BEST SHORTCUT THROUGH RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC 2006 | Sky Harbor Boulevard | People & Places | Phoenix
It's quitting time and you've gotta beat feet home to your East Valley domicile double-quick. Too bad Interstate 10 is a parking lot. But before you anger up the blood and throw another road rage, shave plenty of time off your commute by taking Sky Harbor Boulevard. The twisting thoroughfare cutting through the middle of the airport is your roadway redemption, as low amounts of traffic during both the morning and evening rush hours allows you to bypass gridlock in both directions and cut your drive time in half (even with the perpetual construction that's occurring). At either end of this godsend from gridlock are off-ramps to various freeways including Loops 101 and 202, State Routes 143 and 153, and the aforementioned I-10. While other commuters are throwing transit-induced temper tantrums after facing a sea of brake lights, you'll be cruising quickly on home, cubicle drone.
Matt Hennie
There's very little in the way of after-hours action here in the PHX other than a handful of danceterias daring to stay open after last call. On the constant lookout for additional all-night venues to stage their post-2 a.m. shenanigans, nightcrawlers of the Valley have been flocking to this Western-themed gay bar on Fridays and Saturdays to dance and debauch until the early morn. It's not just Brokeback Mountain-men who visit Charlie's after local bars close insomniacs of every flavor of sexual orientation come to this "lil' ole bitty pissant country place" to writhe and wriggle to house, techno, and Top 40 tracks laid down by DJ Bryan until 4 a.m. for $3 a head. It's kinda like the cross section you'd see at Gay Denny's down the street, but with a better soundtrack and a dance floor.
This inconspicuous gallery in a Scottsdale strip mall is a music geek's paradise, and for the rock memorabilia collector, owner Michael W. Dunn's collection is downright enviable. The artwork hanging on the walls is most notable because the featured artists are people like Grace Slick, Ringo Starr, Janis Joplin, Jerry Garcia, and Ron Wood of the Rolling Stones. While most of the rock-star art in the exhibit consists of limited-edition prints, there are several originals by Grace Slick on display and for sale, including Slick's fantastical white rabbits on psychedelic mushrooms, done in oil on canvas. Slick is also one of a handful of stars to host opening receptions at the gallery (as did Ron Wood, and Janis Joplin's siblings). The space also stocks tons of signed photographs, framed albums, and guitars.
Patricia Escarcega
If you're on the prowl and came up short the night before, Harlow's Cafe will buy you a little extra time to make it happen. Similar to your favorite hookup bar, Harlow's offers the thrill of anonymity. The low ceilings and booth seating create the atmosphere of a road-trip breakfast stop. Chances are, there will be another table of Mill Avenue rejects also nursing their hangovers. They may have lost the drink in their hand, but still have a wandering eye hoping to salvage at least one hookup for the weekend. Harlow's lends the perfect opportunity for you to give it one last try, "Didn't I see you last night at . . . ?" And the food's not bad, either.
With apologies to Jack Black, Abe Gil is running the real School of Rock. When he isn't wearing wild outfits and crashing about downtown music venues like Holgas or Modified as the one-man noise polluter Treasure Mammal, the 26-year-old teaches music, math, and art to seventh- and eighth-graders at Montessori Academy in Scottsdale. As riotous as his act gets, Gil's not worried about his students learning about his alter ego. In fact, he even enlisted their help in creating a hidden track for Expect the Max, his recently released CD. It all came about in 2003 when Gil grew weary of his charges bickering with each other, and started getting in their faces with a humorous and gentle song called "Friendship." They eventually dug the ditty and ultimately adopted it as their class theme and performed it for his disc. Some students even formed their own band, Treasure Mammal, Jr., as a result, and have played on the same bill as their teacher's act. Now that's a happy ending worthy of a movie.


Mojo Music

Downtown art scenesters have gotten used to seeing the long arm of the law in their midst since August 2005, when Phoenix police officers stepped up their patrolling of First Fridays along Roosevelt Row. Artists and gallery owners have peeped po-pos standing on street corners, checking out their work, and even strumming a guitar or two. Yep, it seems as though a few coppers have been known to stop by attorney Kelly McDonald's tiny guitar shop located at Artisan Villages to peruse and play any number of the axes and acoustics on display. Taking a short break from their duties, these members of Phoenix's Finest have jammed out to Led Zeppelin and Nirvana, but unfortunately, not Ice-T's block-rocking hit "Cop Killer" or N.W.A's "Fuck Tha Police." Maybe they'll take requests.
While we ain't doctors or anything, we're pretty sure if Minuteman Project spokesperson Chris Simcox drove past this downtown Chandler square on an early weekend morning, the immigrant-busting vigilante would suffer a heart attack. After all, more than a hundred unemployed Hispanics gather near the park, located along Arizona Avenue between Boston and Buffalo streets, hoping to nab some work from any of the contractors or other construction cronies cruising by in their pickups looking for some cheap help installing drywall or any other house-building chore. Many an immigrant journeyman has ventured here after getting driven away from previous popular day laborer pickup spots like Gilbert Road in Mesa or 36th Street and Thomas Road in Phoenix. No word if Simcox and company are planning on setting up any thermal cameras just yet.
Don't expect to find howling coyotes and Monument Valley vistas within the environs of the Clarendon Hotel's art-friendly lobby and spacious suites. From nude portraits by Chris Raboin to Leigh Merrill's abstract photographic landscapes, the stylish boutique hotel boasts a variety of local artists, including the hippest window shades in town. Created by eye lounge painter Doug Oland, who uses a fairly formal painting style in the way he makes marks and builds through layers, the sliding curtains are printed on a specialized plastic that models the plywood medium that Oland paints upon. Each room houses at least one of two reproductions of Oland's Southwest-themed large-format abstracts. One portrays an agave plant augmented by floating pink and red hues; the other illustrates a desert monsoon with indigo clouds. We can't resist; we've gotta say it: The Clarendon's got it made in the shade.
Ever wonder what it would be like to wander around the inside of a lava lamp? The closest simulation might be a walk through Scorch Bar, with its shiny silver chrome and glowing red interiors, plasma-shaped tables, and futuristic restrooms. Not only is the ladies' restroom always clean to the OCD-degree, but there's also a big, trippy window right above the sinks, which looks directly into the men's restroom next door (don't worry, bashful boys, the girls can't see anything beyond your sinks). Since both restrooms are identical, most people go to wash their hands and don't realize they're standing in front of a window instead of a mirror . . . until they look up to see the startled face of someone of the opposite sex. You never know, ladies that could be Mr. Right over there. At least you know he washes his hands after he pees.
The boys' toidy at this popular punk paradise might be dirty, cramped, poorly lighted, and swelteringly hot, but there's a reason the guys keep making return trips and not because they've got to drain all the PBR they've downed. Nope, it's probably because of all the gonzo graffiti covering almost every inch of the Pepto-pink walls and ceiling of this lurid loo. Besides the usual seamy scribblings, there are amply amusing announcements and hilarious invectives, which are equal parts entertaining, insightful, and outrageous. Surreal sketches of vomiting demons and absurd astronauts make males want to linger long after they've done their business, as do piercing proclamations: "ROCK-N-ROLL MUTHAFUCKERS!" and "Life is short, drink hard." There are even lessons to be learned, as a sarcastic drawing of a recently deceased fashionista (complete with blood pouring from her nose) sits next to the anti-message "Be glamorous, do coke." Hope no one wanted to do any blow in this restroom.

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