People & Places

If you've ever felt the overwhelming need to be the center of attention (and the gaping stares of other people don't bother you), then visit Easley's Fun Shop. The Valley's most renowned costume store is a veritable freak factory, with hundreds of crazy getups within its yellow walls, not to mention the wacky wigs, madcap masks, and other outrageous accessories. Want to shock your friends on Halloween? Rent the "evil clown" ensemble. Got a gonzo costume party to go to? Slip on a pimp costume and also grab a John F. Kennedy mask for some wry political satire. The possibilities are limited only by your imagination, bub, because sometimes it's more fun being a freak show than seeing a freak show.

Considering the way our city has expanded over the past few decades, with people relocating from other states, sometimes it's hard to tell who was born here from those who've moved here. We've figured out a surefire way of determining who's a native and who's a Johnny-come-lately: Ask them about Legend City. Only true OG's born and raised in the PHX will remember going to the Valley's version of Disneyland, which was located near 56th and Washington streets on the border of Phoenix and Tempe from 1963 until it was felled by a wrecking ball in the early '80s. The joyous joint was filled with themed areas devoted to Arizona's Wild West history and culture, like Indian Country and Boom Town.

We've got childhood memories of bombing around the park, lining up for the spookiness of the Lost Dutchman Mine ride, floating down the River of Legends, or spinning around on the Krazy Kups until we were green in the face. Our first chance to meet Wallace and Ladmo also came at Legend City, as the hosts of the renowned local children's show were regular visitors, holding a live stage show weekly and handing out their coveted and candy-filled Ladmo Bags. Thankfully, the park lives on through Web sites (www.legend-city.com) and even its own MySpace page (www.myspace.com/legendcity), where former patrons leave loving devotions, like the one from a dude who wrote, "Legend City is truly legendary." Word.

Technically, Laurie Notaro moved away from Phoenix years ago. Yet she keeps coming back, usually in the form of her essays and fiction, now found in seven books — with more to come. In her latest, Flaming Tantrum of Death, Notaro proves you can judge a book by its cover (we always love her covers) particularly if you read the subtitle: "Reflections on revenge, germophobia, and laser hair removal." That's quite a trapeze act, we think. And obviously Notaro thought the same, given her cover art.

Fuzzy hair, bulbous nose, comically pompous, attorney Dennis Wilenchik had all the makings of a clown even before he pulled out ethical stops and went after New Times. As Sheriff Joe Arpaio's well-paid attorney on the taxpayers' dime, Wilenchik had learned from the harlequin-supreme. Nobody sports a bulbous red nose and a potbelly, while acting the fool, better than ol' Joke.

Even before Wilenchik put his big clown shoe in his own mouth in the New Times case and a judge put her stiletto up his ass, it was as if Joe were conducting clown college and Dennis was star student. Wilenchik went after Joe foe Dan Saban with the vengeance of Heath Ledger's Joker in The Dark Knight, trying to get him fired from his job, bringing up Arpaio's smear campaign against Saban to practically anybody who'd listen. (It was right out of Arpaio's playbook.) Denny was all about extra-legal activities only tangentially related to his defense against a slander lawsuit Saban filed against the sheriff because of the bogus smear. That Wilenchik won that suit on technicalities must have emboldened him to take up his buffoonish mentor's cause against the alternative newspaper-thorn in the sheriff's backside.

We can just imagine him popping his suspenders with glee when ringmaster Andy Thomas asked him to enter the bit tent and attempt to tame New Times. The problem here was that County Attorney Thomas was asking Wilenchik to go into the lion's cage with whip and chair, and he was but a pitiful clown, prone to clown-like antics — such as trying to influence the presiding judge over the New Times case and ordering the arrests of the paper's owners for writing a story a story about abusive grand jury subpoenas he'd issued from a grand jury that didn't actually exist.

The capper was that the subpoenas demanded not only NT journalists' notes and communications regarding Arpaio, but the Internet-viewing habits of readers who'd clicked on the paper's coverage of the withered law-clown. All perfectly fine in the funny-haired world in which he and Arpaio reside, but unwise when handling big cats. He was reprimanded by the judge, and fired as special prosecutor by his beloved ringmaster — after public opinion took a big bite out of both their bozo asses. Raar! The result is that Wilenchik and Thomas are under investigation by the Arizona Bar Association, and we hope that these scary scaramouches get a good legal whacking. Now that would be funny.

If any of your candy-ass, 'fraidy-cat friends are too terrified by the Desert Storm's towering appearance to consider riding the 90-foot-high roller coaster (the biggest in the state), tell 'em the ride lasts only about a minute and a half, from start to finish. A mere 90 seconds. About as much time as it takes to nuke a microwave burrito. Although you may wanna skip over the part about how there probably won't be any time to be scared, as they'll likely be too busy screaming their lungs out in terror while zooming along 2,000 feet of steel track (including the initial drop of 85 feet) and blasting through two vertical loopty-loops at around 50 miles per hour. With that whole "nothing to fear but fear itself" thing going on, the less they know, the better. Besides, once they've busted their cherry and ridden it at least once, we're sure they'll be hopping back in line to go again.

Former Arizona Governor Rose Mofford is the Jimmy Carter of our state — perhaps maligned a bit while in office, the elder stateswoman is celebrated by just about everyone these days. Since leaving office in 1991 (she served as secretary of state for more than a decade before becoming governor in 1988) the longtime public servant and softball champion has stayed active, volunteering for charities, and keeping her hand in the political game.

Mofford's perhaps best remembered for her fabulous white beehive, once drawn by a local political cartoonist as a Dairy Queen cone. We've always thought of it more as a swirl of cotton candy, which is why we were so tickled to see an advance copy of a billboard that will celebrate this year's Arizona State Fair. Take a look for yourself and tell us that's not sweet enough to give you a cavity!

In a city that almost always sleeps, it's rare to see anyone out for a stroll. But there's one couple you can count on: Julian and Suzanne. You'll find them in the form of a large-scale, animated light sculpture permanently affixed to a southeast wall of the Phoenix Art Museum. The creation of British artist Julian Opie, the large-scale (13.5 feet high, 10 feet wide) work is one of the most clever pieces of public art we've ever seen — beautiful in its simplicity, belying the tremendous work that went into its creation. Opie, whose work is also included in the permanent collection of the Tate Gallery in London, videotapes various people (including himself) walking on treadmills, then simplifies still images on the computer and animates them for LED displays. We don't understand just exactly how it works, but we know one thing: We could watch Julian and Suzanne all day.

Some skylines are world-famous — like Chicago, with the Sears Tower, or San Francisco, with the Transamerica Building. While Camelback Mountain is widely recognizable and doing us proud in the nature department, some folks are still longing for an urban stretch of skyscape as a reminder that it's not just a desert, it's the big city, dammit!

If you're looking for the best urban view Phoenix has to offer, your best bet is from the freeway. Jump on the eastbound I-10. Gaze to the right between 19th Avenue and Seventh Avenue. (Go for the passenger seat. We know you want to see signs of the big city, but safety first.) This stretch of our well-traveled thoroughfare gives a glimpse of the city's burgeoning skyline, best viewed at dusk when the pinky twilight illuminates the Chase Building, the Viad Building, and even the Luhrs Tower. These venerable old school 'scrapers are intertwined with the newly emerging and climbing developments as downtown continues its visible expansion upward. While a whole slew of developers promise a chorus of "One day we'll be sky high," this stretch of I-10 delivers the goods today.

If you know where every speed-enforcement camera is, and if you track where the cops normally park, you can speed and get away with it. Well, that's the theory.

If you subscribe to that theory, then there's no better resource than speedtrap.org. It's a national registry of speed traps — both conventional cop stakeouts and photo-radar locations. Simply log on to the Web site and click "Arizona." Then click the name of the city you plan to speed through.

The only depressing thing about speedtrap.org is how incredibly thorough it is. In the city of Scottsdale alone, Speedtrap lists 47 photo and conventional speed-trap locations — the vast majority of which are 100 percent legit.

Of course, thanks to Governor Janet Napolitano's push for statewide highway photo enforcement, you can mark the entire freeway system of Arizona as speed-trapped. In recent months, those white photo-enforcement vans have been popping up along the I-10 and even the I-17. So much for the Wild West.

Gas prices keep going up, and that's got you down. Listen to Spike Lee and get on the bus! In fall 2007, Valley Metro introduced an all-day pass that can be purchased on any bus for $2.50. Supplanting the flimsy transfers of the past, it surely is cheaper than the gallon of gas you're burning in your daily commute. Hit Valley Metro's Web site to conjure up your plan of action, leave your road rage behind, and pop in your earbuds. For the truly adventurous, strike up a conversation with an endless cast of strap-hangers, including the self-proclaimed chatterbox and the dude freestyling and shilling his demo CD-R.

December, right?

Judas Priest's Rob Halford has lived in Phoenix since 1985. The British vocalist first discovered the city on Judas Priest's first-ever North American tour in 1978 and immediately felt a kinship with the arid desert climate. "I stepped off the bus at 4 a.m., and the heat just struck me, like it always does, and I said, 'Are we in Hell?' How fitting for a band called Judas Priest to be somewhere that feels like purgatory," Halford says. "And coming from Birmingham, to be in such a beautiful location, it just blew me away."

Halford's home sits high on a mountain in Paradise Valley, and he relishes the monsoon season. "It's very special when I'm in my house in Phoenix, overlooking the Valley, and the thunder and lightning rolls through."

And then comes our favorite comment: "It's very heavy metal weather."

The weather outside is frightful. The thought of leaving your hermetically sealed cocoon? Not the least bit delightful.

So don't. Play indoors at these two oh-so-PHX landmarks.

Some self-proclaimed geniuses will tell you to lay off the heavy stuff — the dairy, the coffee — when it's hot, but those eggheads are full of bunk. When facing the prospect of the 21st consecutive day of temps above 110 — and it's still only July — we Phoenicians want some damn comfort food, dammit.

Matt's is where we go for culinary consolation. Though the funky downtown hang has a limited menu, everything on it is lip-smackingly good. Our faves are the Chop & Chick (eggs and a skillet-seared Iowa pork chop) for breakfast and a well-executed Reuben for lunch. (Despite the diner's name, Matt's is all over the sandwich-and-soda-pop trade, too.) Even if the grub weren't so solid, we'd still give proprietors Matt and Erenia Pool props for their social awareness. Their Web site ticks off their strong beliefs about the following commendable practices: 1) cage-free eggs, 2) humanely raised chickens, 3) grain-fed natural Iowa pork and Angus beef, and 4) the use of local organic produce "where appropriate and possible."

After you've crammed your tummy full of the yummy stuff, head uptown and stuff your head. PAM is the best place for lazy, overfed people to go on a lazy Sunday afternoon, 'cause very little expenditure of energy is required; you just glide effortlessly from one attraction to the next, and there's no particular hurry. You can check out the new touring exhibit, see what's up in the Asian gallery, attend a lecture, catch a flick, take a drawing workshop, and fondle the delightful baubles in the Museum Store.

But, perhaps, the most important aspect about PAM as a summer destination is its kickass air-conditioning system. We've found none better in the state of Arizona. Believe us, we've looked.

The weather outside's delightful, and it really would be frightful to bounce around your apartment on such a lovely day. So don't. Get the hell out and discover what life here is really about at these signature destinations.

Our positively ponderous municipal preserve — the nation's largest, at 16,000 acres — features mile after mile of hiking, biking, climbing, and horseback trails, plus picnic and recreation areas and the South Mountain Environmental Education Center. The park's one of those enchanted places where newcomers, skeptical of all the gab about what a desirable place the PHX is, look around and say, "Ohhhhh, okay. Now I get it."

After you've worked yourself into a lather on one of the basin-to-range trails — or just driven to the top and sucked in the 360 views — you'd be wise to treat yourself to an appropriately named Kick-@ss Margarita or three at nearby Los Dos, a mellow watering hole/restaurant located in the charming former home of singing cowboy Tom Mix. We recommend the trifecta — if you don't need to be anywhere for a while. Unlike the pansy-ass varietals you'll find in snootier parts of town, the Los Dos maggies are as big as a boxer's fist and pack a similar punch. They numb you to the effects — delightful yet brutal — of the cafe's flaming New Mexican cuisine, which is so good that the Los Dos folks opened a successful offshoot in the Greenwich Village area of Manhattan. Manhattan!

The truly brave — say, those who've just conquered the mighty, 20-plus-mile National Trail that runs the length of the South Mountain crest — might try Los Dos' green chile enchiladas, hot. Afterward, you'll love us, you'll hate us, but we're pretty sure you'll say, "Ohhhhh, okay. Now I get it."

We feel so guilty.

Look, we know we're supposed to celebrate Mill Avenue, given its status as the closest thing this metropolis has to an urban shopping district. But, um, there's a new marketplace in town, and we can't resist the pull.

NoPho folks have had Desert Ridge for a while, and there are all sorts of grand shopping options popping up along the other edges of metro Phoenix, but the center of town was limping along without a mega-mall, 'til Tempe Marketplace opened late last year.

We're in love. We know the whole thing is beyond super-sized — down (rather, up) to the enormous "pots" outside the equally huge Harkins movie theater. But we just can't help ourselves. Despite the overwhelming number of teeny-bopper chains, there's something irresistible and, amazingly, community-oriented about this place.

One smart reason: free concerts by national acts, smack-dab in the center of the mall. Sponsored by 103.9 The Edge, a different band rocks the stage each third Thursday in front of Cadillac Bar and Grill, to the delight of Old Navy and Barnes & Noble shoppers.

Since the event started, we've caught smaller acts like The Hypo Twins and The Summer Set and veteran rockers including The Presidents of the United States of America and MGMT.

And then there's the Night Gallery (for details, call 480-965-6536), a smart, odd-duck approach to showing fine art. Night Gallery is open in the evenings (6 to 9 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday — hence the name), and shows the work of ASU faculty, alumni, and grad students. The spot opened at the end of June and survives on donations, the largest of which comes from the company behind the mall (they kick in the use of the building and cover the A/C bill). Organizers say that a surprising number of people stumble across Night Gallery every day — as many as 1,000 in two to three hours. If you're looking for, say, a 9-foot bronze "vessel" by Mary Neubauer or one of Christopher Coluille's digital prints of a car graveyard in Iceland, this is the place.

The finer things in life (art, music, community) aside, we love to hang out at Tempe Marketplace because even in the summer, someone's figured out a way to make the misters so cold, they can build a roaring fire and it only seems slightly odd. Plus, we're slaves to Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Sorry, indie gods.

There's no place like Rome or Paris or London for a good romantic stroll. But if you're in the mood for some feet-finding culture, there is a close second here in our metropolis. Drive into Scottsdale, and head for the intersection of Camelback and Scottsdale roads. Just off the beaten path, you'll find a walkable collection of eclectic storefronts, non-chain restaurants, bicycle cabbies, and clean urban density.

You won't find the Arc de Triomphe or the London Eye, but you will find pedestrians milling around a network of art shops, coffee shops, and boutiques. The half-square mile south of Camelback offers more than 90 restaurants, bars, and clubs as well as about 320 retailers selling everything from antiques and high-end art to tourist trinkets and specialty teas.

You can also pick from four museums and five theaters. If the weather's warm, get ice cream at the storied (and pink) Sugar Bowl on Scottsdale Road. There's no Sugar Bowl in Paris — we can guarantee that.

Live in Phoenix any amount of time, and you'll learn to love the strip mall. Otherwise, you'll be doing a lot of online shopping, baby, or hoofing it to the mall (which, let's be honest, is really just a loop of a strip mall, indoors). We love the combinations that pop up near one another: the funky bike store next to the vegan cafe; the DIY dog wash next to the congressional candidate's headquarters; the funky garden shop next to the Persian restaurant next to the art supply store.

Our favorite strip mall is the one we'll always think of as the Stinkweeds strip mall, even though, sadly, the record shop's Tempe location packed its boxes years ago. But many classics remain: This spot houses a bartending academy and a Planned Parenthood, as well as Tasty Kabob and the original Pita Jungle, two of the city's tastiest Mediterranean options.

Chill, a cleverly appointed dessert destination selling gelato and frozen yogurt, is our latest reason to head to Apache, which will soon be all the more accessible, thanks to light rail, which runs right past it.

Now if we could just afford to set up shop in one of the empty storefronts in that strip mall, we'd be quite at home. We hope something good comes in soon. Chances are, it will.

Once just another downtrodden spot on Central, this plucky little parcel of retail potential just might be the little strip mall that could. Lacking a properly punchy name, the spot was once given the snooze-worthy title of The Camelback Towers Plaza. Best to ditch the name quick, because recent additions, and the whispers of more to come, are making us dream of Chic in the City. The pioneers from Unique on Central were fortified by the über-movie mavens of Movies on Central — the cinephile movie rental mecca for those in the know who joined them in this then-lonely strip mall many years back.

These retail pathfinders have bravely endured light rail construction. Now, with the addition of Brad, Lou and Gregory, the high-profile creators of Haus Modern Living, who left Biltmore Fashion Park — of all places — to call this spot home, 4700 North Central has all the cachet of a certified secret sassy success. Rumors abound of new inhabitants willing to relocate from Chandler, Arcadia, and even Old Town Scottsdale, bringing fierce fashion and fresh foodie fantasies where once there was nearly nothing at all.

We've heard of the "den of iniquity," but the "strip mall of iniquity"? We've found that the plaza across the street from Glendale Community College, on 59th Avenue and Olive, strikes an interesting chord. Trails is known for its, ahem, tobacco pipes and accouterments, while Cheba Hut sports a ganja-themed menu. Sharing a parking lot seems like a funky kind of serendipity. There's another smoke shop, a tattoo parlor, a great hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, and a 7-Eleven to round out any other vices you naughty Glendalites might be jonesing for.

We know the last thing Scottsdale needs is another hotel, particularly in this economy, but, selfishly, we just couldn't wait for the W, specifically the lobby. Usually hotel lobbies are pretty ho-hum, no matter what anyone does to spice the space up, but the W Scottsdale's got a glass-bottomed view of, well, the bottoms (and the rest of the parts) of swimmers overhead, as the lobby's ceiling is the bottom of the swimming pool.

Now, that's a view!

Bravo to the Children's Museum of Phoenix, which has made its new home in downtown's historic Monroe School. Rather than plow down this imposing old Classic Revival-style, three-story brick building — which was designed by Los Angeles architect Norman Marsh and built in 1913 at Seventh Street and Van Buren — smart-thinkers re-purposed it in a way that will serve kids, just as it originally did decades earlier.

Although the interior of the museum has been modified to accommodate numerous kid-friendly exhibits, many of its most handsome original elements remain. The gorgeous oak floors are the same ones laid down in 1913, and they're in great shape, thanks to a restoration funded by a State Heritage grant. The giant north and south stairwells feature their original banisters, and the wooden beams in every room have been walnut-shell-blasted back to their original finish. And the building's skeleton of exposed brick, stacked high nearly a hundred years ago, also remains, giving its interior a warm, old-timey feel that makes us want to go back just to look around — at this cool old building, as well as all the fun, educational exhibits.

Will Bruder is an architectural wunderkind, the type who inspires legions of fans willing to loop the globe in order to see his groundbreaking work, up close and personal. We're lucky to have him — and so much of his work — in the Valley and nearby. From the Burton Barr Library to the Nevada Museum of Art, his use of concrete and steel is iconic, groundbreaking and beautiful. But you may not know about a '90s-era Bruder in, yes, Deer Valley.

For some reason, this masterpiece of rock construction has flown under the radar of nearly every globetrotting boffo building buff. We wonder why — this structure is beautiful: Black rock, cement, and steel construction mimics the landscape dotted by ancient petroglyphs. It's iconic, it's classic Bruder, and almost as awe-inspiring as the epic glyphs that surround it. Get there, and peep the poetry that is Will Bruder. That is, before the secret gets out, and the place is flooded with Architectural Digest-waving hipsters.

We were sad when we heard that the former Miss Preston's School for Girls at 90 West Virginia had been locked up and was for sale. Located behind a towering wall of oleanders, the Spanish Mission-style main house and its several outbuildings had recently been a bed and breakfast called the Yum Yum Tree, but now the fate of this oddity in the heart of the residential Willo Historic District was anyone's guess. That's why we're grateful that the folks who bought it have restored the guesthouse, pool shack, and main house, all designed with covered verandas around a marshy courtyard. They're taking special care with the Mexican-style fountain and the tile-roofed portico with palm trees growing straight through it. The new owners (who are replacing the long row of original transom windows, torn out decades ago) plan to make the Yum Yum a private residence, and raise their family there, and we can't thank them enough for saving this lovely landmark.

Too many times in Arizona, we hear about wonderful old historic sites only when they're facing the wrecking ball (see: the Sun Mercantile building, the former Beth Hebree Temple, Mary Rose Wilcox's now-bulldozed 105-year-old home). Even when they end up being spared demolition, we rarely see these sites being preserved in any meaningful way. So this spring, when we heard that the Paradise Valley adobe built by former U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O'Connor had been slated for demolition, then was saved, then was being moved to a lovely new site in Tempe and (hopefully) transformed into a "Center for Public Discourse," we were stunned. Since when does anything nice get solved so efficiently? The O'Connor House Project, of course, still has plenty of money to raise to make the dream of public discourse a reality. But we can say this, with finality: This is one old building that is being saved. And the new location is gorgeous.

For years, The Standard hotel in Los Angeles has been famous for its rooftop and even more famous for the pool parties hosted there. The Oasis, atop the Clarendon Hotel in Phoenix, isn't as notorious — but, we dare say, it's better, if for no other reason than the people who hang out here aren't re-enacting their favorite episode of Entourage. The pool opened this year with underwater speakers — which pipe in nature sounds such as birds chirping and the sound of running creeks — and scalp-massaging jets for those of you pretty enough to risk being seen in public makeup-less and with wet hair. The jacuzzi holds 50 people at a time, but if it gets too crowded, there are plenty of cabanas and Italian sun beds to relax upon while you surf the Internet on the hotel's free Wi-Fi.

The stars that light up on the bottom of the pool at night, combined with the view of Phoenix's skyline at sunset, make this place a must-visit and a great place to play tourist for the day — even if you've lived here all your life.

It used to be that our hands-down favorite tunnel was I-10's four-lane passageway under Margaret T. Hance Park, until our friends at Westcor built the one under Camelback Road, just east of 24th Street. Sure, they did it primarily to lure office workers from the Esplanade directly across the street for lunchtime shopping and dining at the Biltmore, but we don't care. There's a pretty terrazzo mosaic down there that we could stare at for hours, and we love how "big city" it feels to go briefly underground, only to emerge at the other end at a shopping mall. The Camelback Tunnel (well, that's what we call it, anyway) is a great place for eavesdropping, and most nights there's a guy down there who plays keyboard and sings songs he wrote for himself in a private, one-man cabaret.

When we tire of playing Subterranean City Dweller, we head north and, within seconds, arrive at the Biltmore, where we pig out on Häagen-Dazs and browse Borders Books, feeling ever so slightly more urbane because we've gotten there from someplace underground — someplace pretty and nicely lit and there expressly for our enjoyment and convenience.

Talk about a cheap high at taxpayers' expense — thankfully. On a spring afternoon, dozens of people are picnicking, frolicking, reading, text-messaging, and simply lying on the lush, green grass supplied to citizens by the City of Scottsdale. This is no mesa (no Mesa, either), but instead, a lovely oasis of gentle slopes, inviting shade trees, and the constant sweet splash of a big fountain not far away. Business types in ties and high heels are not immune from the charms of this space, and kids . . .  well, forget it. They never seem to want to leave, particularly when the splash fountain's going. Go figure.

From Red Hot Robot on Camelback to Practical Arts around the corner on Central, this corner is a hot bed of indie action. Anchored by Kimber Lanning's infamous Stinkweeds records, you can find everything from funky lighting to cool comics on this corner, and even get yourself a piercing at Halo and a Dilly Bar at one of the last old Dairy Queens.

We love the mix of old and new, and the fact that light rail will someday take us right to this little urban mecca.

The downtown art space confusingly called .anti_space is one of our favorite destinations on First Fridays and the occasional Third Friday. The squat concrete structure, which encompasses a large portion of the city block it rests upon, is a carnival-like cluster of cool. Not only does it have a wacked-out, test-pattern-style rainbow color scheme (guaranteed to sear your eyes), there always seems to be some interesting or artistic action going down on the property. During one visit, Andrea Beasley-Brown (a.k.a. the Midnite Movie Mamacita) was screening trailers for schlocky '70s horror films on a bedsheet screen while the Arizona Derby Dames sold baked goods, and people attempted to walk a foot-high steel-cable tightrope.

On other months, we've seen residents ride modified bikes in unison in front of the joint, thrill at the high-flying antics of aerialist Matti Baine, or rock out to local bands performing on the sidewalk. Oh, yeah, and a half-dozen galleries and boutiques are housed within .anti_space's walls, including CB*AG, Waldoism, and Fabriculture.

There's a chance that .anti_space might close by the end of the year. Then again, it's very possible that the complex could remain open well into 2009 or beyond. What's the deal? Well, it seems as though the property owner has designs on razing the building and erecting condos or something similarly gaudy. But because of the sagging real estate market, such plans are on hold, and the folks behind .anti_space can remain.

Three cheers for the recession!

There was a lot of hand-wringing earlier this year by Valley art scenesters when Phoenix officials cracked down on unlicensed vending during the monthly First Friday art walk in downtown Phoenix. The paint-splattered set was (understandably) concerned that the event's funky nature would be compromised if sales and displays of their etchings on street corners and vacant lots were banned.

But amidst the fretting, the folks behind Roosevelt Row (the nonprofit organization representing a cluster of downtown galleries and art-friendly businesses in the Evans Churchill neighborhood) provided a solution to the problem. Folks such as Greg Esser and Cindy Dach (the power couple behind MADE and eye lounge) helped organize a monthly street fair and block party where vending would be permitted, provided participants obtain necessary tax licenses from the city and county, as well as pay a monthly fee.

Since their debut in April, the parties have attracted an eclectic collection of more than a hundred vendors and artists, ranging from the wordsmiths of Desert Dragon Poetry to the kiddy clothiers of Young Ones Clothing. For those who're worried that First Fridays will slip into blasé blandness, the parties are still edgier and cooler than the Tempe Festival of the Arts. Let's just hope they keep out the funnel cakes salesmen and those dudes hawking Bob Marley blankets.

A slew of cities across the country have weird parades: Philadelphia has the nutty Mummers affair. Tucson boasts the even nuttier All Soul's Day Procession. And New York City hosts the boffo and beyond-bizarre Village Halloween Parade. Not wanting to be left out of the fun, the Valley fringe community has created the Phoenix Annual Parade of the Arts. Over the past two years, the event, which goes down around Halloween time (natch), has been a lively and fanciful showcase of costumed revelers, crazy antics, and artistic endeavors. Organizers describe PAPA as a "parading art fair" that allows PHX residents (as well as members of the local art scene and gonzo fringe community) to gather together in the spirit of fun and to let their freak flags fly. The 2007 version was a memorable experience, populated by artsy shopping cart floats, cyclists on modified bikes, belly dancers, stilt walkers, and countless other weirdos who marched along a mile-long route around downtown Phoenix. Book-ending the frenetic fete was a street party in Copper Square featuring music and performance art, capped off with a fireworks show. This year's event (scheduled for November 1), promises an "Out of this World" theme, so we're expecting to see plenty of outrageous aliens and astronauts in attendance.

When our dining companion slipped into the bathroom at this swanky Scottsdale eatery and stayed a while, we assumed she was sniffing some Bolivian "marching powder" — or getting it on with a hot waiter. But when she returned, she wasn't runny-nosed or chatty; she was rapturous. "Dude, you have got to try the toilet," she breathed. And for once, she was right: These W.C.s really are to die for, from the heated toilet seats to a seat that lifts and rotates its plastic sheath on cue for each new customer, to the incredibly nifty bidets. We guarantee you'll return to your table not only feeling cleaner but positively excited. It's got to be the most fun you can have in a public restroom without breaking the law.

Urban beautification takes many forms, and the one we like most is car customizer Luis Miranda's walls at his business, Miranda's Custom Cars, at Central and Grant. The wall sections actually begin on Grant and curve around to First Avenue. On them is some of the finest graf art in the Valley, colossal, colorful pieces featuring jumbo Krylon cans-turned-demons, Transformer-like robots, bandanna-wearing skulls and a hockey-masked Jason, straight out of Friday the 13th.

Those who think graffiti isn't art need only cruise down to Miranda's and inspect this outdoor art show. Kudos to Miranda for allowing talented spray-can wielders to get creative on his property, and to give the lie to the line that all graffiti is urban blight. Why, this art was so impressive that none other than County Attorney Andrew Thomas ripped off some of it for an anti-truancy flier that his office published. Alas, Thomas didn't even bother to contact the artist for permission, much less pay the guy. Still, a piece of the graffiti wall was used in the flier and a fake graf artist posed before it, the implication being that the art was illegal. In fact, it was painted onto a "legal wall." Does that make our county attorney a thief? If we were the artist, we'd make Andy answer that one in court, while we were suing his ass for copyright infringement.

Rob Evans, owner of the storage facility dubbed 1700 Curry, sees in his property a community center for artists and musicians in Tempe. His plan includes building additional stories on top of the current storage buildings, adding a parking lot and even a performance theater for local bands.

Of course, the bigger the dream, the more cold, hard cash is required. To help raise the necessary funds, Evans invited taggers and traditional artists to cover building G on the property with graffiti art. The result was a plethora of painted pieces ranging from a tribute to the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series to a pink mural with stenciled houses in minute detail.

Evans plans to auction off the painted doors of building G to raise money for his artistic utopia. Currently neither a time nor place has been decided upon for the auction, though he has decided to wait until the fall when there are more people in town. Looks as though one person's vandalism is another person's down payment.

David Caruso would eat his heart out if he were to get a gander at the wild, new public art installation in the lobby of the recently opened Phoenix Forensics Crime Laboratory. Pattern Recognition, described by its creators Ralph Helmick and Stuart Schecter as "a surrealistic chandelier that pays homage to the arts of forensic science," dangles from the lobby ceiling like a drug dealer's bad dream.

The mixed-media sculpture, which measures over 17 feet in height and 10 feet in diameter, incorporates hundreds of stock forensic lab equipment items you've seen a hundred times on CSI: Miami — glass beakers, flasks, test tubes, pipettes, blue Petri dishes — all held together by steel rods and laboratory clamps and decorated with over 130 magnifying glasses. Helmick and Schecter's sense of humor is sprinkled liberally throughout with pop culture references to police work in the piece, including patterns representing a bullet hole, a bullet trajectory, and a film reel, together with artist-made molecular models of drugs, fingerprints, DNA helix strands and various and sundry other chemicals and biological substances (we guess there may even be something approximating the structure of anthrax mixed in for good measure). The only thing this piece is missing is a pair of David Caruso's sunglasses.

We've been thoroughly entertained by the ballyhoo surrounding the construction of a monumental $2.4 million dollar, wind-driven net sculpture designed by internationally renowned Boston artist Janet Echelman and inspired by the fleeting blossom of Arizona's singular saguaro. First, the sculpture is given the green light and contracted for by the City of Phoenix. Then, nefarious forces want to cancel the contract, supposedly because it won't be finished in time for the opening of Phoenix's light-rail project. After public outcry, the contract is reinstated (actually, it was never rescinded) and we are waiting with bated breath for Echelman's masterpiece to be unveiled with the opening of the light rail, which is woefully set back because of rail defects.

The sculpture's been called a massive sphincter, an upside-down cowpie, a floating jellyfish, an empty thought bubble, and "too arty," whatever that means. Will it actually look like cow poop or a large butthole? Or will it truly be iconic of our fair city and a cultural destination in its own right, as its supporters maintain? We can hardly wait for the finale of this ongoing public art soap opera.

We can always count on the folks at the artist-run gallery 515 to come up with the best ideas, and the latest — a series of trading cards featuring the work of the collective's members — didn't disappoint. Each set included a card featuring the work of an artist, along with each member's "stats," suitable for framing or fanning out on the coffee table (as long as you don't have young children or particularly sloppy guests). It's hard to pick a favorite — they're "all stars" — but we are partial to Mary Shindell's cactus, Nathan Feller's creepy bunny-eared lady, and Kenneth Richardson's sausage-loving senior citizens. Mark our words, someday these will go for a fortune on eBay.

From Scottsdale to Glendale, festival-goers wore their hearts on their shirts this year, in the form of Gregory Sale's Love Buttons. The interactive art project pinned thousands of people with the simple-looking white and green buttons. There is nothing simple, however, about the wording, including "RADIATE," "beauti-fully our favorite," and "you under-punctuate m.e."

The buttons provoked both thought and discussion, as participants swapped, added and talked. Lisa Sette included the buttons in the summer group show at her gallery. We can't wait to see what Sale pins his hopes to next.

There are scene bars, restaurants, and music clubs. Imagine if all three, ahem, scenes could unite into one super-fun scenester extravaganza. Well, thanks to Henri Benard from psychedelic jam band Rocketline, there's one place that folks can hang. Held on the Third Friday of each month, the Theonix Arts Showcase ("Theonix" coming from an amalgamation of Tempe and Phoenix) features artists assaulting live canvasses, local bands such as Princess LadyFriend and Brewed to Perfection rocking out, and Hip Cat the Personal Chef dishing out free hors d'oeuvres. See and be scene.

In February, as we slinked through the galleries on Marshall Way, we came across something particularly spectacular. Walking through the doors, we were suddenly surrounded by dark, gnarling papier-mâché creatures that personified any and all emotional pain we've felt in our lives. This grab-you-by-the-throat-and-make-you-choke show was by a Tucson artist, Michael Cajero. But, much to our surprise, we weren't at one of the area's established galleries.

Instead, we were at the new kid's house: Eric Firestone.

Since then, we've been sure to check out every show and this has become one of our favorite stops. Owner Eric Firestone runs a sister gallery in downtown Tucson and is committed to bringing 20th-century American masters who worked, lived or were connected to the West to his galleries. Modernism, Abstract Expressionism, Pop Art, Minimalism, and any other art movement your grandparents may have lived through explode on the walls on a monthly basis. With such a killer first year, we look forward to 2009.

Art Detour celebrated its 20th anniversary this year, so it's only fitting that the coolest part of the annual weekend-long tour of downtown Phoenix studios and galleries was at the old-school art venue known as the Icehouse. There was plenty to see and do at the beyond-spacious former warehouse, which was opened in the early '90s by art maven Helen Hestenes and which was dominated by the edgy and abstract "Post-West" showcase of more than 20 sculptures, installations, and video art pieces, created primarily by ASU students and faculty members.

Our favorite works from the exhibition, which re-interpreted the realities and myths of life in the desert Southwest, had to be Nan Vaughn's water gauge made from The Icehouse's old steel crossbeams and melting ice blocks and Melissa Lewis' imaginative works involving concrete. During the weekend, the Icehouse complex also hosted avant-garde performance artists and dancers, as well as the talented musicians of the Downtown Chamber Series (who busted out with symphonic selections of Dmitri Shostakovich, Igor Stravinsky, and other composers). Outside the venue, artist Ariel Bittner and friends constructed a clunky hut (dubbed the "temple of light") from a colorful collection of hundreds of old glass bottles, encouraging visitors to hang out and relax inside the structure. Don't we feel foolish for throwing away all our empties over the years.

On First or Third Fridays past, we always made sure to hike up to .anti_space on Fourth Street and McKinley. One, because we love trying that damn tightrope walk whenever possible, and two, because it used to be the home of one of our favorite art spots, Pravus Gallery. Headed by local art gurus like Kenneth Richardson, Mike Goodwin, Amy Young, and Douglas Grant, Pravus held a reputation for consistently throwing down some slam-dunk exhibitions. The only flaw was its location — not everyone is willing to step off the main drag of Roosevelt. That's why when Pravus decided to make its move to the corner of Fifth Street and Roosevelt in early 2008, we started a slow clap that is now group applause among downtown art seekers. Replacing the space that used to be Fleure•ish boutique, Pravus can now stretch its legs between two large galleries and even has room for Synthetic Compound, a designer toy store formerly part of the nearby Firehouse.

Pravus, way to make your move.

Once upon a time, the only thing you'd find on Madison (our street, not NYC's avenue) were the occasional lost ravers, homeless folks, and the unfortunate ubiquitous neighborhood crackhead. Thanks to the pioneering efforts of Lisa and Shawn Hardegree, feel free to add art gallery to that list, and a darn good one at that. The Hardegrees bring a much-needed shot of culture and beauty to a neighborhood pulling itself up by its bootstraps and hoping for a little gentrification.

Lisa and Shawn both have graduate degrees in art, and their studied approach has helped kick the level of talent in the First Friday scene up a notch. And these two are expanding their fine art empire as we write this. When you're ready to explore your inner printmaking artiste, sign up for one of the classes in their Fine Arts Education Series. Bring in your fabu art finds, and they'll frame it, for a fee, beautifully. That's reason enough to find yourself on Madison Street. On purpose, even.

Four artists. One dream. No money. Yeah, right.

But when the foursome of Joy Leveen, Amanda Nichols, Michael Peck, and Tom Leveen decided to pool their meager resources and invest in this bootstrap arts project, something strange happened. It worked.

Chyro is an organic outgrowth of Is What It Is Theatre, the entity that utilized this space in south Scottsdale's Papago Plaza before Chyro's opening in the summer of '07. Is What It Is was successful enough by grassroots-theater standards, but opening the space 30 to 35 times a year for performances just didn't cut it for the artistic do-gooders (who all work full-time gigs in addition to whatever hours they put in at Chyro).

To better serve an art-starved constituency, they now prop the doors open about four days a week, on average, and take a kitchen-sink approach to programming. (Think Trunk Space, but less kooky and more earnest.) The Is What It Is troupe has morphed into Voice Theatre, which mounts four full-scale productions every year, complementing other fare such as the Microcinema Mondays series (which features non-mainstream screeners drawn from a collaboration with the Phoenix Film Festival), art exhibits, poetry readings and slams, and a hardcore commitment to showcasing local music at least two nights a week.

Ugh, the weekday commute: same freeway, same strip malls, same billboards, and same homeless guy on the corner talking to Jesus. After looking at identical crap for days in a row, we don't even see it anymore. It's just part of the dull blur of repeated images — and it's the bane of routine living. By midweek, our eyes are thirsty for something new and juicy to suck in. And having to muscle through the monotony until the weekend just won't cut it.

Head down to the First Wednesday Downtown Chandler Art Walk to enjoy hump-day with stimulating paintings, sculpture, and photography. Walk along Arizona Avenue, just south of Chandler Boulevard, and pop into galleries like Art on Boston and Vision Gallery to get your fill of contemporary local and international art. After you've got an eyeful, get a belly full at any one of the swanky restaurants on the drag to make a night of it.

First Friday art walks led to Third Friday art openings. Soon, a veritable calendar soup of days were devoted to exploration of our fair city. We think the only night we're not booked is the second Tuesday of next August.

One event we've penned on the calendar is the Melrose Crawl, a chance to shop our favorite Seventh Avenue shops after dark. From 6 to 9 p.m. on the third Thursday of the month (with events booked for October 18, November 20, and December 18), shops like Hollywood Regency, Paris Envy, and Rust and Roses will open their vintage doors to the neighborhood. One word of advice: With so many of these stores offering amazing deals on new and antique furnishings, we plan to drive, not crawl.

One of the coolest things about the success of First Friday is the attention it's brought to downtown. And one of the best things about downtown Phoenix is the Arizona Science Center.

So we're really happy that the two combine in the form of Adult's Night Out at the museum on the first Friday of every month. Admission is free from 5:30 to 9, and the museum always features a free lecture on topics like dinosaurs and nanotech. City Bakery stays open, and you have access to all of the museum's 300 exhibits, sans the kiddos and grumpy mommies that usually populate the area.

If you want to break through in any scene, you've got to network. And to do that, you have to troll the places where the people go. There's really no shame — it's just good business. So if you're looking for some facial recognition in the arts scene, be sure to make eye lounge your number one spot for multiple visits on a First Friday. And all it takes is one cruise through to see why.

Check into any art gallery on Roosevelt Row or Grand Avenue and there's no denying that eye lounge is the expert on packing a place. We're not sure exactly what it is — the great art, the killer location, or the feng shui — but we always have to smoosh our way through a massive crowd each month. Chances are, if you shimmy around its tri-gallery setup a few times, you'll probably run into every First Friday artwalker that's out and about. Which, come to think of it, may be the main reason it's always so busy. The someones, the no-ones, and, heck, everyone is there.

Let's face it, First Fridays are about the people and Third Fridays are about the art. On a First Friday, we put on our best outfit, slap on a second coat of mascara and prepare to make a lot of eye contact. Sure, we see the art, but it's not until we take another gander during Third Friday that we actually digest it. The relaxed atmosphere of a Third Friday only requires one application of eye makeup and is a nice treat — although a couple hours of looking at art gets us in a voyeuristic vibe and we can't help wanting to be looked at, too. That's when we head to The Lost Leaf on Fifth Street. With more than 80 beers and 20 wines flowing, the renovated house acts as a beacon drawing the scattered artwalkers to one location. There, we find everyone from hungry artists to loaded lawyers having a drink and taking a peek at everyone who walks through the door. Yes, it's where the lookers and lookees like to gather and, well, look.

In a world of blogs and instant gratification, there are countless outlets documenting Valley life. Hoozdo, though, is the steady hand slow-roasting our collective experience — provided that hand isn't smarting from a piping-hot steering wheel. With honorable mentions to Your Invisible City and Valley Bird, hoozdo features some of the best writing, photography, and art highlighting the under-appreciated sights, sounds, history, culture, people, and picayune quirks of our desert metropolis with a personal touch. A temporary tattoo bundled in a past issue perfectly captures Phoenicians' heady mix of optimism and anxiety: a regal firebird endlessly encircled by the words "commute, work, commute, sleep."

We searched cyberspace for a blog that covered the local arts scene, but came up empty 'til we clicked upon Hearsight. The blog is straightforward, offering Arizona exhibition and art resource info, as well as smart, even-tempered reviews. Laid out in a clean — but elegant — design, punctuated by photos actually illustrating the work on display, hearsight.com is simply the perfect place to get the quick and dirty on what's going on artwise, both throughout the Valley and regionally as well. What a concept.

Meghan McCain, the fair, Phoenix-bred, sorta-Cindy-esque 20-something daughter of you-know-who, is, like the rest of the world, blogging. And unlike most of us, she's got a truly compelling topic, and a better-than-bird's-eye view of the best stage in the game.

Yet, the most interesting thing we've surmised from her online scrapbook is that it is, in fact, possible to campaign for Dad (sporadically, between vacays) and keep up your pedicure.

We know we're nuts, we know no one will listen, we know the future of the free world is at stake — but really, we wish someone would let the girl loose. Because if she's saying all there is to say (lots of cutlines under photos of Dad with brilliant observations like "on stage" and too-liberal use of the words "awesome" and "incredible") then the Straight Talk Express really is that straight. Yawn.

We do like some of her playlists, but must snark that the first on the list we just pulled up is B.B. King's "The Thrill Is Gone."

Mmmm. Too bad. It was a great idea.

When it comes to must-read political Web sites — present company excluded, natch — there's simply no question as to which is number one in town. And it's not azcentral.com. Nope, the hottest scoops and best analysis come from a one-man outfit, www.espressopundit.com, which somehow manages to pack more punch than a newspaper with dozens of reporters. Former state Representative Greg Patterson posts his items even while attending law school, working full time as a lobbyist (for the Arizona Competitive Power Alliance) and raising a family. The site has become enormously influential — it was Patterson's criticism of the state's 9/11 memorial that touched off years of controversy, for example — but his regular readers appreciate, more than anything, his thoughtful analysis. Whether or not you agree with him, he's never shrill and always interesting.

Last year, we kept getting phone calls from people who wanted us to look into the Arizona Report. Who was running it? And what did they want? After an extensive five-month investigation, we can tell you this: Damned if we know. But we will admit that we enjoy reading it! The satirical Web site is written by someone who clearly knows a lot about politics in the Grand Canyon State — and who doesn't mind poking fun at just about everyone. Our favorite? A post earlier this year about State Treasurer Dean Martin, titled "Martin calls press conference to remind the media he's still around." "Arizona State Treasurer Dean Martin announced today that he is still living in Arizona despite a noticeable lack of media stories about him," the post began. For those of you used to Chris Rock, sure, this isn't much. But we political junkies are laughing our asses off.

We weren't sure what to expect when we got an e-mail inviting us to check out www.crazyspace.org, a "social network for the Arizona Republicans who put the AZ in crazy." But in just a few minutes, we were giggling delightedly. The MySpace send-up, put together by the state Democratic Party just in time for April Fool's Day, has profiles of Russell Pearce (he's interested in meeting "natural-born citizens"), Karen Johnson (hobbies include "guns, getting married, and denying global warming") and a whole slate of other GOP loonies. Naturally, the project drew outcry from the humorless types who hang out at www.sonoranalliance.com. It's mean, they said; it's unfair. Maybe it's just us, but we found ourselves wondering what the problem was with that!

It was a sad day in 2006 when Cox Communications pulled the plug on the Valley's long-running public-access channel, Access Phoenix. Having been fans of such wacked-out shows as What's Up with Radical Mike and Samurai Sports, we were particularly bummed out by the move. That is, until we discovered YouTube. Then the online video service satisfied our yen for outrageous programming. Our most recent discovery is Satanic Views, a highly-entertaining "experimental no-budget variety show" created by Valley resident Damon Foster.

A longtime underground filmmaker (whose gonzo oeuvre includes flicks like Hot Dogs on the Run and Martyr X), Foster's created 13 episodes of the fierce-sounding series. Each edition features Foster and a cast of friends discussing the tenets behind worshipping the dark lord, as well as the occult and paganism. But as nefarious as it sounds, the series is filled with humor, high jinks, and Foster's hilarious views on politics and reviews of music and movies (he's a particular fan of cult Asian cinema). The dude also spends a portion of episodes chronicling his love of nature and animals.

Although he hung out a lot with the Anton LeVay crowd while living in San Francisco during his 30s, the 44-year-old admits he never was a real member of the Church of Satan. Instead, he was running with the devil "just to get chicks." And the whole Beelzebub bent of the program is something of a gimmick, as well as a conduit for shocking people and expressing his viewpoints in amusing fashion. "I'm not pro-occult or anything, just anti-religion," says the admitted atheist. "It's just a way of having fun." The devil you say.

If you haven't been paying attention to the University of Arizona's Mars mission, your head must be in Uranus. Sure, there was a bit of a rocky start when baking the soil in the Phoenix Lander's onboard observation oven didn't go quite as planned, but the mission seems to be proceeding smoothly now.

Want the latest updates from Mars? Don't check the papers, Earthling, check your iTunes. The University of Arizona has partnered with the online music retailer to provide podcasts of the Mars mission for absolutely none of your Earth dollars. Up for grabs are weekly mission updates, interviews with NASA scientists and even simulated video of the Phoenix in action. Stay on the case with what's happening in space via all the free aural and video stimulation you can handle. Just search for "Phoenix Mars Mission" under the iTunes Store.

Working in an office sucks. A lot. Between dealing with an ever-problematic copy machine and navigating the always-tricky landscape of office politics, it's no wonder most people dread the 9-to-5 grind. But as bad as the rat race can seem, we assure you it's nowhere near as gruesome as the workplace terrors depicted in the locally produced indie film NetherBeast Incorporated. To wit: As difficult as it is dealing with your annoying co-workers, we bet you never had to put a stake through a colleague's heart. But inside the walls of Berm-Tech Industries (the film's fictional telecommunications company), it's a regular occurrence. Described as a cross between The Office and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the film (produced by local filmmaking brothers Dean and Brian Ronalds) involves a workplace run by vampires and features such actors as Saturday Night Live's Darrell Hammond, Kids in the Hall's Dave Foley, and Mr. John Bender himself, Judd Nelson. It's an uproarious comedy-horror flick shot right here in the Valley and it's been screened at film festivals across the country. It also gives new meaning to the phrase "working stiff."

Mike Red and Stephen Strange have some lofty goals for their off-the-wall music and comedy variety show Television Noir. Besides a desire to shock and entertain anyone who happens to tune into the beyond-bizarre late-night TV program, the duo are hoping to generate mass interest in Phoenix's creative scene, particularly the musical efforts of Valley bands. To this end, each weekly episode of Television Noir will include a music video from a different local group, as well as integrating their songs throughout the show. So far, Red and Strange are planning on showcasing the work of such local standouts as glam rockers Crash Street Kids, indie foursome Runaway Diamonds, punkers The Complainiacs, and a half-dozen other groups. (They're always on the lookout for music for future episodes, so hit them up at [email protected] if you're interested.) "In the past, most bands have been limited to just putting their music videos up on MySpace and YouTube, so we wanted to give them something better," Red says. Who needs MTV when we've got Television Noir?

We refuse to badmouth in Best Of (well, we try, okay?) but we pause for a moment, to dish on Scottsdale, in honor of our new favorite song. Face it: Douchebags and Scottsdale go together like . . . well, cougars and Scottsdale. The concept may be nothing new, but that didn't stop The Blobots (a.k.a. 103.9 DJ Craven Moorehead) from recording over the backing track of the Flobots' hit "Handlebars" to create a hilarious and thoroughly comprehensive song about Scottsdale douchebaggery.

Aside from hosting the ska-punk show on 103.9 The Edge, Moorehead edits radio spots and commercials for the radio station. Initially his parody had but one verse, but audience demands for a downloadable version of the song led Moorehead to write and record the rest of the parody.

"Scottsdale Bars" manages to cram every stereotypical Scottsdale reference there is into about three minutes of audio, including frosted-tip haircuts, persistence in the face of rejection, and claiming you're straight in designer jeans.

"I can tell you I can score some blow. I can tell you I'm a movie director. I spray on Axe 'til my eyes swell up. My skin burns, but I smell much better."

Founded in summer 2006, this Phoenix-based label has distribution through megalith Epic Records, which makes it the perfect home for local bands who're ready to break out nationally. The label's five artists are among the cream of Valley musicians. In addition to punk band Chronic Future, the roster also includes new-New Wave wizard Back Ted N-Ted, electro-dance outfit the Medic Droid, hard rockers The Cover Up, and indie rockers Miniature Tigers. With an eye for supreme talent, national distribution, and public relations by Press Here Publicity (the same company that does PR for Arctic Monkeys, Bright Eyes, Def Leppard, Lenny Kravitz, and White Stripes), Modern Art Records has all the elements of a "major indie" label.

Arizona hip-hop legend Roca Dolla (formerly known as I-Roq) runs a smooth operation at 5fith Coast Records. With his partner and co-producer RTZ, Roca Dolla's churned out some serious beats and solid records for the MCs on his label, which include Valley rappers like Tray Gutter, Zig Zag (formerly of NB Ridaz), Ocean, and Tha Formula. National acts have enlisted the services of 5fith Coast for everything from music production to Internet promotion, too, including G-Unit artist Young Buck, Che Vicious from Aftermath Records, and Tupac's Outlawz. The studio itself is professionally insulated for acoustic perfection, and features more mixing boards, equipment, and speakers than a mid-career Rolling Stones tour.

Many great local records have been recorded at Full Well — everybody from Phoenix punk bands like NunZilla and Dephinger and glam rockers The New Romantics to indie rockers The January Taxi and The Walnuts have laid down albums there. The studio's equipped with a Tangent 3216 analog recording console, countless amplifiers, and 128-track ProTools HD3 system, so bands can capture their sound any way they like, be it live or overdubbed to perfection. In addition to having a good ear and knob-twisting skills, engineer Mike Bolenbach offers a wide array of post-production services, as well, including editing and mastering.

ASU's radio station plays more songs by local artists — from the experimental sounds of Yourchestra to the electro-pop of Peachcake to the hard rock of the Necronauts — than any other radio station in the Valley. The station's annual "Guest DJ Week," during the last week of March, boasts hosts from the hippest parts of the local music scene (previous guest DJs have included William Fucking Reed, Jim Adkins of Jimmy Eat World, Jared Bell of Lymbyc Systym, Treasure Mammal, and former New Times music editor Niki D'Andrea). When it comes to playing hot new local bands, The Blaze seems to have a knack for finding who's about to start a fire, whether it's putting local funk-rock jammers Black Carl on heavy rotation, or breaking in a new song by buzz kings What Laura Says Thinks and Feels. The only downside is the station's weak signal — if you're not within a 10-mile radius of the ASU campus, you're not going to get The Blaze on your dial. Luckily, the station streams live on the Internet, so anyone in the world can catch the best new music coming out of Phoenix.

We've found that one of the secrets in life is to make sure we know a few geeks and nerds. Not only are they adorable in their own way but outspoken eggheads tend to know everything and are good for imparting advice when our computer crashes or we need to pick out a plasma television. Whenever we're looking for the latest skinny on video games, we turn to Alon Waisman and Ara Shirinian, the hosts of Chatterbox Video Game Radio. Why? Because these joystick Jedi (and their sidekick, Richard Crawford) know their shit, that's why. Trying to decide whether you should get the latest hit game? Wondering why your Xbox 360 has the "red ring of death"? They will answer those questions, as well as dissect the latest news from the gaming world, and discuss nerdish topics du jour during their hour-long show on Tuesday evenings. It definitely beats getting advice from those dorks at Fry's Electronics, at any rate.

We'll admit it: Arizona's DUI crackdown has us depressed. Seems you can get arrested just for thinking about booze these days — for daring to actually drink a glass of beer, we've heard, you can face the death penalty. And it's not just the thousands of drivers who've gotten popped who are talking about the issue; it's the restaurants and bars, the cops, the lawyers. But leave it to Ken Sharp to bring everybody together to have that conversation on the air. Sharp, who used to facilitate court-ordered group discussions for drunk drivers, got the idea to build a radio show around the DUI topic, and after a Friday-night launch, was soon airing his show each weekday during the lunch hour on KFNX 1100-AM. The discussion has been fascinating and intensely real. This fall, Sharp intends to launch the show on a different station, so stay tuned for details. With the way things are going in this state, you really can't afford not to listen.

KWSS offers not only commercial-free programming but serves as home to the funniest radio comedy show in the Valley, Chillin' with B and Gas, which airs every Monday from 7 p.m. to midnight. Comedian Bryan Ricci joins deejay Kevin Gassman every week, where the pair cheekily discusses things like whether or not a particular song is "porn music," things that make relationships break down, and the crux of the show, the "Gasshole of the Week." The duo defines a "Gasshole" as a combination of an asshole and an idiot, and gives the title to people like Gardenia Johansson Zarkweski, the Valley mother who told a valet to watch her son while she and her Chihuahua went shopping at Scottsdale Fashion Square. The show's been going strong since December 2006 and doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon — at least not with so many unrecognized Gassholes still in town.

How does Jonathan L get the legendary Ronnie Spector on the phone, or bring in Johnette Napolitano for an in-studio performance, or nab an autographed poster of PJ Harvey? He just opens his Rolodex. Jonathan L has been in radio for more than 25 years — he knows people, and he's got some great stories. He might be a name-dropper to some, but he's really just mining his many musical encounters over the years to entertain listeners; he's more of the seasoned, sharing, rocker-type (and he's got spiky blond hair and more tattoos than Mötley Crüe). But what really makes Jonathan L so cool is his earnest, enduring love of music, and his desire to always find hot new bands. Sometimes it's breaking national stuff — like The Raveonettes, MGMT, N-Euro, and Landon Pigg — but it's often unsigned bands from various parts of the world, such as Paul Marklew (the U.K.), Hypernova (Iran), CEOz (France), and Miss Li (Sweden). He also spins a ton of local music. Jonathan L has given play to local bands like Crushed, Big Cock, St. Madness, Vayden, Thee Unfortunates, Telescope, Xray, and Friday Night Gunfight, to name but a few. Check out his show, The Lopsided World of Jonathan L, Saturday mornings from 6:45 to 10 a.m. and Sunday nights from 6 to 8 p.m.

Not only does scrappy Bay Area-born DJ Strawberry spin some of the hottest Top 40 and hip-hop jams from the likes of Kanye West, Lil Wayne, Chris Brown, and the Valley's own Willy Northpole during his weekday programs from 2 to 6 p.m., but he adds fun aspects to his show like "Will It Flush?" in which he takes all sorts of objects, from a screwdriver to a pair of headphones to his own toothbrush, to see whether they can disappear down the commode. If listeners correctly bet whether or not something will flush, they win a bag of swag. (You can also watch clips of items being flushed on the station's Web site.) His on-air banter is quick and witty, and his love of sharing bizarre news — including how an employee of Warner Brothers Records' office sits right beneath Madonna's crotch on the giant promotional mural that covers the WBR building — is entertaining and endearing for listeners, too.

Redheaded radio jock Dave Pratt has been prattling across Valley airwaves since 1981, when he took a job with local rock station 98 KUPD as host of Pratt in the Morning. More than two decades later, Pratt left KUPD (which he calls "the best career decision I ever made" in his bio on davepratt.net) and joined the staff of KMLE. Pratt's morning show was wildly successful on KUPD, and so it has been on KMLE as well, despite the jump from rock to country.

Pratt retains his decades-old nickname as the "Morning Mayor," and continues to be prominent in the local community, raising money for numerous charities, becoming part owner of Alice Cooper'stown restaurant/venue in Phoenix, and adding his witty banter and industry insights to the airwaves, every morning from 5 to 9 a.m.

We'll admit it: We're talk-radio junkies (and totally open to it all, regardless of political perspective or tone). Really. We love the crazies that call into Coast to Coast on 550-AM. Sometimes we think Michael Savage has a point. And we really wish Garrison Keillor were our grandpa. When it comes to locals, the selection is just as good, and narrowing down this category to one "best" host was tough. After all, daily heavy-hitters like Darrell Ankarlo and Larry Gaydos are immensely popular, but their long-winded rants, as well as their callers, verge on unlistenable. And we've got a great Spanish-speaking radio community here, and hosts like Alfredo Gutierrez certainly deserve a little recognition. But in the end, we have to go back to our old favorite: the guy we tune in to every Wednesday, without fail, when we want informed, interesting discussion on local issues. Steve Goldstein of KJZZ's Here and Now wins the prize for consistently bringing us researched, factual, rhetoric-free discussion. (His producer, Paul Atkinson, deserves a shout-out, as well.) From Goldstein's coverage of illegal immigration to his talks with the governor, we know we can count on him not to give us a headache.

News is a pretty loosely defined term these days. Sad, but true. Even CNN isn't above covering Britney's custody battle and mental breakdown. And on the radio, we're pretty much constantly subjected to opinions — shouted, poorly researched opinions — rather than hard news reporting. Which is why we are thankful for the news team at 91.5-FM KJZZ every time we're trapped in our cars — which is every day. Yeah, the local reporting is sandwiched between national broadcasts (though we're not complaining — we love us some Terry Gross around here), but we're updated steadily on stories that are developing around the state as well. What we love most is the levelheaded, competent approach to reporting that the KJZZ team takes. And in this new media world, we have to give their Web site props for being aesthetically pleasing, functional, and easy to use.

How does that Stealers Wheel ditty go? "Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right/Here I am, stuck in the middle with you." Well, if you wanna hear clowns on the left, look no further on the radio dial than left-wing nutty 1480 KPHX, "the Valley's progressive talk," where you can listen to 9/11 troofers taken seriously, E.T.-look-alike and ultra-liberal Congressman Dennis Kucinich praised as the second coming, and President George W. Bush bashed all day long as the Antichrist. Hey, everyone knows Dubya ain't the Antichrist. Dick Cheney's the Antichrist. Dubya's just his willing, demonic slave. But, seriously, if you ever require validation that the loony left is alive and well in America despite rumors of its demise, tune into, say, Mike Malloy, and hear him tell his audience, "They're not human; they're Republicans." Or catch callers-in who think everything that's going wrong in their lives is because of a conspiracy perpetrated by the Bushies. Listen spellbound as these same callers demand Dubya be tried for war crimes just like the Nazis at Nuremberg, even though that's about as likely to happen as Rush Limbaugh running a marathon. Ever wonder why left-wing talk radio sucks Democrat donkey? Er, because it's boring to listen to someone tell you "Bush bites" 24-7. No wonder KPHX's ratings are continually in the toilet.

Should you forget the grotesque, arrogant a-holeness of the extreme right in this country and hanker after a dose of gross reality, park your dial at KFYI 550-AM, and get an ear-load. KFYI features not only radio's bloviator-in-chief, OxyContin enthusiast Rush Limbaugh, and reactionary, moonhowler Michael Savage, there are plenty of local wing-nuts on there too. Like Bruce "One Note Johnny" Jacobs, whose raison d'etre is bashing Muslims, or the decrepit Barry Young, who's so old he thinks canned applause is cool, and who hasn't found a national leader he's liked since Jefferson Davis.

Worst of all is former Congressman J.D. Hayworth, mainly because the loser Republican sounds like his mouth is stuffed full of cotton, and like he got hit on the head one too many times with a shovel as a teen (And . . . so . . . he. . . taaalks . . . real . . . slooow . . . liiike . . . this.) Listening to Hayworth, you've got to wonder whether the guy is really that dumb. With a lineup like this one, how did KFYI get to be the number one talk-radio station in the Valley? Because Sand Land is overrun with right-wing loons, people, and they lap up everything these idgits spew. Sca-ry! Great listening, though.

It's official: The Information Overload Age is upon us. With so many choices, who can you trust (other than New Times, natch)? We always breathe a sigh of relief when our channel surfing takes us to Mike Watkiss, the best TV reporter in town. Watkiss has a résumé as long as the channel list, and his reporting makes that clear, whether he's covering breaking news or a national event. The guy is ubiquitous. One day he's up on the Arizona/Utah border tracking his archenemy, polygamist Warren Jeffs. The next, he's interviewing the grieving widow of a father of five who died after a tree fell on him. This earnest old-school storyteller is head and shoulders (and sideburns!) above his peers in this market, and we're very happy to have him around.

We adore Ted Simons, and not just because, once upon a time, he wrote about music and some other stuff for us. Fact is, the guy's worked just about every place in this town (and several other towns), and always done well for himself. He fills an age-old void at Horizon, the local public-affairs show produced out of Arizona State University by public television, by providing a refreshing change to long-long-longtime host Michael Grant, a nice guy with a rather flaccid style and a big, huge conflict of interest in the form of a law practice.

But Simons is a humble journalist, not a lawyer, and it shows in his candor and refreshing style. The boy definitely does his homework. And we especially appreciate his ability to toss in a pithy one-liner or two when things start to get overly turgid — ah, the curse of Horizon. Tune us in!

There's not much on local TV around 2 a.m. (at least not anything worth watching sober). It's an utter wasteland of insipid sitcom reruns, infomercials for lap-band surgeries, and other Z-grade programming. Some entertainment can be found, amidst all the dreck, in the form of the over-the-top and somewhat peculiar commercials for ambulance chas . . . er, personal injury lawyer Glen Lerner. The stock-looking barrister hawks his legal services in amusing ways. One classic advert, set in 1972, features the childhood version of Lerner standing up for a buddy who was harshly tackled during a football game, demanding the ruffian give up his bicycle and clothing in return. Another spot sees the slickster attorney (usually clad in a shiny suit and a wide, sharktooth grin) starring as a miniature angel, standing on one shoulder of his injured client and beseeching him to ignore settlement offers from a devil-like claims adjuster perched on the other shoulder. Visit Lerner's Web site for ads more kooky ads.

Last fall, a Glendale-based business embarked on a mission to get attention for its cause. Hovering over the juncture of the I-17 and the I-10 stood a billboard's query in simple but gigantic script: "Are you as backed up as this traffic?" For PoopDoc.com's founder, Scott Olsen, it was an important question that required that clever directness. Olsen believes that eradicating constipation and cleansing the colon is the key to good health and disease prevention. Fair enough. Also, gross. What's grosser than gross, though? The unfortunate motorists whose only answer could be a miserable, "Yes!"

So, we're toodling along on Van Buren, not obsessing about sex for a change, when we pass a truck sporting a Statewide Erectors logo on the side and a large, green phallic erection in the bed. A double take showed the mechanical boner to be some sort of hefting device, but that didn't stop us from yukking up our Starbucks. Now, we all know that the good folks at this Phoenix sheet-metal-installation company couldn't have meant it, well, that way, right? What sort of entrepreneur, plotting the future of his new business, jumps out of his seat and shouts, "Eureka! I'll call it Statewide Erectors and install large, green phallic erections in the truck beds"? We have no idea, but we salute his unwitting humor. However, he owes us a Starbucks.

Long before clips of the Verne Troyer sex tape hit Internet gossip sites, the PHX's own version of Mini-Me, Chuey the Rock and Roll Midget, was presenting a sexual performance of his own for the camera, albeit a solo one. See, Phoenix photographer Giulio Sciorio has a series he calls "Faces of Ecstasy: Real People, Real Orgasms." They're close-up, PG-rated portraits of men and women making sweet love to themselves, capturing for all eternity the model's flippin' "O" face. Some folks look like they're in pain, some like they're on the crapper, still others look as wanton and hot as you'd want them to look. But nothing beats the look of closed-eyed concentration that Chuey exhibits while polishing his bishop. In fact, if one of Chuey's shoulders was not lower than the other (Sciorio's portraits never reveal the activities going on below the waist), you might reckon him to be dead. What is it the French call the orgasm, la petite mort? The phrase seems apropos here. Thankfully, Chuey himself is still alive, and rocking the mic at the Scottsdale bar Giligins, where he emcees all kinds of insanity and even has his own, fully stocked "midget bar," where patrons have to sit at eye level with the great and wee man.

Some people just don't take rejection very well. For instance, Kurt William Havelock had dreams of calling his Halloween-themed concept bar and restaurant "Drunkensteins," but after the Tempe City Council denied him a liquor license last fall, the 36-year-old restaurateur took the news kinda badly.

How badly? Well, Havelock reportedly came close to wiping out countless people gathered near University of Phoenix Stadium in Glendale for Super Bowl XLII with an AR-15 and 200 rounds of ammo. According to the eight-page manifesto he mailed to various local and national publications (including New Times), it was a revenge scheme that Havelock plotted in response to Tempe's diss. (Most rejected restaurateurs woulda just gone back to the drawing board.) Fortunately, he tearfully turned himself in to Tempe police instead of pulling the trigger. In June, he was convicted of six counts of mailing threatening communications by a U.S. District Court and is facing up to five years in the federal pen. Thankfully, the only murdering going on that day was the killing of the New England Patriots' dreams of a perfect season.

So, what, Crispin Glover's a freak? Hey, tell us something we don't know, Buckwheat. After all, the cult B-lister's probably best known for an incident in which he aimed an on-air karate kick at David Letterman back in the day, in addition to playing weirdo roles in Back to the Future, River's Edge, Charlie's Angels, and Wild at Heart. Then there's his kooky art flick What Is It?, in which a cast of actors with Down syndrome kill snails, and big-breasted women in masks run around naked.

So it's no surprise to us that, according to the folks at Chandler Cinemas, Glover demanded his fee up front, in cash and in crisp, clean bills when he appeared at the theater for a three-night run of What Is It? in May. Supposedly, Glover owns a castle, or something, in the Czech Republic, and the Czechs don't dig the dirty bills. Glover also claimed the Chandler Cinemas damaged his film somehow, and demanded they pay for its repair to the tune of $610. Though the indie operators of Chandler Cinemas didn't really buy that their projectionist harmed the print of the weird-ass movie, they agreed to pay Glover to calm his ass down during a tantrum in which he berated the theater's projectionist and made her cry. For the record, Glover's denied the tantrum, and says he warned the theater ahead of time about having his cash up front. He also claims he never made anyone cry. Well, except for anyone with taste who had to endure that turd of a movie of his.

From 8:30 to noon on weekdays, you can switch on KTAR saliva jockey Darrell Ankarlo and hear him bitching about brown folk. Supposedly a big Christian, his broadcasts regularly pound away at the most defenseless members of our society — those at the bottom of the economic ladder, undocumented men and women who have to hide in the shadows just so they can bust their butts to survive in this country. He regularly whips up hysteria against illegal aliens, unfairly linking all of them to crime. He supports Sheriff Joe Arpaio's anti-Hispanic dragnets in the Valley, frequently having the sheriff on his show to butt-lick our corrupt top constable. He bashes "anchor babies," who are nothing more than American citizens born to undocumented moms. And he suggests Mexicans are dirty and lecherous, describing their neighborhoods as full of trash, and Mexican men as constantly leering at white chicks.

Occasionally, Ankarlo feigns concern for the plight of the undocumented, only to turn right around the next minute, wrap himself in the flag, and condemn them as a threat to the American way of life. Ankarlo's a despicable, self-serving windbag, turning a week of broadcasts from the Mexico-America border into the book Another Man's Sombrero, as if all it took for an Archie Bunker-type like him to become an immigration expert was a sojourn in Nogales. For all he does and the unbridled hypocrisy with which he does it, Ankarlo is the Valley's best bigot 'cause no one does bigotry better.

Around here, where political yella-bellies abound, picking the most egregious example of political poltroonery is rough work. After all, Arizona has a gutless attorney general who bends over when Sheriff Joe Arpaio institutes a bogus investigation of his office. And there's Arpaio himself, who wimped out of Guadalupe when the mayor there stood up to him, and who conceded Mesa to Police Chief George Gascón during the Sheriff's Office's anti-immigrant sweep in that city.

But nothing beats Mesa pantywaist Russell Pearce, a bigoted bully in the state Legislature who is used to getting his way. Pearce was looking to take on moderate Republican Jeff Flake this year for his District 6 Congressional seat, had an exploratory committee taking donations, and even started sporting a toupée in a lame attempt to compete with golden-boy Flake's toothy good looks. However, Russ' exploratory committee raised only about $24K, while Flake had a cool mil in the bank. And the state Republican Party was not enthusiastic about Russ' challenging the wildly popular Flake, so the big, bad Pearce pulled out. Um, wussed out is more like it. Since Pearce's term-limited out of the state House, he's running for the state Senate seat vacated by Karen Johnson. But if Russ'd been half the man he pretends to be, he would've stuck it out with Jeff Flake to begin with. In other words, look up the word "punk" in the dictionary, and (in a perfect world) you'd see a pic of Pearce.

Rumpled and occasionally gruff, Salvador Reza resembles at first glance some eccentric Chicano-studies professor, and if you let him, he can lecture with the best of them on the plight of indigenous peoples in the Americas. But Reza ain't no academic, unless you count his college as the struggle in the streets against the harassment and discrimination of undocumented workers. There he teaches regularly, usually with a bullhorn, all while going head-to-head with Sheriff Joe Arpaio, assorted Minutemen, and various other nativist numbskulls. Reza runs the Macehualli Work Center in north Phoenix, where he provides a place where jornaleros, or day laborers, can hook up with employers seeking short-term help.

The word macehualli means "those who deserve honor for their work," in Nahuatl, the language of the ancient Aztecs. And it is just that kind of honor and respect that Reza fights for regularly in civil rights marches, protests, and in speeches demanding same before the Legislature and the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors. Because he is both unafraid and unrelenting, Reza has become the man redneck nativists most love to hate. Hey, as far as we're concerned, you judge a man by his enemies. And if the toothless, ignorant KKK-wanna-bes spend every waking moment cursing Sal Reza, then you know he's doing something right. Keep doing your thing, Sal.

There's a list of public officials who've had the 'nads to stand up to Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio: Phoenix Mayor Phil Gordon, Guadalupe Mayor Rebecca Jimenez, Governor Janet Napolitano. But nobody did it with the panache of Mesa Police Chief George Gascón. Fueled by the immigrant fire in his belly, the Latino chief (a naturalized U.S. citizen from Cuba) made sure Joe didn't have his usual media field day. Not on Gascón's turf! Gascón set up a Mesa command post at the same location as Joe was planning to set up his. There were so many Mesa cops in the area that Joe's forces were stymied into playing it straighter than they usually do. The former L.A. assistant chief forced the MCSO to do something it's unaccustomed to doing — act somewhat professional.

When Gascón emerged from his mobile command trailer on the first day of Joe's incursion (aimed at busting any brown-skinned person Joe's troopers could racially profile for such heinous crimes as a busted tail light or a cracked windshield), the handsome Gascón was cheered like a celebrity. He grinned and waved to an adoring crowd, as a few nativist goobers scowled nearby (funny how the trailer-trash brigade that cheers Joe on didn't have the spine to come out en masse to Mesa). Meanwhile the — ahem — "toughest sheriff in America" hid out like a little girl in his Wells Fargo Center office downtown — far, far away from the action. Joe (or more likely his legion of highly paid PR flacks) realized he would contrast way unfavorably with the tall, silver-haired, immaculately uniformed Gascón, that Joe's pot-bellied 76-year-old countenance would be upstaged.

And upstaged he was! This was no Joe Show, this was The George Show. To avoid sunburn from the movie-star glow of this real lawman, whiny ol' Joke had to cower in fear from afar.

Public opinion, from anybody with half a brain, began to go bad for Sheriff Joe Arpaio's immigrant "sweeps" after he took his forces into the tiny town of Guadalupe. Before, Joe had gone to places where the legal citizenry was more likely to be non-Hispanic. It made it less obvious that he was racially profiling. But when he sent his deputies into Guadalupe, it became clear to any rational person that he wasn't just targeting illegal aliens but anybody with brown skin. The reason is that the whole town is populated by Latinos and Yaqui Indians, and the vast majority of residents are longtime American citizens.

In fact, so many citizens were detained by MCSO deputies in the Guadalupe raid that there no longer was doubt that Arpaio's troops would violate anybody's civil rights if it meant nabbing a single undocumented worker. And stop U.S. citizens his deputies did — for cracked windshields, headlights allegedly too dim, wide turns, improper license-plate coverings . . . you name it. And many of the citizens detained complained to federal authorities, who'd already commenced an investigation.

But what sticks most in our mind about the Guadalupe raid was the bravery of a small-town public official, a mayor who wasn't afraid to stand up for what's right. Who wasn't afraid to tell the mighty Joe Arpaio that he and his brown-bashing brown-shirts weren't welcome in her town. New Times published a photo of Rebecca Jimenez, back to camera, politely telling off an infuriated Joe. Hair awry, teeth gritted, waving his finger menacingly in her face, he's telling the soft-spoken Jimenez that — if his anti-Latino sweeps won't be abided in Guadalupe — he would rescind the law-enforcement services the town pays the MCSO to perform! And he and the county Supes announced just before press time that the county will make good on the threat. (That's another million bucks out of county coffers, but what does Joe care as long as he can preen to ignorant racists before TV cameras?)

Arpaio's threat isn't the only one Jimenez received because of her heroic stance. Anonymous cowards have threatened the now former mayor's safety in phone calls and e-mails. Unlike others who've bucked Arpaio (officials who have state and city police forces to back them up), Jimenez had but the slingshot of her own convictions.

We didn't think much of Barack Obama's chances of becoming president before he arrived at Veterans Memorial Coliseum in Phoenix on January 30. Because of one major obstacle: He's black. But Obama's like a lot of rock stars we've seen in our time — you don't really get him until you witness him onstage. It was such an experience at the coliseum that afternoon, when upwards of 20,000 people showed up to take in the Illinois U.S. senator and first serious African-American presidential candidate. Caroline Kennedy was there, so was Governor Janet Napolitano — up there on the dais with Obama, surrounded by screaming fans as Stevie Wonder played on the P.A.

What struck us about Obama was his cool as he riffed with the audience for an hour or so. No notes, no jitters, no sweat. In fact, we wonder whether he even sweats when he famously plays basketball games with campaign staff. This day, he bantered about hope, change, kindness, toughness, inclusion of all Americans in the system (the usual stuff), but it wasn't what he said that mattered. It was the style in which he said it.

He was the kind of speaker who won over voters that day with his elegant tone, the kind of speaker who thrilled the converted with his movie-star orations, the kind of speaker who didn't threaten the older white folks in the audience. President 50 Cent he wouldn't be. Past black presidential candidates, like Jesse Jackson, come across as insufferable hotheads compared to him; John McCain comes across as an insufferable hothead next to him.

It was if he were having an after-dinner conversation with us over a glass of brandy and a cigar, only there were many thousands of us, from floor to rafters. We felt reassured that he was somebody of substance, a characteristic we had questioned of this first-term senator before that moment. By the time we'd left, if we hadn't been jaded members of the press who needed to maintain our (um) objectivity, we would've admitted that Obama seemed wise beyond his political years, that he had charisma unseen in presidential politics since Ronald Reagan or JFK. We came away from the rally with the unspoken sentiment that we wouldn't want to be John McCain. Even then, it was clear that Barack Hussein Obama (despite the unfortunate middle name) possesses something Arizona's experienced senior senator will never have: commanding flair.

Why is the Maricopa County Sheriff's Office in Honduras training the national police there on the county taxpayer's dime, with expenses reimbursed by RICO funds? To hear Sheriff Joe Arpaio tell it, the program — authored, planned and approved by his Chief Deputy David Hendershott — was a gesture of goodwill to the Honduran government, so that they would pony up millions of photos for the MCSO's facial-recognition data banks. At last count, the program's cost the county more than $157,000 in man-hours and RICO reimbursements. But there's more: Hendershott approved hundreds of thousands of dollars in purchases of facial-recognition technology from a county vendor with which he has unexplained ties. Hendershott even pitched the technology to a representative of the European Union, and has been caught traveling to China and staying in the same hotel as the CEO of this same county vendor while there.

Hendershott has denied over and over that he has any investments in Honduras or in the vendor's business. But that photo of Hendershott in Honduras, wearing a Panama hat and a Hawaiian shirt, as if he were in a remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau, tells a different story. That photo is emblematic of just how wacked the MCSO has become. Hendershott is at the epicenter of this corruption, a venal, power-mad Jabba the Hutt beholden to no one. Not even Joe Arpaio, whom he manipulates like a moth-eaten marionette. Hendershott is the real power behind Joe's throne. But if Joe loses in November, Hendershott'll have to account to another boss for all he's wrought. Wonder if they make striped pajamas in Hendy's size?

Since when does a developer need $97 million in incentives to build a shopping center in the swankiest part of town? Apparently, it's been since Thomas Klutznick & Company came to town, hands outstretched, and Phoenix promised the Chicago developer just that sum in exchange for a Nordstrom at the 51 and the 101. The deal was universally panned, from the halls of the State Legislature to the candidates' debates before the City Council. But nobody did anything about it — nobody, that is, until the Goldwater Institute decided to sue the city, arguing that the giveaway was unconstitutional.

The city fought back hard, and after winning on a district level, attempted to sock Goldwater for its attorney's fees. Fortunately, Maricopa Superior Court Judge Robert Miles denied that claim, calling it "inappropriate." And so the scrappy litigators at the Institute's Scharf-Norton Center for Constitutional Litigation survived to fight another round, attempting to get the appeals court to do what the superior court would not. Win or lose, we love them for trying — and, hopefully, making the city think twice before it gives away a giant hunk of our sales tax dollars.

We do wonder how many people in the East Valley have even a remote idea what the Yiddish word schmuck means. (Um, rhymes with Venus.) And we want to know how many of you, well, schmucks out there actually voted for a guy because of his last name. That basically sums up Frank Schmuck's run for the house in Legislative District 20, which featured a whole lot of white and red signs emblazoned with SCHMUCK — THAT'S RIGHT! FRANK SCHMUCK. He didn't make it out of the primary (though we gotta say, he came darn close) but, hey, it's not like he wouldn't have been in good company if he'd won the race and headed to the state Capitol.

We always loved his work as a journalist — first as a longtime reporter for the Phoenix Gazette, then the Arizona Republic, where he did everything from cover D.C. to blow the coffin lid off the mortuary business in Phoenix — but we had to laugh when we heard, years ago, that Michael Murphy had left the paper for public relations.

Murphy's a lovable curmudgeon with a heart of gold — but the guy's a first-rate mumbler. That doesn't matter so much when you're the one asking the questions, but it can thwart your success when you're trying to make a point on TV or radio, on behalf of your employer. But Murphy's initial employer, the Arizona Department of Health Services, deserves some credit. Someone knew what they were doing. Murphy spoke up and spoke well on behalf of DHS for many years. We were sad to see him go this summer, because unlike a lot of flacks in this town, he takes his role seriously and always answered our requests in a timely and professional manner.

We wish him luck in his new gig as communications director for the Maricopa Integrated Health System. Now, that's a mouthful.

We've never had one word of complaint about Toni Maccarone. Throughout nine years as a public information officer for the Phoenix City Council, and then as the director of the city's public information office for the last seven years, Maccarone has been even-keeled, organized, and professional. In Phoenix, unlike other government entities we can think of, it never mattered that we'd recently written something nasty about city officials or that we were only sniffing around potentially embarrassing information and ignoring the "good" news: Maccarone made sure that the right records were provided — in a timely manner and without a touch of attitude — and that the proper officials were produced to take our questions, whether they liked it or not. So we were both happy for her and sorry for ourselves when we heard in September that she'd been promoted to serve as Phil Gordon's chief of staff. It couldn't happen to a nicer lady; we can only hope her yet-to-be-named replacement at the PIO is just as easy to work with.

We used to make fun of the Republic, constantly. It was so boring, so ridiculously provincial, so . . . mainstream. But this year, we have to admit, we stopped sneering and started worrying. The paper's parent company, Gannett, has been hemorrhaging money, and we've seen the results in a series of editorial cuts that have sent the paper's best staffers heading for the exits. For a while, it seemed like everybody was fleeing to jobs in public relations (Judy Nichols, Robbie Sherwood, Mark Shaffer, Chris Fiscus). Now the rest of them seem to be headed to the unemployment line. The paper's far-from-generous buyout package netted another 28 losses last month, and among the casualties were some of our favorite people: Chuck Kelly, who led the Republic's Don Bolles investigation and was known as a great wordsmith and all-around nice guy. Norm Frauenheim, considered one of the country's top boxing writers. Richard DeUriarte, an avuncular presence who moderated political debates all over the Valley and used to be the paper's Public Advocate. We have to admit, had we known they were going, we might have appreciated the Republic a little more while they were there. The paper simply won't be the same without them — and for once, we mean that in a completely non-snarky, non-sneering way.

He sits on the Arizona Corporation Commission. She sits over the Maricopa County Superior Court, as chief presiding judge. Together, they run the world. Well, not quite, but damn close. As top judge, Barbara's taken no prisoners (at least, not where some less-favored colleagues are concerned) and she's earned her reputation as hard-nosed, but fair (at least most of the time). Bill is also a lawyer — in fact, he once served as Chief Presiding Judge of Chandler Municipal Court. No big deal compared with his wife's lofty digs as the big cheese at the county courthouse, but who's comparing? Bill resigned from his judgeship in the mid-'80s to run for political office; the moderate Republican served for many years in the Arizona legislature, and now on the board that regulates power, among other things. Will Mrs. Mundell follow in Mr.'s footsteps? Barbara insists she's not headed for life in public office or, perhaps, a slot as an appellate judge. In fact, she insists to pals that she'll quit public life in about two years, when her time as the chief is up. We hope someone can change her mind.

Never thought we'd say that, did you? We've been tormenting the over-caffeinated Gordon from just about the minute he was elected five years ago — and we were hardly all that enthusiastic about his re-coronation last fall. But something amazing happened on César Chávez Day: Mayor Gordon found his voice. To us, a good politician isn't one who triangulates or tries to scrape up a majority or panders to the racist jerks who increasingly dominate the political discussion here in Arizona. A good politician leads. And with his eloquent denunciation of Sheriff Joe Arpaio and racial profiling, Gordon did just that.

We used to haunt the library on a regular basis. Then, the Internet came along. So, sadly, when we hoofed it over one evening this summer, we were hard-pressed to recall the last time we'd crossed the hallowed threshold of our city's main book drag.

If you haven't been lately, either, let us tell you: The clientele has changed. We don't want to be rude, but let us just say that we were likely the only ones in the library actually doing research that night. Which might be why the library staff pounced on us when we approached the reference desk with a question about some 20-year-old congressional hearing testimony.

In the end, it took three librarians to solve our conundrum. That included a particularly energetic Swedish (we think) woman who put off her smoking break to practically dance through the aisles, searching for just the right volume, then pulling the microfiche, feeding it into the machine and even finding the corresponding day's newspaper, just in case that offered any additional information.

It did, and we left Burton Barr with a renewed respect for the library sciences. The World Wide Web did not, in fact, kill the library star. Not yet, anyway.

Before you say that you're done being bummed out by yet another sad reminder of the horrors of Nazi Germany, consider remarkable 82-year-old Romanian-born Magda Herzberger. Now living in Fountain Hills, Mrs. Herzberger survived three death camps, Auschwitz, Bremen, and Bergen-Belsen.

For nearly four decades, she has spoken about her incredible experiences, reading from her poetry and from her books, listening to musical groups perform her haunting compositions (her piece Requiem is dedicated to the memory of the Holocaust victims). She inevitably gets a lot of questions after she speaks, especially from schoolchildren, about what she endured and how she did it. The thing is, this resilient woman somehow is an eternal optimist, and her speaking style is so engaging and upbeat that it's impossible to leave the room afterward feeling less than hopeful about the human spirit, even under the most horrific circumstances. Her recent autobiography, Survivor, and her children's book, Tales of the Magic Forest, are inspirational. Mrs. Herzberger seems to thrive on speaking at public libraries. She is a bright light among us. Next time you see her listed on an events schedule, do drop in.

Benjamin Franklin had it right about 275 years ago when he created the colonies' first lending library, the Library Company of Philadelphia. It's still around today as an independent research facility. Libraries are things of beauty, and we spend more time wandering the aisles, stopping occasionally to add to our endless repository of minutiae, than we probably should.

We've noticed that many area libraries these days are thinking outside the books. In one recent month (the calendar is available online), the Glendale library, for one, hosted a live music quartet, a class on how to speak with children about sex, a showing of the movie Atonement, a woman who touts herself as a psychic medium, and classes titled "Archeology For Everyone" and "Wii For Adults."

Directly to the honor bestowed here, Glendale also is collaborating with nearby Midwestern University to present monthly seminars on all manner of healthcare. A podiatrist spoke recently on "safe hiking" (bet there was something about proper footware and having plenty of water on hand, right?), a psychologist revealed some "healthy" ways to lose weight, a bio-medical sciences professor warned about the dangers of some so-called "natural products" and a pharmacist lectured about heart disease risks and prevention. Naturally, because it's a public library, the price is right: free.

When Michael Crow took over at ASU six years ago, he talked a lot about "community embeddedness." We still don't really know what that means — no one seems to — but we're guessing the university's noontime lecture series is part of it. Points to ASU for doing something right. This series features a nice selection of topics — from money management to urban design to weight loss. We're huge fans of learning for learning's sake, so it's nice to see the university's investing a little time in the downtown Phoenix community. Lectures last an hour (from noon to 1) and you're responsible for providing your own lunch. The only trick is finding parking and — the only pitfall of this lunch-hour treat — the university doesn't validate.

This homegrown crew, founded by spoken-word diva Mon Cherie, is most definitely dedicated to serving up underground poetry and beats by emerging musicians of all talents in a friendly, unpretentious atmosphere. Often times, the poetry lyricists, such as Ed Mabrey from the Phoenix Slam Team, are backed by the flow-inducing sounds of deep house, jazz, or soul. Check out PB's MySpace calendar for various events, including the occasional Spoken Word Revolution at ASU's main campus.

Okay, so there's no such thing as a permanent carnival in our fair city, or even a really decent arcade where you can drop the kids off for a couple of hours of fun that's also educational. (Is there such a thing, anywhere?) But we do have our very own professional children's theater company, a rarity in a city of any size. Childsplay has been around for 31 years, during which it's presented hundreds of kid-friendly plays and musicals that thrill children while also enlightening them to the joys of live performance. Childsplay's cast of regulars — D. Scott Withers, Debra K. Stevens, Jon Gentry, and the remarkable Katie McFadzen among them — have introduced several generations of youngsters to theater and given their parents a pleasant break from the usual mall-trawling and trips to amusement parks.

We figure the folks at our favorite alternative theater must hold weekly meetings to discuss ways to make us feel more at home when we visit their performance space at Phoenix Theatre, because we always feel like we "belong" when we're there. Maybe it's that they post not a random volunteer to greet us at the door to the theater, but rather one or more of the troupe's principal officers. Or maybe it's artistic director Damon Dering's funny, friendly curtain speeches, during which he always acknowledges the ever-growing group of theater fans who've kept this wonderful company going for a decade now. Or maybe it's the fact that Dering and company mingle with the audience at intermission, rather than hiding out backstage, that makes us feel like we're more than just spectators — we're one of a crowd who're privileged to be there — at Nearly Naked's usually fine productions,

This was a tough call because there are actually a whole bunch of new arts venues that were contenders for this honor. There's the big, weirdly futuristic Tempe Center for the Arts, with its vast, roomy lobbies and colossal, unfathomable parking lot. There's the big, pretty Mesa Arts Center, with its architecturally interesting façades and several sizable playhouses. But it's the cute, quaintly cozy new Peoria Center for the Performing Arts that really stole our heart. Nestled onto a busy street in downtown Peoria, this state-of-the-art playhouse offers a 280-seat main stage on which resident company Theater Works presents its season each year, and a smaller, 100-seat black box theater where new and visiting companies can strut their stuff. Professional lighting and sound equipment make each of the center's shows all the more dazzling, and the cool concession stand is a rarity in any theater venue, large or small. Inside, we love the lobby's visual-arts gallery, and outside we dig the Moderne architecture and the groovy copper roof. And, okay, so the parking lot is itsy-bitsy. We don't mind parking around the corner and walking, because we're so looking forward to this groovy new theater destination as we drive there.

Okay, so this wasn't exactly a close race; it's not as though most — or any! — local theater companies are opening up their rehearsal halls to tiny troupes that need cool, quiet places where they can present their shows. The Herberger is pretty much the only venue that makes room for even more amazing talent than what it's already presented on its stages. Good thing, too; otherwise, we might have had to do without some of the entertainment we've enjoyed so much from iTheatre Collaborative, which every couple of months turns the dark, cozy confines of this backstage area into a real, live theater (complete with no-host bar!). Ditto the Herberger Lunchtime Theater program, at which local businesspeople and theater fans can enjoy a midday one-act and catered sandwich in a space normally reserved for learning lines and trying on wigs. Hey, Herberger: Thanks!

We've rubbed elbows at plenty of playhouses, and we know what to expect from most of the crowded rooms where folks hang out before and after the show. Phoenix Theatre is where we expect to see gaggles of thespians and blue-hairs out on the town, and at Stray Cat Theatre (until recently housed at downtown's Metro Arts) we're likely to find ourselves toe-to-toe with arty types and black box fans smoking clove cigarettes between Acts One and Two. But our personal fave is the Herberger, where we're certain to see a cross-section of the theater-going public in a glorious, glass-and-marble setting that makes us feel like we're on the Great White Way. Everyone from Equity actors to high school students to our hairdresser — we saw her at Pajama Game last season! — is there, proving that it's not just chorus boys and theater enthusiasts who love a good play. We can barely wait for the first act curtain to ring down so we can go see who's coming down the big, shiny staircase in the Herberger lobby, and to cruise the upstairs art exhibit that changes every couple of months. Sure, the play's the thing, but we love the halftime socializing to be had at Phoenix's premier playhouse.

Yes, there's still a drive-in around here. Two, actually. Both locations (in Scottsdale and Glendale) are operated by the same company and both admit children under 11 for free (yes, 16-passenger vans are allowed). If that weren't enough, both drive-ins play double features for only $6.25 per adult.

Movie buffs who don't mind a beat-up bathroom and a nearly-abandoned concession stand can save a lot of dough and enjoy the Arizona weather at either drive-in. The screens work great. So does the audio, which feeds through the car radio.

Simply find a nice parking spot (on the unpaved desert floor) and tune the radio to the appropriate station. Then settle into a comfortable seat (lawn chairs and pickup beds are popular for those whose vehicles aren't accommodating) and enjoy the show.

Admission is only $6.25 per adult for back-to-back double features, which certainly beats $10 per person for a single movie at the conventional theater. Drive-in moviegoers can also save money on snacks by bringing coolers of beer, soda, or snacks in their vehicles.

Heck, you could even set up a grill in the bed of your truck, if you're so inclined. If the thought of someone grilling under the stars while you watch a movie in the Arizona desert disturbs you, then please just stay away.

There is hope. If you're bored with Hollywood's latest reheats of the typical cliché plots, if $10 seems like too much to pay for an uninspiring genre film, then it's time you visit the Harkins Camelview 5.

At Camelview 5, Phoenicians can enjoy a cadre of independent and non-mainstream films hard to find elsewhere in town. There's no stadium seating or anything else fancy about this theater. All the action's on the screen. Camelview 5 plays independent films and the occasional big-house film that doesn't make mass-release. Harkins Theatres have long-supported the art of filmmaking, and the local company continues to do so with this theater, which probably doesn't rake in a ton of dough — although we have seen some long lines. So beware.

We were chatting up the Valley's Midnite Movie Mamacita a couple of years ago, back when she was still throwing occasional slasher slumber parties at the old Paper Heart, and she told us about her dream of dreams: She wanted a place of her own, somewhere she could slather the walls in aesthetic blood and semen. "Ultimately, I want to be a small-business owner," said the Mamacita, a New Zealand native whose real name is Andrea Beesley-Brown. "I really want to have my own place where I can show crazy movies and people can come and drink and eat and just laugh at — and appreciate — these crazy old films."

Wish granted. While she doesn't hold the lease at this mid-'80s-vintage second-run cinema in suburbia — that's the domain of her business partner, Matthew "Matteo" Yenkala — the Mamacita's been handed the license to do something that, for her, is even better than printing money: filling movie screens with her beloved alternative repertory of B flicks, indies, slashers, camps, and left-field classics. She and Yenkala also provide a home base for the Valley's Rocky Horror Picture Show crowd and frequently book guest appearances by cult filmmakers.

All well and good, but this is Chandler. Isn't there a conflict with offering Roger Corman fare and naughty-schoolgirl contests in the proud home of the soccer mom? No, say Beesley-Brown and Yenkala, who insist that their cinema's dual mission of programming family-friendly fare as a second-run dollar theater and alt programming at night and on weekends has worked like a charm. They add that they'd love to have a rep house in downtown Tempe or Phoenix, and that's one possible future if their Chandler experiment continues to bear fruit.

In the meantime, see that familiar-looking décor in the lobby? The Mamacita snagged it from — ding! — the final liquidation sale at the late, great Paper Heart.

This teeny-tiny bike cooperative that doubles as a performance venue for hyperactive punk and high-octane rock is open for business only on Wednesday nights and Sunday afternoons, but it definitely makes its working hours count. The nonprofit hosts workshops such as "Fix-a-Flat," "Build-a-Bike," and our favorite, "How to Make a Bike Tube Wallet." Bring three bike tubes, dental floss, sewing needles, scissors, and about two hours of your time and Miss Alissa will demonstrate how to stitch together, decorate, and create a functional billfold — with credit card holders and everything. She also leads a slightly more complicated, but equally fun, bike tube handbag class.

Want to get crafty but don't have the motivation to find a project, buy the materials and clear off a corner of the dining room table as a workspace? Then get yourself to Blissful Living Studio, where the shabby-chic folks who brought us the wonderful home furnishings shop Domestic Bliss are now offering affordable one-day classes on everything from sewing to beading to "dressing for success."

The Domestic Bliss-ers always seem to hit the right note. No matter if they are downsizing or expanding, they appear to do so seamlessly and with the same grace and charm that is the signature of their shops. The adjacent space to the main boutique (which used to house the kiddy shop Baby Bliss) has been transformed to a trendy, bright and cozy craft studio hosting classes and serving up inspiration. (Don't worry, Baby Bliss has effortlessly been transitioned into a bright corner of the main boutique.)

You can't help but feel the creative juices start to flow, just walking in the door. Some classes even include a boxed lunch. You can make your own dessert, so to speak — warm, stimulating and cheerful, we can't think of a better place to learn how to make a felted cupcake than Blissful Living Studio.

For a soap or candle handcrafter in Arizona, this event is like Christmas morning. Organized by a local group of soap makers, the daylong event is the place to network your small business, learn a new skill or purchase supplies.

But we'll admit it: The best part is the free goodies.

For a $55 entrance fee, "soapers" enjoy a day of hands-on demonstrations, door prizes and a product swap, featuring a contest for best in show. Presentations range from tax solutions to essential oils. And lunch is even included!

This year, we learned how to make an aromatherapy cupcake bath bomb, a kids' soap necklace, rose face cream, and a soy candle. Best of all, we brought it all home. You won't see us out of the bathtub 'til next year's event, held each June.

In the market for a new stereo system? A piece of luggage? A skateboard? The folks at Local First Arizona/Arizona Chain Reaction — we call 'em "Yes in My Back Yardies" — are as passionate about your buying it from an indie AZ dealer as a NIMBY would be about a pile of radioactive sludge backing up in the kitchen sink. The group of like-minded businesses banded together in 2003 to combat the negative influence of chains and other insidious outsiders, both aesthetic and fiscal. (According to the Local First site, 45 cents of every dollar spent at an indie stays in Arizona; it's only 13 cents on the dollar at a national chain.) Local First fights the good fight on two fronts: localfirstaz.com, which is chock-full of groovy indie info and a virtual shopping mall, and the bi-annual festival named Certified Local!

These activist fairs are glorious mishmashes of mismatched products and services. At a representative version from 2007, some of the vendors who were on hand to sell you stuff and wheedle your future business included the restaurant named Green, Community Tire, Fairytale Brownies, and Hickman's Egg Ranch (which supplied a giant chicken man). There were also kids' activities, a beer and wine garden, a game station, and live music — local, of course. It was a modest, utterly charming affair. We're guessing you'll think so, too, and take a solemn oath to buy local. Then you'll get back in your SUV and . . .

Sigh. Guess that's why we have YIMBYs.

The humoring smile and pat on the shoulder. Some feigned interest and then a fake phone number. An 'I've-got-to-go-to-the-bathroom' ditch out. These are just three of the seemingly countless rejection methods you've been dealt from top-shelf hotties as an AFC (average frustrated chump). You need some confidence, bro — and how — but don't have the foggiest idea of how to get it. Instead of re-watching Hitch for the thousandth time, we recommend an extended consultation with the love gurus of the Web site Arizona Pick-Up Artist. Such master PUAs from around the Valley as J-Dog have assembled a wealth of free articles and information loaded with advice and methods on how to better your chances at possibly meeting, approaching, and (presuming you know your stuff) landing some HBs (that's hot babes).

The site also has the lowdown on upcoming seminars (or "boot camps"), as well as links to books, audio files, and other resources you'll have to pay for. Popularized in the VH-1 show The Pickup Artist and books like Neil Strauss' The Game, much of the advice is based on a mix of social psychology, self-help, and other techniques. There's also a Web message board, where other seduction specialists can share their secrets on what to wear, which bars to hit, and whom to approach. Results may vary, but if you study hard, young Padawan, it might mean avoiding another night spent logging onto RedTube.

Rawhide has moved from north Scottsdale to, well, the middle of nowhere. The new Rawhide in Chandler is almost halfway to Maricopa City. But the ol' Western town still has some of its magic, particularly around Halloween. Admission into Rawhide's Halloween Doomtown is free. Come October, you'll find a headless horseman on a black stallion and a number of emaciated zombies roaming the ghost town's streets. Given the middle-of-nowhere context and the soulless stares of the actors, Doomtown can be a bit creepy.

Better yet is "The Crypt" haunted house ($12), which serves up a pretty decent jolt. Adults can take kids into "The Crypt," though that's not recommended. It's that scary. The Train of Terror and Doomtown's zombie-infested streets are more suitable for children.

Rawhide advertises Doomtown as "kid friendly," but some parents don't see the optional live shows fitting that description, particularly the "Dr. Mortimer Morbius" show. Dr. Morbius speaks with a thick German accent as he straps actors to a table, where he removes bleeding organs with pliers and tools. Good clean fun, right?

If you'd ask us to compile our top 10 films of all time, without a doubt you'd find Ghostbusters ranking high on the list. We absolutely love the 1984 supernatural comedy. Love it to death. So much so that we've got the entire screenplay memorized by heart ("Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together . . . mass hysteria!") from endless replays of our VHS and DVD copies (the Blu-ray version is on pre-order). But as passionate as we are for the exploits of Dr. Peter Venkman and company, we nowhere near match the obsession of the members of the Arizona Ghostbusters.

Ten super-freak geeks make up the crew of faux phantom-chasers and have spent countless hours faithfully re-creating the costumes and equipment worn by the wisecracking paranormal investigators in the blockbuster film. (They even bought a 1972 Pontiac Bonneville ambulance to use as the Ectomobile.) Though they probably won't be chasing down the ghost of George W.P. Hunt or Winnie Ruth Judd anytime soon (their gear is just for show), the Arizona Ghostbusters have been a big hit at sci-fi conventions, comic book events, and charity events around the Valley. "Mother pus-bucket!"

Bet you've never gone to a Hindu wedding, let alone even been invited to one since Phoenix seems light years away from India. But you'll get a chance to witness almost the real thing at the annual Diwali Festival of Lights, put on by the India Association of Phoenix and its sister organizations, which are too numerous to list here.

Last year, the festival celebrating Diwali, a major fall holiday in India and Nepal, celebrated its sixth anniversary, and it seems to get bigger, grander, and more colorful every year. One of the festival's highlights was a fascinating reproduction of both an Oriya wedding ceremony (traditionally held along India's eastern coast, in the state of Orissa) and nuptial rites from Bihar, a state in India's northeast. During both, a narrator gives a play-by-play of connubial rituals as you ogle a make-believe bride and groom, who are decked out in over-the-top gorgeous Hindu wedding finery that we'd love to wear to work sometime. Mercifully, the ceremonies do not last four or five days, as they usually do in India.

If weddings aren't your thing, the festival has plenty of classical Indian dance performances, yoga demonstrations, astrology and Ayurvedic medicine lectures, and Indian cooking demos to keep you busy. Not to mention, you can get your chakras aligned. After last year's wedding performance, we systematically grazed at each one of the festival's food booths, in between which we snapped photos of Miss India Arizona and shopped for Indian arts, crafts, clothing, and jewelry.

Diversity for many Valley teens means going to a mall and watching the world walk by. But some kids are lucky enough to escape town for the summer. Some ambitious adolescents will go far.

In 1972, Phoenix joined the Sister City movement and hooked up with Hermosillo, Mexico. Since then, Phoenix has linked with nine cities from China to the Czech Republic. Here's where your kid comes in: Teens in their sophomore or junior years of high school can apply for a spot in a Sister Cities program that will allow them to live with a host family in a faraway land for three weeks.

In turn, you later host a teenager from another land. Sister Cities pays for half of the travel expenses, though further financial assistance is available. Scottsdale, Mesa, Gilbert, Peoria, Queen Creek, and Tempe have similar and equally successful programs. (Check your city's Web site for details.) Both parent and child will be shouting, 'Free, free at last!' — for at least three weeks.

Phoenix poet, knitter, artist, and yogini hipster Julie Hampton just can't take no for an answer. When a counselor at the Small Business Administration told her she was crazy to think she could buy a rustic medieval house in Italy and turn it into a vacation home/retreat, she ignored his small-mindedness and found a way to do just that. This three-bedroom, two-bath faraway dream turned reality — she calls it the Rosenclaire House — is yours to rent by the week, the month, whatever. It sleeps six and sits atop a tiny northern Tuscan village of Vitiana just waiting for you to prepare regional slow fare in its kitchen (never cooked in a kitchen with a hearth?), write your novel, or perform sun salutes in the upstairs loft with its breathtaking (we know it's cliché, but there's really no better word) view of Vitiana and Tuscany's chestnut-forested Garfagnana region below.

You think you've eaten fresh eggs, real cheese, and tomatoes as Zeus intended them? Here in Phoenix? Yeah, Chris Bianco's good, but he's not the village farmer trudging up the cobblestone path with a bucket of wholesome freshness. We can't figure out just what it is that makes the food so delicious, the sleep so deep, the sun so warm (in a good way), and we sure as hell can't figure out how to get it back here to the Valley. Leave leaning towers and naked statues to the tourists. Vitiana is the real dolce vita.

Friends often accuse us of having our heads in outer space. They don't know the half of it. Since childhood, we've dreamed of becoming astronauts. Alas, our feeble skills in science and math ruled out such a career path. So pending the day when the whole space-tourism thing becomes a more practical (and affordable) reality, the closest we're getting to trekking among the stars is by visiting the Challenger Space Center in Peoria.

This futuristic-looking facility offers a pair of simulated missions, where Neil Armstrong wanna-bes can participate in a pair of interactive two-hour experiences replicating (to a certain degree) a journey through the final frontier and life aboard the International Space Station. (Participants also get a turn at working as a flight crew in the million-dollar mission control facility inspired by the Johnson Space Center in Houston.) After sitting in the Earth Space Transit Module (which "transports" you into the cosmos), you can either help launch interstellar probes to encounter celestial bodies during "Rendezvous with a Comet," or take an excursion to the red planet in "Voyage to Mars."

Don't worry about motion sickness; there's no movement involved. It's more a cerebral adventure involving video screens that's somewhat akin to the old Mission to Mars ride at Disneyland — just without all those creepy-looking animatronic automatons.

We all know how excruciating modern urban life can be. We work like dogs, drive like animals, and shove fast food down our throats between dentist appointments and birthday parties. And in a city of cars, there's hardly an escape from the constant drone of engines flying by on bustling streets. But we stress "hardly" because we've found one of the best escape pods in the Valley.

The permanent installation by James Turrell at Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art has provided a Zen space for the Valley for the past seven years. As it's tucked away behind the museum's patio, it's no surprise that visitors often cruise right by, missing their opportunity to put on the brakes and chill. This simple, elliptical room is made of slate-gray concrete with a block bench lining the curvature of the walls. Look up to its tall ceiling and you'll see our crystal blue heavens through its oval skylight. The walls block out the noise, the skylight makes the room glow, and the rounded enclosure feels like a warm embrace. Frantic thoughts and everyday anxieties disappear like magic and you are left to just be. Even in the dead of summer, we've spent chunks of time in the room, hardly noticing the heat. And if you happen to visit at night, a subtle glow achieved by expertly placed lighting will make you feel like you just popped a Vicodin.