Shopping & Services

For many crafty folks, bead parties have replaced paint-your-own-pottery as the creative outlet du jour. If you’re looking for materials, head to Beads Galore International, Inc.

Tucked into a small industrial park, Beads Galore is easy to miss — and easy to skip, you might think as you enter the cramped foyer and are asked to hand over your purse to a clerk as a security precaution. But step inside to a mesmerizing beader’s paradise, with every color and touch from inexpensive glass to moderate crystal and ceramic to pricey semiprecious garnets, tourmaline and topaz. Beads Galore also has trappings such as trays and clamps to help you bead properly, and jewelers pliers, cutters, wire and clasps to turn your strands into bona fide jewelry. The friendly staff will assist befuddled beginners. Bead happy!

We’ve been to enough weddings to know that finding the perfect present for a bride and groom can be excruciating, far worse than buying an elusive Christmas gift for the “person who has everything.” We’ve also seen the pained expressions of newlyweds as they unwrap some God-awful gift that they don’t need or want. (“Oh, what a lovely set of crocheted doilies!”) Crate & Barrel offers a fresh, modern take on household basics like dishes, linens, silverware and kitchen appliances — cups and saucers fit for a French cafe, or a Japanese-inspired lamp to give the honeymooners a sexy bedroom glow. And couples can register for enough gorgeous matching furniture and accessories to outfit an entire house.

The clothes here aren’t just old, they’re insane. Wonderfully, utterly insane. Amiable proprietor Louis Merisola is quick to tell you why: His wife, Linda, is a show-biz wardrobe stylist who outfits actors for films and TV commercials. Which explains why you’re likely to find more than one hot-pink marabou peignoir on display at this hip downtown boutique. In addition to new-issue, retro-look togs, Spine offers some incredible vintage items, like garish dinner jackets, shocking layered-chiffon capes, and the swankest period sleepwear and smoking jackets you’ll find in town. Prices vary, but the time saved seeking a vulgar solid-gold-sequined trench coat or a Busby Berkeleyesque lamé-lapeled tuxedo is worth a couple of extra dimes.

A return policy at a thrift store? It’s true. Savers has one and will issue store credit if you’ve made a fashion boo-boo. This comes in handy if you’re costuming a kid’s play, costuming a family, or costuming yourself and realized you should have gone to the dressing room after all, to make sure that spangly sweater set actually fit. Speaking of dressing rooms, here they’re abundant and clean. Like the ads say, Savers really is “the thrift department store,” and a lot of bargains can be had on its “Dollar Tuesdays” and ongoing half-off weekly color tag sales. This chain consistently shatters all “thrift shop” stereotypes: It doesn’t reek; screaming kids are drowned out by piped-in “Everything Old Is New Again” Muzak; and — because the friendly staff is forever restocking — there’s always something new (and old!) to find.

Sure, we’re slaves to fashion — but not when it comes to our feet. Give us a pair of clogs or some close-toed Birkenstocks and we’re delighted, style be damned!

Turns out, you can have both comfort and style. We were waltzing through life, happy in our brown clogs and our gray Birks, until we happened upon the selection at the Shoe Mill. The shop stocks a wide supply of the black, gray and brown basics, but we could take to the runways in leopard-spotted Danskos, flowered Dr. Martens boots, bright blue Simple sandals — a rainbow of arch support.

The Shoe Mill has the best selection of comfortable shoes we’ve seen anywhere. The sandal-clad employees practice what they preach and offer knowledgeable assistance besides. We’d bet our bright red, closed-back Danskos on it!

How far do you run? How often do you run? What shoes are you using now? Are you flatfooted? Count on questions like these from the salespeople at Runner’s Den. Selling you the right pair from the Den’s vast selection is serious business to these clerks, most of whom are runners themselves. (One salesman has logged more than 100 marathons and teaches a community college class in marathon training.) These guys know the heartache (or leg-ache) that comes from shoe-related injuries, and don’t want you to end up in, um, those shoes. They’ll even make you do a test drive with an outdoor jog or a quick spin around the store. So runners, take your mark and lace your shoes.

Most dressing rooms leave us wondering why no one has bothered to mention our sagging chin and jaundiced complexion. Neiman Marcus, on the other hand, only sets the mood for some serious designer dud shopping. These dressing rooms are classically appointed and impeccably clean. An upholstered chair takes the place of the carpeted benches found in most other establishments. A mirrored wall allows you to view yourself head-to-toe without budging an inch, and a three-way mirror in the nearby and very private common area allows you to fully assess whatever assets you may have. What’s more, Neiman’s roomy compartments lock automatically, and an attentive but never bothersome clerk is always on hand to help you find the perfect fit.

We’ve been in dressing rooms that have sent us screaming out of the store and straight to the nearest Yellow Pages in search of a plastic surgeon. It’s curious that the millions of dollars spent by retailers on marketing research has not led them to this simple shopping truth: If you look ugly in the mirror, you won’t buy the stuff you’re trying on. (Here’s our fancy marketing tip: Tone down the operating-room lighting and give people more than six inches between themselves and the mirror. That’ll be a million dollars, please.) Neiman Marcus must have highly paid consultants, because its ladies’ dressing rooms are like lovely studio apartments, with lighting suitable for a cocktail party. There’s plenty of room to stand way, way back and squint your eyes at your reflection, if you’re so inclined. If those mirrors don’t make you look good, then you know you’ll fare far worse under your office’s fluorescent lighting. Buy accordingly.

Mountain and road bikers have long competed for attention, products and services at cycle shops. At Landis, salespeople won’t choose sides; its philosophy is equality for all, whether you’ve got mud in your spokes or highway beer bottle shards in your tire.

This cover-both-sports philosophy won’t confuse new bikers: Signs and a helpful staff make clear what each item is intended for. Salespeople can tell you exactly why one mountain bike breaks the bank at more than $2,000, while another sets you back only about $300. If you’re female, they’ll show you a line of bikes built for women. There are even baby-buggy bikes, so you can tote your tyke. Each of Landis’ four stores offers bicycle repairs, and out-of-stock items are happily shipped from other locations. So get your bike, helmet, shoes, gloves or inner tube here, but take the feud outside — on the pavement, or the dirt trail.

This is absolutely the place to find that long-sought antique Tappan range the color of scrimshaw, or the O’Keefe and Merritt in its birthday suit of chrome and white enamel. The peeling paint and yellowed window of this gray storefront reveal the shop’s devotion to vintage. Words like re-porcelain and re-chrome fall from the tongues of the knowledgeable workers like answers to your kitchen prayers. They’ll recondition or fully restore the stove you have, or set you up with one to match the 19-something vintage of your house. You want to decontaminate a range, rejuvenate its “match-lite” ignition, or simply find or fix that lost or broken knob? They do it all. Doubters need only poke their heads in the back workroom, where the carcass of someone’s old flame is almost always on the path to renewal.

Chances are pretty good that you wouldn’t know where to go to purchase a set of comedy bosoms or a papier-mché turd. Take note: Since 1947, Bert Easley’s has provided our great state with all variations of rubber vomits, fake cigarettes (great on airplanes!), and phony squished cats. October is the best time to visit, when Halloween masks, reasonably priced life-size skeletons, and wonderfully sick-making foam-rubber body parts and polyethylene organs fill the shelves. Easley’s also rents and sells a vast array of costumes year-round, and stocks more than 5,000 rentable costumes on premises. The shop carries a full range of stage makeup, and the counter help will gladly explain how to apply clown white, a fake bolt-in-the-head, or that zany chest-hair wig. Speaking of wigs, this place offers every style imaginable, all of them affordable and displayed for easy viewing. Try doing all your holiday shopping here, just once!

Once upon a time, an excited youth with a new model airplane kit could visit any drugstore to purchase “hobby paint” right off the shelf. Today, thanks to social disintegration, such substances are kept under lock and key, lest they be stolen and used for nefarious purposes — like paint-sniffing or marking buildings with gang insignia. But not at the Hobby Bench, where nostalgia rules. Where else might one find a model kit of the Bates Mansion from Psycho? Or that old standard “Visible Woman” model, with all her internal organs displayed? Neato miniatures and all the requisite railroad-enthusiasts stuff can be found here, along with a wealth of model cars, model-making supplies, and craft items. And yes, you can walk right on up to that big rainbow-hued rack of “hobby paints” and help yourself.

Housed in a bright yellow brick building with blue awnings lined with a long row of white stars, Larada’s Army Surplus Store is hard to miss. But once inside, you’ll find everything you need for disappearing into the woodwork — or the woods. Larada’s is filled with military gear and not-for-sale displays of military might such as bullets, holsters and non-firing rifles, but what it really sells is survival. Alongside the army fatigues, gas masks and caps emblazoned with every division of the armed forces are lanterns, knives, mess kits, freeze-dried food and boots for any terrain or weather. Upstairs is nothing but tents. While you pick out a parka, you can watch a videotape on the art of camouflage. Surviving a trip through the hodgepodge of gear (Larada’s winds around an L-shaped shopping center) is a feat in itself. But once you do, you’ll have what you need to survive anything.

When it comes to catching fish, you want big. But for a bait shop, forget the Wal-Marts of the world — small is good. And small has worked for 20 years for Richard La Porte and his father, Dick, who run Liar’s Korner, a bait shop that can barely hold more than a half-dozen customers at a time. Liar’s Korner is stocked with all things fishy: rods, reels, stringers and fishing licenses; crank baits, spinner baits, buzz baits and live bait; minnows, waterdogs and high-quality worms shipped in from New York. Fridays and Saturdays are usually crowded (Liar’s Korner is on the way to four popular fishing lakes), but early in the week, you’ll have the store to yourself. This old-time bait shop is simple and unpretentious, except for the trophies and stuffed fish covering the shop’s walls. Most of the awards were won by the La Portes, but the father-son team would rather sell you what you need to catch the big one that got away.

Among all the predictable contemporary bargains at this former Disabled American Veterans Thrift Shop, we’ve discovered cool vintage dresses, nasty ’70s Spanish-Med wall hangings, a silver potted plastic tree, and even a pair of blond wood ’50s end tables. On our last visit, we found some swinging two-tone wingtips. (So what if they were golf shoes! We just yanked the cleats out!) Cecilia, a wonderful lady with excellent makeup, will comment cheerfully on your selections as she rings them up, and she won’t make you surrender your unpriced item “to the back room,” where it will never be seen again. More good news for the thrift-minded: Every other Wednesday is half-off day, and seniors older than 60 get 30 percent off every Monday.

You’ve arrived at that interminable stretch of the calendar where the mercury has stalled above the 100-degree mark. The only chink in your scheme for never being away from air conditioning or shade for more than 90 seconds at a time is how to do your grocery shopping. All hail Eddie Basha, whose Bashas’ at 40th Street and Thunderbird now offers drive-through grocery service. Simply phone in your order (fax and Internet orders are also available) by 10 a.m. for same-day pickup, drive your icy-cool Suburban up to a reserved cabana, and open your window just long enough to utter your name into a microphone. A few moments later, a friendly attendant will load your groceries into the back of your car. All coupons and club card savings apply to this luxurious service, which carries a nominal $4.95 service charge. For those of you who refuse to leave your house at all, delivery service is also available.

It’s hard to get good incense now that Jerry Garcia is gone and the Grateful Dead aren’t touring. We used to pick up a year’s supply of our favorite cones and sticks from Deadhead parking-lot vendors, but those days are over. Well, almost. We’ve found a swell, smelly stash at Hippie Gypsy, an upscale head shop busting at the seams with black-light posters and clove cigarettes and water pipes. Entire walls of this fragrant shop are devoted to displaying incense and sages, along with a vast array of paraphernalia for safe burning. The store’s homemade incense is of superior quality, and the commercial versions aren’t bad, either. (There’s even a line called Liquid Blue Grateful Dead Incense with fragrances like “Campfire Jam” and “Fractal Steal Your Face.”) And unlike the Dead show vendors, the clerks at Hippie Gypsy can actually make correct change and focus on their clientele without seeing double. Whoa, dude!

Laundromats are typically best approached with blinders on: Don’t look too closely at the floor; try to ignore your surroundings and your fellow launderers; don’t subject your clean laundry to the folding tables and counters without disinfecting them first. Although doing laundry may never be a pleasure, Spin Cycle at least makes it possible to clean clothes without lowering one’s hygienic standards. This is a squeaky-clean facility with bright signs marking double, triple and quadruple loaders. Folding tables are immaculate and plentiful, and several even have televisions built into them. Dryers are efficient and almost always available. The facility also offers Ms. Pac Man and a few other classic arcade games to amuse you while you wait for your duds to dry. There’s even Internet access available at 10 cents a minute. If you’re too caught up with all these amenities to be bothered with doing laundry, a reliable Fluff-and-Fold service is available on the premises.

Super chefs like Julia Child and Jacques Pépin can’t be wrong. If Sur La Table is good enough for their culinary contraption needs, then it’s good enough for us. This is where the pros stop to shop, do demonstrations and share their secrets with regular home chefs like us.

We fill our baskets with bread machines, coffee mills, waffle makers, brioche pans and cookbooks. We’re sold on cedar smoking planks, Majolica corn dishes, scales and sauciers. And treats tempt by the ton: specialty chocolates, coffees, teas, cookies, mustards and marinades.

Let’s just put it on the table. It’s the best.

No doubt there are many criteria that could be used to determine excellence in tire shops, but how about free tire repairs? While this particular Discount Tire outlet certainly charges for most of its services, the exceedingly cheerful and friendly staff has been known on many occasions to quickly patch tires without charging. This sort of gesture is sadly antiquated, given the current “customer is always wrong” service mentality. Also noteworthy is that, when all those Ford Explorers needed replacements for their Firestone death tires, this Discount Tire was the only place we found that a) did not mention a four-month waiting list and b) actually had the needed tires in stock. And to tread on a politically incorrect non-tire criterion for those who appreciate a good-looking guy: Virtually all the men who work here are handsome as heck. So you won’t get tired of watching while you wait.

This relatively new addition to north Scottsdale is a quaint shop with a turn-of-the-century general store ambiance. Rows of self-serve bins display bath salts and beads, as well as potpourri and a whimsical line of bubble-bath confetti (a confetti that cleans up after itself — what a concept!). Bailiwicks also carries a full line of perfumed and highly moisturizing soaps made from stuff like goat’s milk and shea butter, as well as your standard glycerin and cocoa butter bars. There’s even a line of bar soaps for your dog. Sample a rich selection of body products including scrubs, lotions and lip balms, then sign up to make your own. Bailiwicks offers a variety of classes in soap-making and home spa products, and will even arrange a private soap-sniffing party in your home.

Imagine being a guest at an afternoon tea in the Hamptons, where your hosts happen to be a friendly, knowledgeable and accessible group of gardening professionals who are eager to share their love of flora. That’s what a stroll through Berridge is like. It has all the traditional aspects of a well-stocked nursery: long flats bursting with annuals, herbs and vegetables, bare-root roses in season, native landscaping plants, succulents and indoor tropicals. But this carefully tended nursery at the base of Camelback Mountain also offers an unparalleled combination of charm and expertise. You’ll find rare plants here, but no sniffy attitude: If you don’t know a begonia from a bougainvillea, an affable staffer might point you to the miniature amphitheater, where a variety of demonstrations and lectures are hosted for both the novice and seasoned enthusiast. Berridge, established in 1938, gets a two green thumbs-up rating.

The name of Michelle Zekanis’ shop may suggest architecture or interior decorating, but her appointment-only business is about creating fresh and silk flower arrangements for weddings large and small. Zekanis favors arrangements designed by the customer — and within the customer’s budget. Photo albums display flower-adorned ice sculptures, floating pool bouquets and elaborate flower arrangements that brides have designed themselves, right down to the length of each flower stem. The only thing Zekanis insists on is that you not throw the crowning piece of her work, the bridal bouquet, during the flower toss. She has a separate, smaller bouquet for that.

The sign says “Johnny’s Used Work Uniforms,” but we’ll settle for “My Blue-Collar Heaven.” A working stiff’s dream haberdashery, this would-be New Wave warehouse is crammed to the rafters with industrial-style shirts, smocks, pants and jumpsuits, many emblazoned with “can-I-be-of-service-ma’am?” monikers like “Chet,” “Billy Bob” and “Flo.” All pants are $3, shirts are $2, and if your name doesn’t happen to match up with anything on the rack, the store carries dozens of name tags that can be sewn on for an additional $1.75. Whether you’re suiting up for your new gig at the gas station or greasy spoon, or just wondering what to wear to the Devo reunion, Johnny’s has something with your name written all over it.

More fun than a Toys “R” Us, the often-bizarre aisles of ABC Cakes are our favorite place to find party favors, stocking stuffers and just plain goofy weirdness. They’ve got the full range of cake pans, decorative icing tips, and those papery things called glassines (they go between your cake and the big pink bakery boxes sold on the same rack). But ABC’s “Toppers” aisle is the real icing on this proverbial cake. Here’s a box full of little plastic African-American infants. There’s a wee ’50s barbecue. Look! A tiny zoo with little cages and trees. And a handful of Barbie-size champagne bottles! How about a “Sexy Doll,” a little vinyl naked lady in a teeny teddy? (Or, if budget is a concern, opt for the “Mini Sexy Doll,” also available in brunette.) Or a plaque bearing a hooded death mask and the legend, “I Only Came for the Cake!” We could neither fathom nor pass up a banner reading, “Caution! Wedding Cake Being Delivered!” Let them eat cake. We’ll play with the toys!

Everybody knows it’s the yoga teacher who makes the class, and Candace Rose is a knowledgeable, well-trained and genuinely peaceful instructor. More important, she’s a teacher with a sense of humor. Unlike some yoga instructors, who forget that this is Phoenix, not Katmandu, Rose doesn’t take herself too seriously. She cracks jokes throughout the class and keeps the spiritual lectures to a minimum. Rose has tailored her set to a North American audience, making the poses easy for the flexibly challenged and the environment relaxed enough for the spiritually insolvent. For anyone who’s ever left a yoga class feeling cheated and a little flaky, Rose’s $5 yoga hour is a down-to-earth alternative.

Sure, most newspaper food sections will tell you that you can make a great meal in 10 minutes or less using what “everyone” already has in the kitchen. But we can’t figure out how to make five-star fettuccine with leftover ketchup packets from our McDonald’s Happy Meal. So we just let the experts do their thing: We call Delicious Deliveries, which has contracted with participating restaurants to deliver a fine meal, for menu prices, plus $4.49 per order within a four-mile radius of the restaurant, and tip. Just a few of the participating restaurants include Bamboo Club, Royal Barge Thai, Avanti’s, Don and Charlie’s, Jewel of the Crown, Malee’s on Main, Mr. C’s Chinese, Miracle Mile Deli and George and Dragon English Pub. With service like this, you’d have to be a ding-dong to fire up the stove. The only ding-dong we want is the sound of the doorbell.

Toys, dog accessories, books and novelty items fill this smartly appointed store, where our four-legged friends are always welcome to sniff barrels of bulk treats and sampler gift boxes. But it’s Three Dog’s baked goods that get your doggy drooling. They look so yummy, we want to taste them, too. The most endearing feature of Three Dog Bakery is the weekly Yappy Hour, in which man’s best friends (many of whom arrive at this Biltmore shop stuffed into the Louis Vuitton handbags of society ladies) and their owners gather to swap stories, enjoy fresh-from-the-oven goodies, and listen to canine-themed comedians and speakers. Occasionally, a certified pet psychic is on hand to assist in better reading the inner workings of your dog’s psyche — although it won’t take a professional to tell you what Rover’s thinking: “I’ll take a dozen rawhide chews to go!”

Plenty of print shops have color copiers out on the floor, but if you’re looking for lifelike skin tones, Lena Flores will be happy to do your bidding. She’s Alphagraphics’ assistant manager and, when she isn’t busy answering stupid questions (“Will your color copier make my black-and-white photos come out in color?”), she’ll be delighted to assist you with your custom enlarging, photo Christmas card, or wedding invitation design. Lena has improved more than one commercial artist’s portfolio with her skillful assistance, and proves that a fancy $40,000 color copy machine is only as good as its operator. Tired of being waited on by bored, surly college students at your neighborhood copy house? Lean on Lena.

Nowadays, HTC owner Steve Haworth is better known as a “3-D Modification Artist,” famous for epidermis-pushing experiments in extreme body modification such as subdermal implants and penis beads. But Haworth originally established his reputation as a pioneer of safe, sane and sterile piercing techniques. The instruments used at HTC were personally designed by Haworth to be less painful and more accurate, ensuring a relatively non-agonizing experience for your targeted navel, septum, nipple, or whatever. Though HTC tends to be a bit expensive compared to tattoo parlors that offer piercing as a side-order item, wise men opt for spending a little more when what they’re paying for includes a guy pointing a sharp instrument in their direction. Think about it.

Let’s be clear: The operative word here is hardware. Not gardening supplies, power tools, bathroom fixtures or wallpaper; there are stores that specialize in each of these. But when you really need honest-to-God hardware — nuts, bolts, machine screws, ball bearings, nails and so on — you could do no better than to go to Paradise True Value, with its impressive and thoughtful selection. The woman-owned (and mostly woman-staffed) establishment carries hardware in every possible size and material. (Try finding stainless hex cap screws at most places — go ahead, try.) But the best part is that everything is in little drawers, just the way it should be, and you can buy as many or as few items as you need. The staff is extremely helpful and knowledgeable, but won’t insult your intelligence if you know what you’re doing and want to be left alone, either.

You say your idea of home entertaining doesn’t go any further than a keg, a large bag of Cheez Doodles, and a mop? Well, thanks for asking but, uh, we’re busy that night. If, on the other hand, you shop at Party City, consider this an RSVP. Where else in town will you find everything (okay, so you will have to hit the liquor store, too) from invitations and tableware to canisters of helium and luau kits — more than 30,000 party items in all, at discount prices, no less?

And even if you’re one of those folks who thinks no social gathering is complete without a rubber mask of WWF honcho Vince McMahon, you’re in luck here. But can we take a rain check on that invitation? On second thought, we’re busy that night, too.

If such names as Knoll, Herman Miller and Thonet weaken your knees, this Scottsdale franchise of the Seattle store offers plenty of swank seats and remakes of classic modern furnishings to swoon on. It’s all posh, with prices to match — chairs can run you anywhere from $350 for a molded, laminated wood-and-steel one by Arne Jacobsen to $2,300 for Eero Saarinen’s womb chair. Owner David Cline, a graduate of the design program at ASU, will feed you the tales behind the designs, like the fact that Charles and Ray Eames first began their patented process of molding compound curves in plywood to supply the Army with wooden splints during World War II. In fact, Cline can sell you one of those splints — but we recommend something cozier, like the Eames lounge chair and ottoman. And Cline makes house calls, to help you decide which kind of design should go where.

As soon as that EPT test shows up red, your girlfriends gather with reams of advice: Ginger for morning sickness, Maalox for heartburn, bags of frozen vegetables for swollen ankles. As for stretch marks? There’s no scientific prevention, but that doesn’t stop our girlfriends from offering up remedies. We’re particularly fond of one concoction, passed along by a girlfriend who earned her college tuition behind the counter at Lotions and Potions, one of the Valley’s first bath and body shops. She suggested a four-ounce bottle of Lotions and Potions massage oil, mixed with a quarter-ounce of Vitamin E oil. Top it off with your choice from the shop’s wide assortment of scents — everything from strawberry to sandalwood. We can’t guarantee it’ll prevent stretch marks, but it sure feels great. And as any pregnant woman can tell you, that’s a premium worth not passing up.

A few years ago, Charles Nolan quietly opened his shop in the basement of the venerable Luhrs Central Building across from Patriots Square downtown. He had a concept — the hippest men’s shop in town, and that was about it. Advertising budget? Hardly. Neon signs? Not in this lifetime. Word of mouth? You betcha. These days, Charles — who doesn’t even have a phone in his downtown haberdashery — counts several Phoenix Suns as regular customers, and his clientele is growing by the month, eager to buy his primo Italian suits, his slick shirts, his excellent selection of ties. But Charles isn’t just a clotheshorse. A major league jazz fan, he collects CDs, then sells them to his customers for a mere 10 bucks apiece. Finding this gem of a store isn’t easy. But once you find Charles in Suite M, around the bend from Tony’s Barber Shop, you’re in for quite a sartorial treat.