It's estimated that an average of 11,000 people turn up in downtown Phoenix during any given First Friday. And as far as we can tell, it seems like every last one of these souls is attempting to jam in and around the intersection of Fifth and Roosevelt streets. We're not effing with you, bub. Imagine a cattle call for the next American Idol, and then multiply it by 10. And the reason the crossroads has essentially become the epicenter of the monthly art walk? That's a no-brainer: There's so much cool shizzle happening at once that it's like experiencing art-scene ADD. In addition to the standard block party and street fair organized by the Roosevelt Row co-operative, approximately two dozen primo galleries are 100 feet away in any direction. Street entertainment is always readily available, be it B-Boys breakdancing, bands like Mondegreen and Back Ted N-Ted staging open-air concerts, or the friendly freaks of the Strange Family Circus pulling off daring (and painful) feats. Whew. Seriously.

The Firehouse

We fear the day when downtown's quirky galleries start becoming gentrified in the name of "revitalization." Until then, we'll make sure to spend our Third Fridays people-watching at the most bohemian of them all — the Firehouse, a collective with live/work space for nine artists, and a gallery-slash-retail section in the front. The once unassuming white building now calls out to locals with bright graffiti murals and a performance stage in the backyard. Third Friday is "Fire Stage," an evening of poetry, music, and fire dancing hosted by local poet and Torch Theatre grad Ernesto Moncada. Anything goes at this eclectic event. On any given Third Friday, you might find poetry readings, tribal belly dancers covered in henna tats, or the accordion stylings of Nightwolf's Andrew Jemsek. Chat with the Firehouse's resident artists, who are always milling around during the event, or pop inside for a peek at the new "23" retail collective, where you'll find handmade local goods including leather wristbands, recycled jewelry, and photo art by Firehouse regular Kevin Patterson.

Northlight Gallery

If you're a camera nerd, you'll heart this to-the-point gallery located at the west end of ASU's main campus. Headed by Liz Allen, a university photography professor and killer shutterbug, the space showcases original photography and, sometimes, video installations that are heavy on student work as well as work produced by ASU alums. Themes are wide-ranging — for example, during the 2008-09 school year, shows focused on cultural convergences and women's issues. Exhibits typically don't run long (anywhere from two weeks to two months), so be sure to saunter your behind over to Tempe to see the killer artworks. The space closes for the summer break.

Phoenix Airport Museum

What's open in this town 24-7-365 and isn't a convenience store, self-serve car wash, or emergency room?

You got it. The airport.

At our airport, you can do more than just watch planes taking off and landing. Sky Harbor's Airport Museum is not a museum in the typical sense of the word, but a collection of changing exhibits located in various display areas of terminals 2, 3, and 4. Much of the artwork is tourism propaganda, but many prominent Arizona artists and up-and-comers have displayed here, including Ted DeGrazia, Holly Metz, and Mindy Sue Meyers-Whippler.

And, hey, even the propaganda looks good at 3:32 a.m.

Jordre Studio

Oh, how we envy local artist Kyle Jordre. He stumbled onto his true passion when he decided a large blank wall in his former apartment needed a Jackson Pollock-style treatment. A couple of canvases, brushes, and gallons of home improvement store "oops" paint later, Jordre quit his job teaching sixth-grade social studies to follow in Pollock's footsteps. Now, as he says, "there are no rules." Jordre lives and works out of a small vintage building on Grand Avenue and manages to draw enough income from his colorful splatter paintings to pay the rent. He makes his own "brushes," using bottles and wooden spoons, and uses objects such as hollow core doors, denim jeans, and glass vases as canvas. "I'll paint anything," says Jordre. "I gotta make my living somehow!" Jordre Studios is open only for First and Third Fridays, but fans can contact Jordre to schedule a personal tour with the artist or peep his works (and a pair of his paint-covered shoes!) at the new Sunrise Mountain Library in Peoria.

In the past year, zombies invaded our movie theaters (Quarantine), our bookstores (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies), and our clubs (Zombie Prom). Now, the undead have chewed their way into the local indie crafts scene. When her writing prospects dried up, Erin Glaser started making zombie sock puppets for extra cash. The rainbow-colored critters with glittery red dried "blood" and crazy beady eyes caught on, and now you'll find them on Etsy.com and at local shops like Fetish Falls and Red Hot Robot. Admittedly, the critters are adorable. But even more than we like the artistry, we celebrate Glaser's good business sense in designing a ridiculously easy-to-make craft project that takes full advantage of the zombie craze. She's managed to churn out and sell well over 1,200 of these things. What's so special about a bloody sock puppet? They're cute, cuddly, handmade, and customizable. Oh, and they're available in bulk, which means if you're dying to make an indie film starring 100 drooling, creepy sock puppets, you won't have to make 'em yourself.

Ma$e isn't technically a local boy, but Puff Daddy's former protégé is in town once a week to preach at the church he's starting in central Phoenix. The "Mo Money Mo Problems" rapper converted to Christianity at the height of his popularity and, after laying low for a few years, started a church in Atlanta, which is making its first expansion to Phoenix. The preacher, now going by his given name, Mason Betha, describes the spiritual temperature of the Valley of the Sun as "lukewarm," saying locals are lulled into complacency by their leisurely desert life, and he hopes to change that. A decade after willfully fading from the public consciousness, Ma$e still has the sort of unbridled charisma that makes you feel honored he decided to pursue his life's work in Phoenix, even if he chose it partly because he likes our palm trees.

Best Place to See Atheists Debating Christians

Mill Avenue in Tempe

On any given weekend night on any given corner of Mill Avenue (most often, its Fridays on Fifth and Sixth streets), Christian groups gather to preach through microphones and pass out church tracts. Theyve been doing it for several years, but in the past year or so, theyve been challenged by Valley atheists, who set up microphones on the same corners to protest the Christians witnessing. The atheist protesters run the gamut from disheveled college students blasting black-metal music to the dramatic Omar Call, a former Mormon missionary who carries a sign saying "I Quit" and does theological battle with a megaphone. He even has dressed as Jehovah. Who wins the debates is up for debate, but one things for certain: It sure is entertaining to watch.

Fronzo West has a rap sheet so big you could tie it around City Hall, like a giant bow. And he has a car emblazoned with the motto he lives by, "Fuck the police." And if you're guessing that the former is caused by the latter, you ain't too far off. He also writes his special message to gendarmes all over his clothes, too, in case his jalopy doesn't drive home the point.

Better known simply as "the Fonz," West's clothing and car are akin to waving a red flag in front of a fire-breathing bull in one of those old Bugs Bunny cartoons, at least when it comes to the police. And the fact that the Fonz often considers himself to be out "on patrol" with his video camera looking for police malfeasance doesn't endear him any further to law enforcement. What happens when the police see him is fairly predictable: The cops stop the Fonz and begin to ask questions, to which he does not reply. As soon as they lay hands on him, he performs the patented "Fonz flop," whereby he lays down in front of them peacefully, "pulling a Gandhi," as some have called it.

Inevitably, Fonz then gets arrested on a bogus charge and ends up spending time in the hoosegow or performing community service as a result. Not that there's a law against saying, "eff the po-po." In fact, it's constitutionally protected speech. But "the man" don't see it that way, and the Fonz, a Navy vet, has vowed never to give in.

They are just about the last people in the Valley who would want such a honor, but Phoenix's police chief — make that public safety manager — and his wife, Deer Valley Unified School District's associate superintendent, are eminently deserving of the phrase "power couple."

Jack, of course, has become the devil incarnate to many in the anti-immigration set, the personification to pandering politicians, demagogic union leaders and flat-out nutballs for everything wrong with "liberal" law enforcement. Liberal? This unassuming old west Phoenix boy rode motorcycles and walked the streets of his hometown for years before climbing the ladder to the top of his profession. The guy is as hard-nosed as it gets, except he happens to believe in the rule of law, not of the mob.

Quietly, Connie has been an effective big shot in local education for more than 30 years. She was the first woman president of the Arizona Interscholastic Association's board of directors and in 2007 won the Pat Tillman Community Leadership award in the category of Lifetime Achievement. Connie also won a fight with breast cancer a few years ago. These days, she mentors fellow breast cancer survivors and regularly participates in walkathons to raise money to fight the disease.

The Harrises are out there in our community every day, doing what they think is the right thing to make it a safer (in Jack's case) and better-educated (in Connie's case) place to live. That's powerful stuff.

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