch bowl. But it’s hard to not buy items when they’re priced as low as the cool stuff at this three-year-old shop tends to be. Wedged between a couple of antique malls and the brand-new Willo Bakery, this often-overlooked trove aims to please with low prices on three full rooms of cool, shabby chic furnishings. Check out the stash of neat vintage record albums, the wall of ancient mirrors, and the vast pile of old china, all priced to move.

We couldn’t resist a $200 Armani suit at a local clearance shop, even if it was two sizes too big. Finding a tailor willing to fix this fashion find was another matter altogether. But George Nicolopoulos, owner and proprietor of Thomas Family Cleaners and Tailors, was happy to rip apart our new eveningwear and make it fit our frame.

The bill George presented was surprisingly small — about $30 — and big helpings of warm chatter from wife Kathy made the experience all the more delightful. So much so that we hauled in a pile of pants that needed letting out and an old soup-stained quilt. All were returned to us good-as-new in a matter of days.

Every few weeks, Tarnished Treasures’ owners hit the road to comb estate sales and confer with junk dealers all over the country, returning to restock their collection of the highest quality, most original used furniture, hardware and knickknacks in the Valley. The beat-up look is in, and interior designers — as well as boutique owners — line up at the door when a new shipment arrives.

Recent trips to Tarnished Treasures have yielded a perfectly preserved set of deco armchairs and couch, hand-painted armoires, enormous Mary Tyler Moore-esque letters of the alphabet and, for the more adventurous decorator, long, skinny, low metal folding tables with patterns punched in the top — used to cool corpses in the 1920s.

Call ahead because hours change weekly. And happy hunting!

You’ve seen those folks who do balloon animals at fairs or restaurants to keep the kids happy? Elaine Klein is a novice, yet a virtuoso. Unlike most twisters whose inflated rubber repertoires are limited to air-filled poodles and squeaky sombreros, Elaine interviews kids (or adults) before pulling something out of her . . . imagination.

The lady knows how to work a room. While visiting a Scottsdale restaurant recently, we witnessed a 12-year-old birthday girl modeling one of Elaine’s breathtaking creations — a four-foot-tall hot pink balloon showgirl headdress that matched her outfit.

And this fantastic elastic haberdasher has another specialty: Playing off VeggieTales, a popular Christian video series, Elaine will entertain at private birthday parties with balloon-themed fun centering on such characters as Larry the Cucumber, Bob the Tomato and Junior Asparagus.

We mean it in the best possible way when we say: MissElaineous, you really blow!

Pop Culture Classics doesn’t specialize in sports memorabilia. It’s an equal-opportunity kitsch paradise, with mint-condition pop esoterica like Doctor Who comic books, UNICEF Barbie dolls, Superman costumes, Chewbacca masks and even a KISS makeup kit that includes autographed stamps of approval from Gene Simmons and Co.

But the shop’s sports section makes up in quality — or, at the very least, weirdness — what it lacks in sheer volume. In addition to a smart collection of sports cards, you’ll find sealed boxes of Jake’s Flakes (Jake Plummer’s premature stab at cereal immortality), Frosted Mini-Wheats celebrating Grant Hill, and a whacked-out array of action figures, from David Cone to Charles Barkley to soccer legend Diego Maradona.

If you buy the right combination of Hall of Fame action figures, you can even set up your own dream batting match-up. Recommended choice: Rogers Hornsby facing the hard-throwing — and hard-drinking — Grover Cleveland Alexander. Miniature whiskey flask not included.

Blue Dragon and its small team of dutiful tattooists — along with “John the Piercist” — bestow upon their customers the most presentable cornucopia of full-color tats and unpredictable piercings found just about anywhere. Blue Dragon’s artists are renowned for their abilities, sought after by Phoenicians and even out-of-towners. Tattoos are done meticulously with fanciful flares, with imagery ranging from tribal to urban, insects to Celtics, daggers to demons and girls to monsters.

In the event you should walk out of Blue Dragon one night with your forearm bejeweled with a sizable flame-hued horned nymph that you’ll never be able to justify to your significant other, take heart in the fact that the tat will, at least, be a lovely one. Averaging $80 to $90 a scrawl, tattoos at the Blue Dragon won’t cost you a limb or two, either.

Art, schmart. We were just looking to get our toenails pruned.

So imagine our surprise when we sat back for our 7 p.m. pedicure session at this full-service salon, only to be startled by the sound of live guitar music. We opened our eyes and saw a table with punch and cookies, then noticed the abstract oil paintings on the walls.

We were in the middle of an art opening.

Turns out, Mood Swings plays host to local artists. The art — for sale, naturally — hangs on the très chic brick walls, and every two months, on a Thursday evening, Mood Swings hosts an opening, complete with live music by a salon employee.

Cultural enrichment and a foot rub — what could be better?

Sorry you did it? Tattoos go on more easily than they come off — but they do come off. And a consortium of community groups in Mesa will help you remove them if you’re willing to put up with a little pain and a few hours of community service.

Started by the Mesa Gang Intervention Project, the tattoo-removal program was designed to get rid of gang tattoos as a first step toward getting people out of gangs. But program officials will bend the rules if you can make a good case for it — and if you’re willing to do the volunteer work required of all participants.

Area doctors, the Boys and Girls Club, Mesa General Hospital, Mesa Fire Department and others donate their time and equipment to make the procedure free, quite a savings since a typical tattoo costs $1,200 to remove. The laser removal — which sounds and feels like rubber bands snapping at your skin — takes several sessions, can be painful and in some cases leaves scarring.

But it will leave you with a clean slate.

Just because barbers spend on average three hours a year running their fingers through your hair doesn’t mean they have to know how much you make or what you paid for your house. Rule of thumb, if your mother doesn’t know something, why should your hair stylist?

That’s why the silent scissors of Yury Yakobuv are such a godsend. Unlike snooty unisex salon stylists, this masterful mane man isn’t interested in who cut your hair last. Show up with gum in your hair and he probably wouldn’t bat an eye. He just lets you watch Ricki Lake or The Price Is Right or whatever’s on his portable TV while he administers the comb dipped into blue antiseptic “Barbicide,” the talcum on the neck, the hot foam shave, the razor around the ears, all the things you go to a barber for except conversation. You could be a regular for years and still never know what former Soviet republic he’s from. He’d probably tell you if you asked, but it’s more fun seeing how few words you’ll need to part with beyond “short back and sides.”

That oughta be on his business card — “More Yakobuv, less yaks.”

Finally, someone who understands a woman’s deep, biological need for a new pair of shoes.

“A woman can spend three and a half hours upstairs [in women’s clothing] and nothing’s working, but they know they can come down and buy a new pair of shoes and they’re happy,” says Betty Di Marco, a sales associate at Dillard’s in Paradise Valley Mall. “It’s like a fix.”

She’s the best professional sole sister we’ve ever seen, and we’ve seen a lot.

So how does Di Marco do it? After fitting strangers’ hoofs for five years at Dillard’s and seven at a boutique in Boca Raton, Florida, she can judge your shoe size just by looking. She knows — even if you don’t — whether you walk on the outside or inside of your foot, or have extra long toes (yuck) or have a pronated (forward-leaning) foot.

Fashionwise, same deal. You want white sandals, low heel but “look at my red toenails” sexy? She can pluck the stockroom clean without even scanning the displays.

Her advice for finding a good shoe salesperson?

If someone lays three boxes at your feet and doesn’t open them, take your shoe fetish elsewhere. “That’s a big clue. They just don’t care,” says Di Marco. “Of course, the shoes won’t fit; they haven’t looked at your feet. That’s just a clerk.”

We may not know feet like she does, but we’ve got Di Marco sized up. No clerk, she.

For service, inventory and professionalism, J. Stephens wins this one in a walk.

Small but well-stocked, Stephens carries the usual well-heeled brands. More important, however, it offers that fading American ideal: service.

We know of one fellow who went to buy a pair of new shoes and wound up with free replacements for the year-old but well-walked ones he was wearing. The cordial salesman spied the eroded inside heel of the right hoof, said, “That shouldn’t have worn like that,” and sent it back to the company. No fuss, all gratis and unrequested.

Al Bundy, eat your heart out.

Your mind and body are in perfect balance; you’ve attained a harmony you never knew existed; you’re sweating like a pig, and your head is shoved between your legs.

Yes, you’re at the Yoga Institute, where trained instructors lead you through 27 different postures in a room heated to a balmy 110 degrees. This is Bikram’s yoga, and may well be the most challenging workout you’ve ever had. The Institute’s instructors are knowledgeable, friendly, informative, and well aware of everyone’s limitations (“You can mess with the gods, but don’t mess with your knees” is their mantra).

Grab a few towels and a big jug of water, and prepare yourself for 90 minutes of sweating, grunting, contorting, and the most exhilarating feeling any ground-based legal activity can possibly offer.

What really makes Albertsons your store?

It’s the zeal in which it displays those marginal items that hang off the shelves in the middle or end of an aisle, things like big salad forks or ice cream scoopers that can’t sit on a shelf. Whoever is in charge of this unique product placement should be commended, at least by Happy Tooth, for placing Reach toothbrushes right next to the boxes of couscous and dental floss dispensers beside Millstone Golden Oats.

But why is a value pack of balloons hanging near the tomato juice? (Is there some sick fraternity gag we don’t know about where you have to feign busting a gut in front of impressionable children?)

If you were to play word association, you’d never come up with some of these mental links in a million years. You say “Kellogg’s Corn Pops” and he says, “Aaah, you want Baby Wipes.” You say “Nutra Grain Bars” and he says, “Might I suggest a monkey-shaped cereal dish with a straw coming out?”

We can appreciate why cheerleader pompoms hang near the cupcake section, but we don’t think we even want to know why there’s Ozium Pocket Sized Air Sanitizer Spray over the canned Fish Steak. This just can’t be good for sales!

With Tower Records no longer a player in the video rentals game, Movies on Central wins in a walk.

And after a stroll through the store’s compact-but-tasty inventory of rarely seen titles, you’ll understand how this video boutique has nurtured a Valleywide clientele drawn to tapes not to be found in the Valley anywhere else under one roof.

In addition to all the usual cult-movie suspects (Russ Meyer, John Waters, Gregg Araki), Movies on Central fills in the video cracks with film-festival indies, foreign titles, documentaries and an exemplary collection of classics and musicals.

Oh, and did we mention they take reservations?

Readers’ Choice: Blockbuster

Every couple of months, the clever kids who operate this stylish shabby-chic emporium rent a U-Haul and head for parts Midwestern. Along the way, they buy up cool old chairs, swell ’60s sofas, ancient oil paintings and stacks of another man’s treasures. Their return signals the latest “truckload sale,” a bimonthly event attended by increasingly larger crowds of collectors, antique dealers and anyone else looking for a smoking deal on old furnishings and funky stuff.

These odd objets are hawked right off the truck in Qcumberz’s parking lot in the wee hours of a quietly publicized weekend. Leave your name and number with the friendly staff, and one of them will telephone to remind you when the next truck will be pulling up.

Best buzz kill?

Fess up, we all hate the buggers, and for our money there’s nothing better for terminating the two-winged terrors than the fatal fly swatters we got at the 99 Cents Discount Store. Sure, they cost more than the ones you find in supermarkets and hardware stores, but face it, those vendors really want you to purchase some industrial-strength repellent or $100 bug zapper, so they try to paw off ineffectual swatters that bend and tear against hard surfaces.

In contrast, these 99-cent jobs are fierce and fearsome, with deadly smashing planes the size of elephantine oven mittens. And unlike those sissy swatters that come in fluorescent pinks or greens, these babies only come in basic primary killing colors like fire engine red and jungle green, the better to keep your mind on what you’re actually doing — singling out one of God’s most graceful living organisms and squashing him into gutsy bug mush.

On a test run, we were able to take out three flies at a stroke — although, in truth, two were fornicating at the time. SPLAAAT!

Anyone who’s obsessed with cooking and culinary presentation will be pawing the plate-glass front window of Sur La Table to get at the extravagant display of high-tech pots, pans and steamers designed to reel in the addicted, hook, line and sinker. Stuffed into 5,000 square feet of retail space is virtually everything ever conceived for roasting, toasting, poaching and/or hosting.

There are pans and electric rice cookers here big enough for a potlatch, as well as pricey copper stockpots and a complete line of Le Creuset enameled cookware. You’ll even find a chic sauté setup for creating cherries jubilee among at least 11 different chafing and fondue (yep, it’s baaaack!) dishes. Not to mention a myriad of melon ballers, microplane graters and citrus zesters. And real Moroccan couscous steamers and tagines.

The equivalent of a fun shop for kitchen magicians, this culinary hardware store also carries related non-cooking items, like candles for intimate dining à deux or products to clean those pesky red wine stains some uncultured slob unceremoniously deposited on that favorite antique tablecloth.

From scoops to nuts (the kind that go with washers), Standard is a sure bet for any object remotely connected with restaurant and bar food service. From a deep-fry basket as big as Idaho or a classic, truck-stop diner napkin dispenser, you’ll find it here. And for caterer wanna-bes, there are silver plate serving platters and standard-issue chef’s jackets ripe for the plucking.

The more ingenious in the cooking/construction crowd will also find a treasure trove of restaurant-strength appliances, like eight-burner gas stoves and large refrigeration suitable for a serious kitchen remodel. The store also stocks used equipment, like stainless-steel prep tables with built-in wash sinks or under-counter freezer units — stuff that not only looks cool, but is sublimely utilitarian to boot.

For everything in the kitchen — up to and including that proverbial sink — this is the place.

Aerobics has come a long way since Olivia Newton-John bleated, “Let’s get physical!” in leg warmers and a terry headband, and Linda Rogers-Jojola has helped reshape this former fitness craze. Using a combination of step aerobics, resistance training, kickboxing and Pilates, Linda helps sculpt a healthy, functional and (hopefully) attractive body for each member of her class. (And no, you don’t need to join the club to participate.) With a seemingly endless amount of energy, she motivates students without the artificial amplification or drill-sergeant mentality typical of many aerobics instructors. Linda knows bodies, and she spends a good part of every day sharing that knowledge: When she isn’t teaching classes at Phoenix Suns Athletic Club or Estrella Mountain Ranch, she’s sweating through her regular spot as fitness advisor on Fox 10 News.

Need more proof that aerobics is good for you? Just look at Linda. We thought she was our age, only to discover that her children are our age.

Reading the labels on philosophy cosmetic/skin care products is like browsing the self-help aisle at Barnes & Noble. Moisturizer is “hope in a jar,” eye cream is “eye believe,” exfoliator is “help me” or “the great awakening” — because “sometimes your skin needs a wake-up call.”

Created by a Phoenix aesthetician, philosophy has been a hit in high-end department stores across the country; skin care experts dig the products. The company entered a new age this summer with the opening of its first store — on Mill Avenue. Now Mill Rats and sorority chicks can cruise the aisles, contemplating “message in a bottle” (shower gel), “the supernatural fingerpaints” (glittery makeup) and “be somebody” (body lotion).

Self-help? Try “shelf-help.”

A teenager dragged us here one day, hoping to shock us with the crazy fashions stocked at Spine. Now, she’s mortified to find that it’s one of our favorite places for funk-alicious, one-of-a-kind threads. We’re not allowed to meet her friends anymore.

These gently worn items are from — or inspired by — the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s. The most modern thing we’ve found here is an Angry Beavers shirt, but it sure looks retro, with its bowling shirt cut, red lapels and ultra crisp starched fabric.

Spine is the place to go for sequined sweaters, fringe vests and torridly floral bell-bottoms. It’s also the place for glittery garb on a small budget.

Readers’ Choice for Best Secondhand Store: Buffalo Exchange