Feeling lost, purposeless, out of touch with the angels flitting about inside your soul? (And, really, who isn't?) Get thy seeking self to downtown Gilbert, where the folks at the Enlightened Heart can arrange an Archangel Realm reading to "reveal what training your soul has, and the strengths and challenges inherent with your angelic experience." Finally!
The shop's other Intuitive and Spiritual Consulting services range from full-body aura photography -- pics snapped by the Aurastar 2000, naturally -- to chakra analyses to numerology readings.
Peddling "gifts, books and education for the conscious mind, body and soul," the Heart also hosts an array of classes and workshops. Trendy topics include belly dancing, astrology, dream interpretation, Feng Shui and tarot reading; yoga classes are held thrice weekly.
In-store gift options include "Colour Energy" bath products, bamboo bonsai plants in Oriental wisdom vases, and Zen alarm clocks. And should the answers you seek exist outside yourself, the Heart's Sacred Travel Partner Program coordinates journeys big and small, from the Sedona Vortex to Nepal.
We know it's officially winter when it's finally time to put on a scarf, park at the AJ's on Central Avenue and Camelback Road, buy a dirty chai from a Dutch Bros. associate who is so busy he doesn't have time to be annoying, and knock out holiday shopping at Crafeteria. Every December, the handmade marketplace brings together around 50 specially selected vendors who set up shop in the Medlock Plaza parking lot for an evening of perusing, live music, and food-truck snacks. Expect letterpress cards, painted paper goods, jewelry, knitwear, toys for kids, and leather items. All of which equates to check, check, check, and check when it comes to that gift list.
We know it's officially winter when it's finally time to put on a scarf, park at the AJ's on Central Avenue and Camelback Road, buy a dirty chai from a Dutch Bros. associate who is so busy he doesn't have time to be annoying, and knock out holiday shopping at Crafeteria. Every December, the handmade marketplace brings together around 50 specially selected vendors who set up shop in the Medlock Plaza parking lot for an evening of perusing, live music, and food-truck snacks. Expect letterpress cards, painted paper goods, jewelry, knitwear, toys for kids, and leather items. All of which equates to check, check, check, and check when it comes to that gift list.
If one man's trash is another man's treasure, then Junk in the Trunk is basically the vintage and resale equivalent of the Cave of Wonders in Disney's Aladdin. Seriously, this craft fair/antique mall hybrid takes over WestWorld of Scottsdale and turns it into a Pinterest addict's wonderland. Need an adorable wooden end table with paint chipped in such a way that gives it a rustic charm? Or how about the final Pyrex bowl that completes your Butterfly Gold set? Or maybe you just need one more sassy picket-fence-turned-wall-hanging piece to finish off your entryway. Well, grab those reusable bags, and bring plenty of cash, because Junk in the Trunk has everything you're looking for and a few more things you won't be able to live without.
Best Bike Shop
Tempe Bicycle
330 West University, Tempe
480-966-6896
Best Bookstore -- New Title
Borders Books & Music
several Valley locations
Best Bookstore -- Used
Bookman's Used Books, Music and Software
1056 South Country Club, Mesa
480-835-0505
Best Secondhand Store
Buffalo Exchange
227 West University, Tempe
480-968-2557
730 East Missouri
602-532-0144
Best Video Rental Store
Blockbuster
several Valley locations
Who says all the great treasures in thrift stores are scooped up by antique dealers and crafty pickers? Not Mary Scanlon, who found a previously undiscovered recording of a 1964 speech given by Martin Luther King Jr. at Arizona State University.
The tape was among a pile of reel-to-reel audio recordings made by Phoenix businessman and civil rights leader Lincoln Ragsdale Sr. Apparently, someone had dumped the three dozen tapes at a local Goodwill after Ragsdale's death in 1995.
Scanlon did a little sleuthing and after finding an Arizona Republic ad from June 1964 announcing King's appearance at ASU, she took the box of tapes to Rob Spindler, ASU archivist and curator of special collections for Arizona. Once Spindler and his staff determined that the King recording was legit, he brokered permission to make the speech available online through ASU's Library Repository.
It turned out that King had been invited to deliver the speech, titled "Religious Witness for Human Dignity," by the Maricopa County chapter of the NAACP. The discovery of the recording is significant in part because the speech is mentioned in passing in a couple of MLK biographies, yet its text — specific to spirituality and equality in religion — had been lost to time. What's more, King gave the address less than a month before the landmark Civil Rights Act of 1964 was signed into law by President Johnson and despite the fact that King's presence here was not supported by Senator Barry Goldwater, then at the height of his power.
So, being here at all was brave of MLK, whose speech is preserved at ASU for all time. In fact, two dozen of the tapes from Scanlon's thrift score, others of which also contained speeches by powerful rights activists of the time, have been digitized and archived at the university.
The mystery remains, however: How did such important material end up in a dusty box at a local thrift store?
It might be the single most ubiquitous antique-shop item in the history of vintage resale. The West Bend Penguin Hot and Cold Server (known to collectors at the Penguin Ice Bucket) was a globe-shaped kitchenware server, embossed with a clutch of penguins marching around its perimeter and perfect for ice cubes on the bar or rolls hot from the oven. Manufactured by the West Bend Aluminum Company in 1941 and available throughout the early '70s, the Penguin came in three metal finishes: chrome-plated steel, brushed aluminum, and solid copper. The chrome version, available with three different knob and penguin-wing-shaped handle options (wood, black Bakelite, and the more rare red Bakelite) was the most common.
The Penguin, a popular staple in many households for decades, can be found in nearly every antiques store in the country — but no more so than in Phoenix, where there appear to be more Penguins per resale square foot than in any other city. Why?
The story goes that, when West Bend ceased manufacturing of the Penguin in 1971, the leftover stock was sold to a man named Herman Fern. Herman, a former West Bend sales rep who'd retired to Phoenix, reportedly bought up all the leftover Penguins, then set about selling them, door to door, all over the Valley of the Sun. More than one local remembers Herman, in a three-piece suit, demonstrating the marvels of a shiny silver globe that keeps things both hot and cold!
When Herman died, his family reportedly found a stash of mint-in-box Penguins that they immediately sold to a Phoenix-based mid-century dealer, who began reselling them to local antique mall dealers. Thus, the inordinate number of shiny round chrome ice buckets (great for keeping rolls warm!) all over the Valley.
Next time you see a Penguin, think of Herman Fern.
BEST BOOKSTORE -- NEW TITLES
Borders Books & Music
several Valley locations
BEST BOOKSTORE -- USED TITLES
Bookman's Used Books, Music and Software
1056 South Country Club Drive, Mesa
480-835-0505
BEST SECONDHAND SHOP
Buffalo Exchange
227 West University, Tempe
480-968-2557
730 East Missouri
602-532-0144
BEST BIKE SHOP
Tempe Bicycle
330 West University, Tempe
480-966-6896
BEST MOVIE THEATER
Harkins Theatres
several Valley locations
BEST PLACE TO RENT A SUPERHERO COSTUME
Bert Easley's Fun Shop
509 West McDowell
602-271-9146
Boojum is long known as a premier nursery for beautiful, exotic plants. Named after a tall, spiny tree known only to the Sonoran Desert and Baja, the gardening shop is evolving into a romantic escape for get-togethers. After 18 years, the family that owns the spot is transforming the five-acre property into lush gardens for special events. We love the mini Mexican village, resplendent with artifacts, fountains and greenery. We love the greenhouse, lush like a tropical island. We can't wait to see what's coming soon: a lake, an English garden and a Zen garden. We love knowing that once, Boojum was surrounded by raw desert, and now, as civilization grows, it will still proudly carry forth our Southwestern spirit, rich with indigenous plants and local charm. Boojum, you're beautiful.
If you're a book freak and you have some time left over after tucking into that brown-bag lunch, it's hard to find a brainier downtown work break than the Book Island. Nestled neatly at the foot of the Luhrs Building, the Island is a triple treat for any nerd with some spare time to kill. Not only is it a decently stocked secondhand book shop, but it's laced with some especially unique antique volumes. And to make the trifecta complete, if you look hard enough, you can sometimes find some jaw-dropping bargains.
Looking for a copy of Robert Payne's Life and Death of Lenin? Probably not, but they have it. Interested in an original edition of O. Henry's Roads of Destiny from 1922? It can be yours for eight bucks. And while most libraries may be complete without the first edition of Charles Knight's William Shakspere [sic]: A Biography -- circa 1880 -- it must be said that the Book Island not only has it, but it has it for a mere $25. Also keep your eyes open for its small stash of Little Leather Library books from the 1920s; tiny leather-bound classics, like Man Without a Country and Courtship of Miles Standish, each about the size of a cigarette pack, go for $10 apiece. Just the right size for you to devour during your next sack lunch.
If you like lowriders but the family car isn't ready for the change, how about just starting with a model? That way, you can get as elaborate as you like, as you customize your plastic dream, and not worry about how the family's going to get around in the meantime. Homies Hobbies is the perfect place for fulfilling your mini lowrider dreams.
When you're ready to work on a more human scale, Homies Hobbies can also help you build a lowrider bike. Custom seats, frames, springs, whitewall tires embossed with the word "lowrider" and a ton of chrome can be found here to help you make or customize your own low-to-the-ground bike.
And if playing with Barbie and Ken is becoming too boring for the kids, then Homies is still the way to go. It has a huge selection of the addictive and collectible "Homies" dolls. From Smiley to El Flaco, the complete collection of little homies is available, as well as the stickers, key chains and doll houses -- but we'd rather call them mini-cribs. And forget Barbie's Corvette -- you can lowride your Homie in your own customized minicoach!
In the bastion of beauty and newness that is far north Scottsdale, it's only fitting that the neighborhood's shiniest new resort, perched in the foothills of Pinnacle Peak, showcases the Valley's most stunning views.
Though it's unquestionably classy, this Four Seasons isn't your typical Scottsdale resort. Rather than rooted in glitz, its grandeur rises from nature. The patio adjacent to the Lobby Lounge and the elegant Acacia restaurant presents a postcard-perfect view of the High Sonoran Desert, which -- wonder of wonders -- still looks like a desert. The resort's construction emphasized efforts to preserve the land's natural beauty. (Natural beauty? In Scottsdale?) Even the few surrounding developments are earth-toned and modest, designed to complement the terrain.
Beyond the resort's lawn, the entire Valley stretches in the distance, framed by mountain ranges rising like fortress walls. On the right, the sun sinks behind Pinnacle Peak, painting the sky over the facing mountains. Order a fuchsia prickly pear margarita and watch the sky take on its color. Sit a bit longer and see that, in Scottsdale, even the stars show off.
Our friend parked at a high school football game in Mesa, then returned to his car to find his Jaguar stripped of its hubcaps. It seemed too easy that we might find the wayward caps at Hub-Cap City, itself a Mesa establishment. The grungy looking store is an endless array of gleaming chrome Frisbees, and the owner, after being pressed, nervously laughed that we didn't want to know where he got his inventory (he was kidding, really; a lot of his merchandise comes from manufacturer closeouts). No merchandise, he said, is accepted from high school students.
No Jags available today; turns out they're more precious than gold. But floor to ceiling is every other option, and priced at much, much less than a dealer. Crime doesn't pay, but when it happens, it's nice to know we can solve it for a few dollars less.
A recent newcomer to downtown, Red is the furniture boutique to satisfy your demanding inner Barbarella or George Jetson. It offers a swingin' assortment of mid-century modern chairs and couches, sleek lamps and streamlined tables, and you'll recognize a lot of the still-stylish classics, from Eames to Nelson. Conveniently located right next door to beloved vintage shop Spine, it rounds out a one-stop shopping experience for all of your retro needs.
Every owner of a lunky old professional Nikon or Canon has at one time dreamed of using his camera as a mace. This dream is the old bravado of old shooters in commune with the simple, perfect steel girth of the old pre-digital bodies.
But while most of us talk the talk, Jess Wells actually clocked a prospective thief with his Nikon FTN during a walk years ago back in New York City. A guy wanted his camera; Wells gave it to him upside the head. Major cred. Great story.
Try to find anything like it while buying a memory card at Best Buy.
Wells works at Lewis Camera Exchange, a store full of a little bit of digital but mostly soulful old F1 lenses and F4 bodies and Ilford paper and dangerous developing chemicals and oodles of institutional knowledge.
Vince Ruggiero started the store back in 1972. Most of his business still comes from ASU and other college students learning the fundamental arts and crafts of photography.
The digital age is hurting them. Five other real camera stores have folded in Arizona in the last five years because of lost revenue to megastores selling digital cameras and their memory cards.
But Ruggiero continues to survive, thanks to a loyal clientele. And clients are loyal because Ruggiero offers reasonable prices and, more important, staffers who know what they're talking about and love to talk about what they know.
Contrary to popular belief, you don't need a million bucks to look like a million bucks. In fact, if you have some groovy threads that you're willing to part with, you don't actually need any bucks, because Buffalo Exchange gives credit or pays cold hard cash for cool clothes. A steady stream of starving -- but apparently well-dressed -- ASU students keeps the racks at the University Drive location full of the latest in trendy, twentysomething fashion, some of it in mint condition and all of it for a song. How about a DKNY shirt for $15 or Abercrombie jeans for $20? You'll also find vintage stuff, tons of great shoes and purses, plus brand-new knickknacks like colorful tights, lip gloss and novelty books.
A Playboy Bunny stands in the entryway, holding a sign: "Playboy Presents: Bo's Funky Stuff." While she looks just as fetching as a five-foot cardboard cutout can, she's got nothing on the grass-skirted mannequin in the back, who -- with her dark hair and fringy eyelashes -- is a perfect, plastic, posable Catherine Zeta-Jones.
Pop goes the culture weasel at this ever-so-funky haven of '50s decor and soda fountain memorabilia. Nowhere else will you find a funky Mork & Mindy card game, a funky Clash of the Titans metal lunchbox, and funky old posters touting entertainment ranging from Vic Damone on the Pet Milk Show to Whitesnake's "Return of the Snakes" tour. A funky Hamm's sign features the beer's motto, "Born in the Land of Sky Blue Waters," next to a groovy moving picture of said land. Bo's funky animal selection includes a life-size stuffed camel with a moving head, and a ceramic dog with a Hennessy keg protruding from its neck.
Funky '50s fun includes an enormous Bob's Big Boy sign, a huge soda fountain and jukeboxes, one actually containing a song called "Cruisin' With the Fonz." Sure, Fonz was cool, but was he funky?
Materialist hell on Earth is having good taste without the means to acquire good things. Well, enlightened losers, now you can have your career passions while still wearing Cole Haans. Welcome to Last Chance, the final resting place of all the stuff Nordstrom couldn't sell for what it was almost worth.
If you don't mind the swap-meet frazzle, and you are mindful of watching for flaws, you can make a killing here. It's not uncommon to pay $29 for shoes here that are selling for $130 within a mile of the store. Ten-dollar shirts are $50 anywhere else.
Again, though, being smart is the key. Most every Last Chance aficionado has reveled in a purchase only to find a hidden tear or stain at home.
After all, Last Chance isn't just a name, it's a dire warning. But it's also a challenge.
Even girlie-girls need a place to buy their pipes, screens, pokers and papers, and some are intimidated by shelves of monster-size bongs, ultra-pierced salespeople, tweaker gear, and other non-girlie things liable to adorn the inside of the typical head shop. If you're more tree-huggin' than skull-wearing, you can literally spend days in this Valley looking for a good selection of "pretty" ways to smoke your herbal tobacco blend amongst the angry-looking wares of most shops. The Hippie Gypsy has pipes shaped like flowers, embedded with glitter, and sporting seashells in their shanks. The salespeople are friendly, and let you browse through the incense accessories, clothing, and Jerry artifacts as long as you like. They have an incredibly diverse selection of hand pipes, water pipes and everything else you need to make the 4:20 meeting in style, but they cater to people who are looking for a bit more "pretty" in their paraphernalia.
Cherries happen to be particularly "in" this season -- not as sustenance, but rather as a style element -- and count on Petit Chateau to offer up baby wares adorned with whatever's of the moment, and in the prettiest way possible. This is a great place for moms and baby-gift seekers who need a break from the uniformity of Baby Gap and Babies "R" Us. Each piece of furniture and every baby tee is a treasure, and most likely an heirloom. Pretty baby!
Michael Robertson's latest furniture boutique remains the best place to find great deals on well-worn bibelots. On our most recent visit, we brought home a pair of mahogany-veneer bed tables, a mid-century modern desk lamp, and a Bionic Woman styling head (the spitting image of Lindsay Wagner!), all for less than 50 bucks. A return trip netted us a set of slightly worn vintage gardening tools, an overstuffed deco-era armchair, and a rusty old apothecary that we cleaned up and turned into a quirky spice rack. We've recently developed a sick affection for weird old oil-on-canvas portraits, and there's always at least one waiting for us. And we're not ashamed to admit that we get up extra early for Michael Todd's quarterly truckload sales, during which we elbow our way through a crowd of local designers and antique dealers for some of the best furniture deals in town.
You're nobody, darling, if you don't know Fleur de Lis. It's the florist of choice for the rich and famous in the Valley. An average wedding runs $5,000 with Fleur de Lis flowers. Regular clients are said to spend as much as $525 a week to decorate their mansions. That charity ball designed to funnel funds to cancer? Perhaps $25,000 of the contributions goes to pay the flower bill at the dinner.
Owners John Johnstonbaugh and Sandra Sanchez are on to something. Within the carefully cluttered rooms of a former ranch house, the duo creates daring flower sculptures like a re-creation of the Cirque du Soleil. Their biggest job involved some conspicuous consumers who spent $35,000 just on a New Year's Eve party. "Lavish" and "decadent" are the words du jour here, with the most exotic flowers of the world arriving daily, then sprinting out the door to the melodic ching-ching of the cash register. It's a lucrative game, this petal pushing.
These days, the cycle of fashion is so speedy that the amount of time it takes for a piece of clothing to run the full course -- from chic to tacky, then to vintage status -- is barely more than a decade. Not every vintage store owner seems to be aware of that, and some shops' selection is stuck in a certain era. But the people at Spine have their fingers on the pulse of vintage trends, catering to everyone's tastes. A person seeking out 1950s cocktail dresses may not pounce on the same things as someone who favors Dynasty-era pouf dresses. Yet you'll find both at Spine, along with '60s bowling shirts, glam '70s leather jackets and timeless, comfy cords.
It's a guy thing: sitting in an old, hand-crank chair, talking weather and politics with some fellow your dad's age while he trims your hair. For those of us who disdain salons, who want to relive our childhood ear-lowerings, or who just really like the sound and feel of a good, old-fashioned electric razor cut, Sal's Barber Shop is the place to be. It's a follicle-friendly blast from the past, all the way down to the red-and-white-striped barber pole and the big jar full of combs floating in that weird blue stuff. Jersey native Sal Gurrieri has been cutting hair for 50 years, and his shop continues the time-honored traditions of barbery -- among them a talcum-powder brush-down and a waiting area stacked with back issues of Playboy. Even better news: A shave and a haircut -- or a dye job, permanent or beard trim -- will run you only a little more than they did in the good old days.
Lately, we've been spending more time at Boxers Men's Salon than we have at home. That's because, at home, we can't get a clipper cut, a full-body massage or a shoeshine. At Boxers, on the other hand, we can have our backs waxed, our teeth whitened and our beards trimmed. We can get shaved, have a facial and get a pedicure, too, because this downtown, full-service salon is overflowing with professionals who like nothing better than to manipulate us into looking and feeling better. In between appointments with our hair stylist (or our barber, who's headquartered in a separate room) and our manicurist, we can shoot some pool, play the glossy upright piano, or do some quick banking at the ATM in the corner. We like to finish off with a one-hour workout with Boxers' in-house weight trainer, followed by a relaxing hot-stone massage. All of this comes pretty cheap ever since we bought our own membership, which allows us almost all of the salon's super services for one low monthly fee.
This place isn't just a store -- it's a lifestyle. That is, if you're into all things "sleazy vintage." We're not talking straight-up Elvis, James Dean and Marilyn. Go Kat Go caters to the cheetah-clad Bettie Pages, the leather-loving greasers and the cocktail-swilling lounge dwellers of the world. Proprietors Chris and Brandi fill their store with a revolving selection of super swanky sofas, matching tables and chairs, too many gotta-have-'em lamps and candy-colored kitchen dinette sets. Shelves are stocked with space-age tchotchkes -- ashtrays, shot glasses, kooky figurines -- that make stylish gifts. There are racks of vintage clothes to help you look the part, and a case full of hot rod necessities like badass skull gearshift knobs, '50s-style hubcaps and rubber shrunken heads. And if it weren't for Go Kat Go, we just wouldn't know where to go to outfit our tiki bar.
Before you're halfway through the door, the litany begins: "Hi, welcome to Pink Flamingos. Today all yellow-glazed ceramic from the 1950s is 10 percent off, except for ashtrays and lamps. Also, all Stengelwear, except for serving bowls, is 5 percent off, and anything with a blue-striped price tag -- but not a green-striped tag or yellow-striped tag -- is 30 percent off, but only until 2:30!" Or something like that. The sale items may change every day, but one thing is constant: The pitch is always relentless, and it always makes us feel like extras in a zany Seinfeld rerun. While most folks visit Pink Flamingos for its well-organized selection of handsome old furniture and near-mint dishware, there are those of us who go there just to hear this astonishing greeting. No matter how often we go -- we've been shopping at Pink Flamingos for years, and have the cool loot to prove it -- we never tire of this zany mantra of merchandise.
This boutique -- barely a chain, as there are only a couple in the country -- is the place to find distressed wood furnishings and frames, casual linen clothing and beautiful beaded necklaces, earrings and even shoes: the essentials of the Shabby Chic ethic. But our favorite find is the gorgeous, straight-from-the-estate-sale-but-these-actually-work chandeliers. Adorned with colorful metal flowers and beads, each unique fixture is a work of art. They don't come cheap, but subtle style rarely does.
We had to drive by several times to make sure of this one. Some night, if you're barreling south past Camelback on 15th Avenue, you'll see a Mexican juice and taco stand making the most out of a gleaming Arby's sign that happens to be alongside it. Where's the beef, you ask? It's hiding in enchiladas, salads, soups, tortas and tacos. Imagine the mortified old couple who stops in for a roast beef sandwich and cheese sandwich and comes face-to-face with head and tongue burritos! Now that's roasting worth boasting about!
There actually is an Arby's on Camelback -- the dubious sign is directing you to Arby's drive-through lane -- but it's half a block away, obscured in two directions by a sprawling car wash and a window-tinting shop on the corner. So, in the interest of equal time, we think the Arby's people should put a sign directing them to Jugos y Licuados' parking lot and its equally lost-in-the-shuffle La Salsita annex. Perhaps this exchange of neighboring cultures can be beneficial to both sides. Arby's can pass along those calves' feet they don't use in their Big Montana half-pounders, and La Salsita can suggest other things to serve with rice besides broccoli!
We'd given up on getting anything other than attitude from men's department sales clerks until one recent afternoon, when we stumbled into Macy's at the Biltmore in search of a new necktie. We left with armloads of trousers, a new pair of Santoni loafers and a renewed respect for retail sales help -- all thanks to Gordon Joines, whose warm, gentlemanly assistance harks back to the days when Dad shopped in finer establishments in towns more stylish than this one. Gordon manages the nearly impossible: He points us toward more and better purchases without a single sales pitch. We leave feeling like we've had a pleasant visit with an old friend who happens to have impeccable taste and a store full of menswear at his disposal. During our first encounter with Gordon, he surprised us by knowing our collar size at a glance, and astonished us by gently suggesting a cut and color that proved more flattering than the costly rag we had planned to buy. We sometimes shop elsewhere, but we never find service we like as well as that provided by this stylish Southern gentleman.
Music salespeople can sometimes get snotty if you don't instinctively know the difference between Gibson, Fender and Taylor. That's why we love Central Music. They know their stuff, but it's no problem if you don't know yours. Whether you know everything or nothing about your instrument of choice, they will help you get what you need. And they should be good at it by now -- this place has been an institution in the Valley for more than 50 years. Central Music is the musician's music store, with a fantastic selection of sheet music, on-site instrument repairs, and a great retail selection of instruments and accessories, from capos to pedals. This is the ultimate place to upgrade or start your music career, whether you're a concert pianist, a future rock star or a junior-high band member.
Just for the record, this is decidedly not a jazz town. That said, here's a tip: You don't know what you've been missing. In Europe, Japan and a few more enlightened pockets inside the States, appreciation for jazz rarely has been greater, and with good reason. It's a far fresher genre than you know, especially if you limit your listening to the pabulum on KYOT-FM and the wonderful if predictable old-school fare offered at nights on KJZZ. If you'd like to see what's really up in jazz -- we're talking such artists as Greg Osby, Cassandra Wilson and Avashai Cohen, as well as such masters as Miles Davis, Duke Ellington and John Coltrane -- head to any of the four locations of Zia Records and start digging. They've got a great selection of used stuff, with an adequate number of new CDs on the shelf. For Phoenix, that is.
Those of you who bemoan the behemoth chain stores conveniently forget the many times Tower Records has saved your ass by having the record you were looking for at the last -- and we mean very last -- minute. Sure, when you're buying CDs for yourself, you can take your sweet time shopping around and getting a used copy of a Nick Cave album at half the list price. But when you're buying your little sister that copy of *NSYNC's first album, the cool, smaller shops won't have it. What if you have to give it to her today? Even last-minute Internet enablers like
Amazon.com can't get it to you the same day and, let's face it, that's when the very last minute falls.
Tower's airy new location at the Desert Ridge Marketplace has 14,000 square feet of CDs, cassettes (yes, places still carry them), videos and DVDs, plus an array of current magazines and stereo equipment. If you want to buy a Puccini CD for your dad, or that Raffi CD for your mom that she enjoyed playing more than you did, chances are it's in stock. A recent last-minute inspection to fill holes in the ol' record collection found the store carrying a dozen Hole CDs -- and six by a blues guy with the unfortunate name of Dave Hole. Their prices ranged from $12.99 to $14.99, with imports hovering just below the $20 range, besting the everyday regular price of your mark-up mom-and-pop fave.
Heck, why stop there? Check Tower's Web site to see what they have in stock; you can pretend it's Amazon and special-order a title. So cross yourself, ask your mom-and-pop outlet's forgiveness, clutch that Ziggy Stardust 30th-anniversary set that no one else in town has, and go to bed without any supper.
Who are the real music lovers? Some would say it's the MP3 people who obsessively download music from the Internet. This would be true if they actually
listened to half the glut they burn, print labels for and file away. No, these are just people who want something for nothing -- and who are never going to listen to all that much Dave Brubeck. Truly obsessive music fans spend their lunch hours poring over catalogue books, looking for a Martin Denny or Marianne Faithfull album they might have missed, and then hunting it down.
Most hunts end here at Tracks in Wax, where Blue Book value goes out the window if an item's not exactly flying off the shelves. While the list of vinyl albums finding their way to CD continues to grow, it's never going to encompass this shop's inventory of waxworks. Where else can you get failed experiments like the Kasenetz-Katz Singing Orchestral Circus or Chuck Berry's psychedelic dalliances at the Fillmore West with the Steve Miller Band? And both are priced according to desirability, at $5.99 and $15.99, respectively.
What of the countless soundtracks such as In Like Flynt and Out of Sight that have yet to make it to CD? Usual collector staples like the Beatles and the Stones are well-represented, with a large selection of 45 picture sleeves and 12-inches from around the world. Plus, the walls are lined with treasures you've never seen, except in grainy reproductions in a Goldmine magazine, priced at considerably less than the shaft prices that publication lists them for. Not in plain view are the thousands of 45s stashed in the back, listed in two yellow-and-green three-ring binders on the counter, which rarely exceed $5, even on an original label. Plus, you have knowledgeable owners Dennis and Donnie, who've been at this locale for ages and know the kind of stuff you've collected since you were a snot-nosed runt. With sections divided into jazz, punk, R&B, and male and female vocals, it'll take mere seconds to find what you're looking for, but you'll still inevitably be late coming back from your lunch break.
We love to travel, but leaving behind our menagerie (four cats and an obstreperous Dalmatian) can make for tough times away. Or it used to, anyway, before we discovered Angel Pet Nanny. These bonded, insured, animal-loving pet sitters come to call as many times a day as you like while you're off traipsing, and nothing -- not even a doggy diaper or a bathtub full of baby alligators -- will scare them away. Proprietors Ginger and Lori will keep the company of most any kind of four-legged pet, and will spend at least 45 minutes per visit combing, petting, walking and bathing it. They'll also take in your mail, water your plants or scoop out the cat box -- all at no extra charge. They leave behind a meticulously detailed journal (a nanny diary, if you will) of your pet's every move and, if you want, will call you every day or leave you a daily voice mail update on your pet's well-being. We never leave home for more than a day without them.
If you love something, set it free; if it doesn't come back, hunt it down and have it stuffed at Ron's Taxidermy Studio. In the Valley for 20 years, Ron Cowper is a state and federally licensed master taxidermist with more than 30 years' experience. At Ron's, all work is guaranteed for life -- or for the remainder of death -- and his habitat scenes will make your kill look serene or ferocious (depending on the mood) while hanging on your mantelpiece or sitting next to your bed. Prices range from $150 for a fox half-mount to $3,500 for a life-size moose. But Ron's not limited to big game. So bring in your weasels, badgers, ducks, quails, fish, snakes and sparrows, and he'll make a trophy of what the cat dragged in. And yes, he can even make the famous jackalope. A word of warning: Never cut a deer's throat if you want the head mounted and, if possible, bring in your heads no more than two days after death.
The Autom store is not only a great place to stock up on anointing oil, monastery incense, rosaries and crucifixes, but smart shoppers find the real bargains with proper direction. What Would Jesus Do? He'd bypass the shelves bursting with virgins and saints and head to the back of the store. There, a cart holds large brown paper grab bags, for $3 each, and announces that 5 percent of the bags contain cash. On a recent purchase, we got lucky for a buck, as well as inundated with almost enough Jesus merchandise to redeem the entire staff. While we were purchasing the Jesus Playing Soccer figurine, the clerk accidentally broke Jesus from the porcelain playing field. This broken Jesus would be repaired, then sent to the way-back, we were told, the secret Jesus outlet portion of Autom cluttered with a hodgepodge of holiness at rock-bottom prices.
Before visiting this "permanent safe haven for beads," our knowledge of beads was limited to two facts: 1) beads have holes in them; and 2) beads are easy to lose. We had no idea that an entire subculture is devoted to promoting the "appreciation of the historical and cultural significance of beads . . . from ancient, ethnic and contemporary cultures by means of collection, documentation, preservation and display."
Let there be no doubt: These people take their beads seriously. Exhibits include "The Shape of Beads to Come," "Learning Bead Lingo," and the undoubtedly divisive "Common Bead Names and Misnomers," while the museum's calendar features appearances by guest artists and an extensive array of classes and workshops. Almost 50 courses are offered this fall alone, ranging from the introductory "Basic Beading" to the advanced "Wedding Series," in which the expert beadhead crafts a necklace, earrings and headband to wear at her own wedding.
And the bead goes on. . . . The museum store is a truly international experience, peddling Chinese glass beads, Japanese seed beads, handmade Peruvian animal beads, German glass beads, Czech seed beads and Navajo-made jewelry.
Okay, so they're not exactly weeds, but master gardeners we are not. Outside the Glendale Main Library, nearly 1,000 different plant varieties grow on four acres. This collection of rare and unusual flora focuses on native and adapted plants that can be used in xeriscape design, including 600 varieties of low-water-use plants. The shrubs, trees, cactuses and sprouts are sectioned into handy categories, such as Cacti of Mexico and South America, Agaves of North and Central America, Berry Walk, and Medicinal Garden. (Suggestion: Add a "smokables" section.) Next to each plant is a sign listing its number, common name and scientific name -- sometimes even a book title for further reference.
As well-organized as this garden may be, some of these plants are practically begging for further categorization. Such as? 007's favorite plant: goldeneye. Plant that most sounds like a recreational drug: euphorbia. Plant most likely to sign for $252 million: Texas ranger. You get the idea.
Gifts Anon carries merchandise for every incarnation of the anonymously recovered, from sparkly "NO CAINE NO PAIN" bumper stickers to kids' books. Look especially for
Gangs and Drugs from the "Tookie Speaks Out Against Violence" series -- Tookie being Stanley "Tookie" Williams, co-founder of the Crips, who currently sits on death row, writing children's books in which he introduces the young to terms like "sherm" (PCP), "weed" (marijuana), "slinging drugs" and the dangers of "set-tripping." Self-help books in English and Spanish line the shelves, and behind the counter are coins for every anniversary (beginning with 24 hours) as well as videos such as
Rush,
28 Days and
Groundhog Day.
Also, with each purchase you are allowed to pull a "positive thought" from a fishbowl by the cash register.
Our monthly visit to cranky Aunt Betty on the west side always necessitated a calming visit to one of the better day spas in the tonier part of town. That is, until we discovered Savant, a full-service salon with all the comforts provided by better-known beauty stops. Now we save ourselves a drive to Scottsdale by dropping in at Savant's new 2,400-square-foot west-side digs (they've been teasing and curling and toning for 15 years), where we're given the full spa treatment and released, fully recovered from Auntie's sour attitude and prune Danish. We get a haircut, a massage and a manicure, and if we wanted to, we could also get a dye job, a pedicure, and a waxing. Savant's long list of treatments includes facials, glycolic peels, scalp treatments and expert makeup consultations. We're tempted to look into aroma wraps and salt rubs, and we may yet. Because even though Aunt Betty is gone now, we're still making monthly visits to Savant.
Few things excite us like the phrase "by the pound." Imagine walls of fabric -- piles and shelves of it -- everything from leather to lamé, stacked, hung and rolled into every nook and cranny of SAS's orderless shelves, sans any recognizable categorical system. True, you can't go in looking for something specific unless you have three hours to search every shelf, but if you're a crafty type looking for inspiration for your next project, just walk into SAS and you will be instantly transformed into the most creative person you know. Besides the fabric at rock-bottom prices, they have buttons by the cupful that are older than your mom, as well as scraps, trim, notions, ersatz jewels and our favorite: the famous aisle of grommets. SAS is a costumer's delight, a craftmaker's paradise, a stitcher's wet dream . . . but a warning: It also can be an OCD sufferer's version of the seventh level of hell.
Sharing a block with a Mexican restaurant and a row of showrooms shilling Southwestern furniture, it sits there like the visiting bumpkin cousin at Christmas dinner. Maybe it doesn't fit in, but we have to count it as one of our own. Big Red of the Desert is a place of safekeeping, a source of succor, for a very specific set of people in the Valley -- misplaced Nebraskans. Inside, you'll find all manner of material devoted to the NCAA's perpetual naturals, the University of Nebraska Cornhuskers.
You heard right. All they sell is Huskers gear: sweat shirts, jogging pants and every possible riff on the tee shirt, from tank top to toddler size. Collapsible tailgate chairs are in long supply, too, and so are Husker stickers, license plates and foam beer can coolers. Why do they call the team "Big Red"? Because it beats the shit out of "Cornhuskers." But more important, why is this store here, in a city known not for football but for its sunny climes? Well, if you've ever been to Nebraska, you might understand that it's an even trade.
Since the deregulation of the taxi business, the streets of south Scottsdale, Mesa and central Phoenix have been filled with colorful taxis bearing Spanish names and plastered with advertising for everything from Food City to chiropractic doctors. And Mayas Radio Taxis are one of the first and largest squads on the streets. Their cars are clean, colorful and come in a bunch of sizes, all bearing the large Aztec pyramid logo. Flag one down and you get more than a lift; you get a guide. Hop in and ask the Spanish-speaking driver to take you to the best local eatery or dance club. They seem to know everything! Their rates are $5 minimum and $1.25 per mile thereafter. And unlike their counterparts in Mexico, these taxis, for the most part, obey traffic laws.
Hands full? No car? No problema! The best place to catch a Mexican taxi is outside the Food City grocery store at 20th Street and McDowell. But for that matter, most Food Citys in Mesa and Phoenix now have lines of cars ready to provide you with their services, whether it's Taxi Azteca, Mayas or one of the many independent cabbies. And there are enough there that you know you'll find a cab big enough to fit your load of groceries, ranging from the family minivan to SUV to economy car. You rarely have to wait, and the drivers are often ready to help load your groceries for you. With such service, who needs a car?
Once you step inside the doors of La Michoacana, it's like you're transported back to Mexico. And with good reason. The ice cream recipe it uses is from the original and famous La Michoacana from Michoacán, Mexico -- creamy and flavorful with exotic flavors, like piña, melon, mango, mamey, coco, limon, durazno, horchata, jamaica, tamarindo and sandia, to name a few. There's also a giant selection of flavorful fruit Popsicles made from either a cream or a water base. Another favorite is the sweet and spicy pico de gallo, a giant fruit cocktail with powdered chile, lime and salt over a selection of watermelon, cantaloupe, strawberries, pineapple and fresh peaches. Also try the Mexican version of berries and cream topped with a light drizzle of whipped cream -- now that's cool.
Sometimes it's good to find yourself surrounded by suckers. Like when you're at a dulceria candy store as cool as Dulceria Pico Rico. Inside you'll find suckers, suckers and more suckers. Some are made to look like a mango and are sprinkled with chile and lime, others are made of goat's milk caramel. How about some watermelon-flavored hard candy with more chile and lime? Tamarind and chile? Every imaginable combination of candy from Mexico, with a whole range of sweet, exotic tastes, sits in row after row of large plastic bags just waiting for you to dig into. You can also find a great selection of piñatas and other party favors to round out whatever event you're hoping to sweeten up. The cashiers mostly speak Spanish. But when you have the international language of candy, who needs English?
You can find a Mexican carniceria on just about every corner in downtown Mesa, Phoenix, Avondale and Chandler. But if you're in the mood for making some Salvadoran tamales or popusas, then the unique Pan Americano can come to your rescue. Aptly named for the Pan American highway that runs through Central and South America, this is your number one source for those hard-to-get ingredients you need from south of south of the border.
Goya products are abundant, as well as elusive ingredients, like fresh banana leaves for making those succulent tamales. You can also find delicious Salvadoran and Venezuelan specialty baked goods, made fresh daily. Plus, Pan Americano is clean, centrally located and nicely stocked with other wares, like flags, magazines and music from most Latin American countries. And if Latin American cuisine is where you're palate takes you, be sure to check out the Pan Americano restaurant at Seventh Street and Camelback.
Past the pretty wooden façade and row of split rail fencing at Ranch Market sits the Valley's most exciting selection of Mexican staples, desserts, produce, meats, cheeses, seafood and more. The quality is supreme, even if sometimes shocking (a whole beef head, eyes still in, stares at us from the meat case, its open mouth stuffed with an ear of corn). Anything we could ever want is available in beautiful form: fresh coconut, mango, papaya, peppers of all kinds, fresh herbs, tamale husks, guava gel, carne seca, whole buffalo fish, beef lips, pork feet, and on and on.
But since cooking isn't our favorite thing, we're thrilled with the skills of the cooks at the take-away food court. The bakery churns out rainbows of pan dulce, postres, cakes, bread, rolls and cookies. The "Oasis" sells salads, fruit waters and salsas (wonderful shrimp cocktail, ceviche, pico de gallo, tropical frescas). And the busy restaurant next to it swarms with people scrambling for Styrofoam containers of first-class Mexican favorite dishes, immensely cheap at just $2 to $5 for a full meal.
You can take your pick at a long, enticing buffet line set up in front of the flaming gas grills where quick chefs cook everything from scratch: chile Colorado tacos, toothsome tortas, fat sandwiches and enormous burritos.
And for the ultimate, the Ranch prepares family and party packages serving six to 18. There's a choice of roasted chicken or carnitas, paired with rice, beans, salsas, macarron, tortillas, chips, ceballos, cilantro and Coca-Cola. Just know that this isn't gringo Mexican -- meats are drier, spices are hotter, every part of an animal often is used.
There's no question -- this takeout takes us away.
Selection and ingredients are what make La Estrella stand out as the Valley's best Mexican bakery. Considering how tiny it is, it has an impressively varied selection of breads that are just too tasty to pass up. The pan de huevo is soft and delicious (because of, we think, the powdered milk Estrella adds to the recipe). Plus, hard-to-find pan fino, fleite and resposteria are found here fresh daily. A second location in south Phoenix, on Central Avenue, is also making La Estrella label tortillas and wonderful white masa and serving a small selection of Mexican culinary specialties. And at the original location, there's a large assortment of Mexican household products to go with those loaves, like magazines, medicines, soaps, detergents and CDs, all crammed into the small storefront. To our eyes, La Estrella is a true Panifidora Mexicana.
Forget the leaden treats served at the state fair. Fry bread here is the real thing -- virtually greaseless, a pillowy puff peeking through the softest veil of vegetable oil. But that's the lightest thing about these two-hand monsters, folded over in fat tacos and stuffed with lots of good, goopy fillings. Favorites include a vegetarian, with smoky beans, green chiles, produce and sour cream; or a chorizo beef combo crammed with truly spicy pork sausage and the usual accompaniments of melted Cheddar, beans and lettuce. When fillings run low, we tear off hunks of plain bread and dip it in thin, fiery hot sauce.
And we can never say no to dessert, fry bread topped with our choice of golden honey, powdered sugar, chocolate and butter. Fattening, but who cares? It's our party, and we'll fry if we want to.
Although Mexico can claim the origin of some really beautiful pre-Columbian art, Fine Art Tattoo can stake a claim to having one of the best selections in the United States -- especially if the artwork you're talking about is a perfect Virgen de Guadalupe tattoo. In its Thomas Road shop, Aztec, Toltec and Mayan art is beautifully displayed, ready for the willing body canvas. Jesus and the Virgin, in various poses, present lots of other options, too. You can also customize a drawing or a photograph, and resident artists Jesus and Gerardo will help bring your vision to your skin.
If your local grocery store isn't fulfilling your culinary needs, you just might want to try a different venue. Like the dog track.
Volcanic rock molcajetes (grinding bowls), imported moles, hard-to-find cheeses and illegal fruits all are part of what makes the Phoenix Greyhound Park Park 'n Swap a fun day at the races. If it's from Mexico, you are very likely to find it here. Especially on the twice-weekly "Mercado" days.
Every Wednesday night and Sunday morning, vendors line the dog track parking lot at Washington Street in Phoenix to fight for your dollar and provide you with the best, most obscure and most unique items. If you're adventurous and willing to go to almost any lengths for good and hard-to-find ingredients, you'll likely find them, along with other cool stuff, like leather belts from Mexico and pirate CDs. Just be warned: There's a lot to look through, so wear comfortable shoes and bring a nice, big bag for all those purchases you'll find yourself making.
A few years ago, Charles Nolan quietly opened his shop in the basement of the venerable Luhrs Central Building across from Patriots Square downtown. He had a concept -- the hippest men's shop in town, and that was about it. Advertising budget? Hardly. Neon signs? Not in this lifetime. Word of mouth? You betcha. These days, Charles -- who doesn't even have a phone in his downtown haberdashery -- counts several Phoenix Suns as regular customers, and his clientele is growing by the month, eager to buy his primo Italian suits, his slick shirts, his excellent selection of ties. But Charles isn't just a clotheshorse. A major league jazz fan, he collects CDs, then sells them to his customers for a mere 10 bucks apiece. Finding this gem of a store isn't easy. But once you find Charles in Suite M, around the bend from Tony's Barber Shop, you're in for quite a sartorial treat.
The aromatic world that exists behind the plain-looking façades of this local chain stimulates all five senses, and possibly even your sixth. In what's best described as organized chaos, bins of exquisitely scented candles beckon you to dig and sniff and explore. The on-premises craftspeople work endlessly to turn out high-quality candles with new and unusual fragrances to suit every taste. Explore the nooks and crannies for an eclectic selection of candleholders and treasures brought back from the owner's frequent buying trips. And check out the shop's "container fill" program, which allows you to design your own creation for the price of the wax. Plan to shop early during the holidays, as lines have been known to form at the door of these popular gift-buying destinations.
Although lots of ladies only shop for a new swimsuit once a year, foxy Phoenician women consider bikinis a year-round wardrobe staple. This shop on North Scottsdale Road has the most fun, edgiest collection in town, ranging from modern-day Gidget florals to the barest Brazilian string bikinis, from brands like Body Glove and Bebe. It's hard to pick just one style when you have to choose among satiny blue leopard, neon flames or sparkly camouflage prints. The prices are reasonable enough to leave you with cash to buy a Hawaiian-pattern wrap and some sequined flip-flops, too. If you're feeling exhibitionist, you can even find something suitable for prancing around like one of the babes next door at Babes Cabaret -- a lace and rhinestone g-string with a pair of black patent platform stiletto mules, the classic frilly maid's costume or the naughty plaid schoolgirl mini-kilt, complete with matching plaid thong.
Who gets a rush out of visiting a fabric store? At SAS, the answer is anybody looking for the thrill of a good bargain, the delight of an unexpected find or simply to supercharge the creative juices. Stocked to the rafters with discounted merchandise, this labyrinthine shop is like a candy store for aspiring fashion designers. Dig through bolts of satins and silks, twills and tweeds of every hue. Let your mind wander as you consider 50 different types of lace. Then ogle the incredible assortment of trimmings. Boxes of vintage-look buttons, rolls of shiny ribbons and mesh, barrels full of straight-outta-the-'70s embroidered patches, and various zippers and snaps are there to hook you. We dare you to walk out of the store without a single new idea for a project.
This combination isn't likely to inspire a national chain anytime soon, yet it has the appeal of a toy-filled dream. Tucked inside an inconspicuous lab-like brick building, the wooden, glass-fronted cabinets give this place an Old World flavor that leaps from Galileo to This Old House. In one corner, old planes, chisels, saws, augers and plenty more are carefully displayed; in another are the beautifully cast and finished wood and metal planes in which St. James specializes. Across the store are those magical telescopes, including binoculars, for viewing the far away up close. If you want to talk optics, eyepieces, or the best way to see the next eclipse or that wobbling orb Mars, ask for Warren Kutok, Photon's owner, who's been scouring the heavens for more than 50 years.
Good thing for us that Simon Nisanov left his native Uzbekistan in the early '90s and landed here in the Valley -- we'd hate to have to travel to the former Soviet bloc country just to get a shave and a haircut. And we're pretty sure that we couldn't get one we liked as well from anyone other than Simon or one of his colleagues at this unassuming little shop stashed in a small plaza just behind an old IHOP. Simon and fellow ear-lowerers Arsen and Tatyana know their way around scissor and clipper cuts, beard trims, even straight-razor shaves, and the shop comes fully equipped with all the bells and whistles loved by those of us who prefer a good old-fashioned barber shop to any sort of salon. There's a wall rack stuffed with magazines, kitschy, outdoorsy wall art, corny joke plaques, a TV droning out brawling talk shows, and, of course, pictures of square-jawed models displaying coifs that you, too, can sport. So stop in for a trim. Simon and pals are true Legends of the Follicle.
Michelle Lombardi knows hair. She'll quickly assess yours and, in short order, can turn what might be a mop into a functional, optimally attractive 'do. Michelle offers cuts based on what looks best on you, not on her latest whim, and her always-flattering cuts grow out nicely, too. We know people who fly in from L.A. and San Francisco every few months just for one of Michelle's trim jobs (you know she's good if you can't find a better hairdresser in San Francisco). The added bonus? Unlike many of the people in her profession, Michelle is a charming, down-to-earth working mom who won't trouble you with grating gossip or ask you to be her personal therapist while she's snipping your split ends.
To be perfectly honest, we wouldn't say no to any spa, anywhere, any time.
But even in this rarefied category, there are places that stand out. Take your stressed and tired bones to the Phoenician's Centre for Well-Being (we had to shave points off their final score for the affected spelling, but they still win) and stay all day. Not only are the treatments excellent -- we recommend a "therapeutic" massage at $110 for 50 minutes, despite the ominous brochure warning that it's "not recommended for a first-time treatment" -- but the locker rooms are spacious and invite lolling and loitering. To splurge, try the Sanctuary package -- a body treatment (such as a wrap), a massage, a facial and a manicure/pedicure, at 50 minutes each, plus lunch, for $485, all gratuities included. Do not leave before spending, oh, a good half-hour in the "Swiss" shower. And take a nap in the Meditation Atrium. Sure, you could nap at home, but there's something about that tinkling fountain, the tropical foliage, the terry-cloth robe . . .
For such an unnecessary indulgence, a pedicure can be an awfully routine, ho-hum affair, more like a visit to the dentist that must be patiently endured than a delightful way to play hooky. If one is to spend money on such things, one should leave feeling pampered and a bit guilty. Carrie O'Hare clearly understands this. Her pedicures are like spa treatments, and bear little resemblance to the services provided by the many strip-mall nail factories around town. The lucky subject reclines nearly horizontally in a tilting chair, is given a heated neck pillow and bean bag to cover her eyes (or his -- Carrie does men's pedicures, as well). The lights are lowered, and the rest is, well, nap time -- unless you'd like to converse, because Carrie is lovely to chat with. But no small talk is required; just relax and look forward to great-looking, scrubbed, trimmed and paraffin-dipped toes.
Hair knows no shame. It's a wild and unruly creature that answers to no one and grows wherever it likes, without regard to appropriateness. Unwanted body hair has found a formidable (if gracious) foe in Jennifer Ann Tumolo. Jennifer waxes and tweezes anywhere you want, with a gentle hand and a firm technique, leaving behind a meticulously tended patch of smooth skin. With acute attention to detail, she adjusts both wax and waxing methods to accommodate changes in hair thickness and skin temperature. Thanks to her expert knowledge of skin care (facials are actually her specialty), even the most radical amount of hair removal has little effect on your freshly exposed epidermis. With reassuring words and a professional tableside manner, Jennifer makes body waxing a breeze.
Scottsdale galleries can be daunting for the beginning art collector. But under the direction of Kraig Foote, Art One offers the rest of us wonderful works that don't require either a second mortgage or a working knowledge of who's who in the art world. Representing local artists and students (mostly college students, although pieces by talented high school artists also make their way onto the walls), Art One offers some of the most striking and diverse visual art in the area. Even dyed-in-the-wool art collectors stop by this unusual gallery. And who knows when you'll snag a piece by a budding Matisse for a song.
Some spell it bolo. Some spell it bola. It's been on cowboy's necks and in art museums. It may be a Native American tradition, a British invention, or a local's trick to avoid losing his special hatband. And though its history is murky, one thing is certain: The bola tie is Arizona's official state neckwear, and if history tells us anything, it won't be going out of fashion here anytime soon.
The bola tie is a rather simple invention. A cord, often made of braided leather, is secured around the neck with a decorative metal slide. There's some debate, but most seem to agree that historically speaking, bola, not bolo, is the proper spelling. A boleadora, or bola for short, is a type of South American lasso used in ranching.
In a bill passed in 1973, the Arizona Legislature (with a push from U.S. Senator Barry Goldwater) made the bola Arizona's official neckwear. New Mexico and Texas later enacted similar legislation.
The first patent on the bola tie — for an improved slide device that would stay in place better — was granted in 1959 to a Wickenburg man named Victor Emmanuel Cedarstaff. Cedarstaff claimed to have invented the bola in the late 1940s. Legend has it that he placed his special hatband around his neck one day while horseback riding to avoid losing it to the wind, and the rest is history.
Others say a dentist out of Kingman was actually the original creator. But others think the bola's roots go even deeper. Some say the tie, often made of silver and turquoise, was invented by Native Americans. Some link it to early pioneers in the late 19th century. Some even say King Henry IV of England created it.
Another common theory has Mark Hickok as the originator of the bola trend. Hickok's New York and Texas-based company advertised sales of the bola the same year Cedarstaff patented it (some say even before). "The solution to your sport shirt-necktie problem. Hickok designed and approved for dining by the finest hotels and restaurants," read one ad.
Many think this use is just why the bola took off as a trend.
As restaurants began requiring ties on men in the 1950s, the bola was a simple path to get inside (no knotting skills required!). Bola ties later became a rockabilly standard as well as a cowboy staple. And the bola has even gone high brow. Northern Arizona University donated its large collection of ties to the Desert Caballeros Museum in the bola's (maybe) hometown of Wickenburg. NAU's collection was largely donated by a local television personality named Bill Close, whose fans had sent him bola ties to wear on the air for years. And in 2011, the Heard Museum in Phoenix hosted a large-scale exhibit of bola ties.
The tie has remained popular with politicians and athletes (and now, even hipsters) ever since. For many, the tie is a way to showcase Southwestern pride or roots. Its origins may be a bit mysterious, but we think it's fair to claim the bola's heart (and biggest fan base) is here in the desert of Arizona.
There's no cooler place to be a nerd. A large computer section and a cafe serving espresso drinks cater to the techie crowd, though the wide selection of everything electric leaves no one empty-handed. Displays practically scream "Try me!" to shoppers searching for appliances, digital cameras, computers or musical instruments. A Fry's drone in a white shirt and tie can be found at every turn, and, with eight home theater and audio rooms to try the equipment, you'll always know what you're getting before you mosey up to the register. To get to a cashier, customers are herded through a maze of impulse-buy fun junk, like chocolate keyboards, 10,000 kinds of batteries, and bargain bins full of computer games. But nothing's as fun as the savings once you finally arrive at the cashier.
With big-deal bong brands such as Zong, Kaos, Chalice and Chong, this shop is a smooth smoker's paradise. Double-sided glass means high quality, and can mean high prices, too -- up to $200, but well worth it for a connoisseur. The shop also has less expensive and almost-as-cool water pipes in several media and an informative and friendly staff to show off the pageant of pipery. Of course, this trippy, 12-year-old trove sells more than pipes. Garments with stitched pockets for stashing keys and other "small personals" hang from treetop racks, alongside the usual whacked-out posters, tee shirts, tapestries and plastic-beaded curtains. To complete the mood, choose from an array of rock-star incense, like the Bob Marley Variety Pack or Grateful Dead rose-scented sticks. Don't miss the 11-hose hookah near the register -- an 11th-anniversary gift last year from famed batik artist and pipe designer Jerome Baker. Careful, though: Insinuating the use of illegal substances will get you a swift kick out the front door.
There's hardly an excuse not to make a day of it at Brass Armadillo, a 40,000-square-foot mall with a cozy diner on premises, plenty of research materials about antiques, and generous daily hours of 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Each of the mall's 600 booths and cases has a distinctive character, and you can gorge your appetite for antiques on items ranging from schlocky secondhand '40s dishware to mint-condition vintage furniture. Don't overlook the rows of glass cases, where you'll find pricey, 200-year-old costume jewelry alongside ratty (but still collectible!) Skipper dolls from the '80s. Prices are reasonable, and the pleasure of the hunt makes this worth turning into an Antique Mall rat.
Nestled into a tiny brick building in downtown Phoenix, Sage is a new vintage/antique/junk shop for the eclectic collector tired of scrounging through hope-to-get-lucky thrift shops. The store is actually an old house whose rooms are packed with a collection of curiosities that change weekly, each of them priced to move. Few items cost more than $300, and most are less than you would pay for a shirt and trousers at the mall. From velvet theater ropes and vintage dress forms to gorgeous antique furniture such as a railroad desk, a velvet chaise longue and a 1920s oak file cabinet, Sage has enough conversation pieces and one-of-a-kind items to make treasure-seeking friends jealous. We ogled a vault from a now-demolished Missouri bank that was once robbed by Jesse James, and bought a hundred-year-old "fix-up" mirror that's the envy of our junking pals.
As soon as that EPT test shows up red, your girlfriends gather with reams of advice: Ginger for morning sickness, Maalox for heartburn, bags of frozen vegetables for swollen ankles. As for stretch marks? There's no scientific prevention, but that doesn't stop our girlfriends from offering up remedies. We're particularly fond of one concoction, passed along by a girlfriend who earned her college tuition behind the counter at Lotions and Potions, one of the Valley's first bath and body shops. She suggested a four-ounce bottle of Lotions and Potions massage oil, mixed with a quarter-ounce of Vitamin E oil. Top it off with your choice from the shop's wide assortment of scents -- everything from strawberry to sandalwood. We can't guarantee it'll prevent stretch marks, but it sure feels great. And as any pregnant woman can tell you, that's a premium worth not passing up.
Last year, the term "BoBo" joined "yuppie" and "Gen Xer" on the shelf of social labels, with the publication of journalist David Brooks' book
BoBos in Paradise. BoBo is short for "bourgeois bohemian" -- newly rich people who cling to less moneyed, hippie-esque traditions. You've seen them -- day traders in incense-smelly coffee houses, bankers in Birkenstocks, lawyers in used bookstores.
Home decorating is a great showcase for BoBo-ness, Brooks says. Go with expensive but beat up: chipped antique plates, banged-up coffee tables, batiked bedding. And one of Brooks' favorite examples of BoBo-dom -- the furniture/clothing store Anthropologie, formerly accessible to Arizonans only by catalogue or online -- has come to Scottdale's Kierland Commons, so you can finger the organza curtains and wrought-iron candlesticks in person. BoBo wanna-bes, beware: Anthropologie's goods are shabby in the best bohemian tradition, but the prices are strictly bourgeois.
Magazine junkies like us will go to great lengths to get a glossy fix. That's why Borders isn't just a pit stop but an essential destination for satisfying our craving for periodicals. Sheer variety fuels our shameless addiction. At Borders, we can plan our dream vacation, drool over sports cars, brush up on global affairs or preview Paris' prêt-à-porter, all while flipping through scores of titles. Magazines you can't find anywhere else in town are neatly stacked up next to more common selections. Need a little more time to decide? The Borders cafe is conveniently located adjacent to the mag section, so shoppers can leisurely enjoy an iced latte with their I-D.
Great Caesar's ghost! Did All About Books & Comics
really win this category again? Hey, does Lois Lane have the hots for Superman?
A contender long before anyone ever heard of Spawn, Sandman or Witchblade, Alan and Marsha Giroux's fortress of funny books continues to be one-stop shopping headquarters for two generations of Valley comic-book geeks. In addition to thousands of comic titles (both new and used), the store stocks scads of related ephemera: sci-fi trading cards, James Bondabilia, monster-movie merchandise and, well, you get the idea.
Hey, what do you want us to do? Draw you a picture?
When the much-loved but cramped Book Gallery moved across the street to its new location last year, it was as if a handsome prince had been released from a familiar frog. And handsome is the perfect word to describe Book Gallery's new space, which looks like a classic library, without the stuffiness. The staffers are laid-back and friendly, and knowledgeable about virtually every volume on their shelves. Chairs and tables are arranged throughout, for the comfy perusal of merchandise ranging from beautifully preserved first editions and ancient signed hardcovers to more modern, but carefully chosen, coffee-table books. Rows of rich wood shelves with glass doors house the rarest and priciest volumes. Luckily, the store stays open late (10 a.m. to 7 p.m. Mondays through Saturdays, noon to 5 p.m. Sundays), but with virtually every item here a gem, there aren't enough hours in a lifetime to fully explore the treasures of this literary museum.
Memorabilia collecting is built on the sunny premise that yesteryear's omnipresent junk is today's rare gem. That premise implies that the junkier the item was in its own time, the more wondrous it is in the sweet glow of nostalgia. The fine people at Pop Culture Classics understand this. Where else are you liable to find an unopened can of Billy Beer, as powerful -- and rare -- a piece of '70s Americana as you can purchase, for $25? The arcana doesn't end there. Whether you're in need of KISS makeup kits, Chewbacca masks, Doctor Who comic books, UNICEF Barbie dolls or Charles Barkley action figures, this is your one-way ticket to trash heaven. Just don't try drinking that Billy Beer.
Toto, I don't think we're in Blockbuster anymore.
Actually, dogs and Kansas farm girls are two of the few fetishes you won't find on the video shelves of Castle, an XXX-rated Oz catering to every carnal whim this side of the sex-crimes ward. Straight, gay, bi, pre-op, post-op, even libidinous midgets -- if it's bigger, longer, harder and uncut, you'll find it here. Shaved Clam Slurp, anyone?
In addition to the gulp-inducing VHS and DVD inventory (several jillion titles, all for sale or rent), Castle's embarrassment of raunches also includes more pre- and post-show entertainment than you can shake a strap-on at. Who needs popcorn when you've got a lapful of edible panties, flavored love gels, and some of the weirdest-shaped rubber doodads outside of a Firestone recall center?
Used to be that this place called itself Castle Boutique; now it's slickly marketing itself as Castle Megastore. If it were up to us, we'd rename the place KYmart.
The gift shop at Scottsdale Center for the Arts is so entertaining that shows and exhibits at the center sometimes seem like a distraction from shopping. High-concept designs for traditional household items (ashtrays, flower bowls, trivets) fill one side of the store, while a children's section in the back invites exploration from all ages (check out the wacky marionettes!). Novelty items (a beaded bookmark, a boxing nun hand puppet), jewelry, musical instruments and a vast collection of hard-to-find jazz and world music have kept us here 'til closing time, stocking up on holiday and birthday gifts for our they-own-everything friends. The staff is friendly, and there's something to fit every budget.
So what happened to the extra flared pants that didn't get snatched up in the rush when today's thirty- and fortysomethings were in high school? More than likely, they're on the racks at Plush Living, labeled "new old stock" because they still have the original tags on them. Plush specializes in Disco, Pimp, Hooker and all that is '70s Baaaad, though occasionally some great '50s and '60s threads turn up here, too. We find it hard to concentrate on shopping, because we really like chatting nonstop with Curtis Gannon and Amy Bowling, the shop's hip proprietors. But we tear ourselves away to check out the upstairs for fetchin' furniture, with the emphasis on Brady Bunch Mod and I Love Lucite. Austin Powers fans will be happy here, as will anyone with a hankering for his old high school wardrobe.
We were bereaved when our favorite cassette tape, an irreplaceable treasure, finally snapped. When we found no listings in the Yellow Pages for audiotape repair, we panicked. Our home repair job (which employed an old pencil and some Scotch tape) was a disaster and, just as we were about to cry, someone suggested Tom Brightwell. This one-man wonder, a retiree with a flair for fixing busted audiotapes, is a best-kept secret if we've ever overheard one. Tom's word-of-mouth, home-based business employs secret but sophisticated technology, and his fair-minded pricing includes the repair to your original plus a tidy back-up copy, just in case.
This is the spot for Spot when you can't bear to leave him alone all day or you think he just needs a friend who will sniff his butt. The fact that this daytime-only facility is sparkling clean and odorless is a bonus that greets you at the door. The friendly staff provides a cage-free social opportunity for dogs (the dogs are screened for sociability first), and is serious about the nurturing and loving they dole out. Playrooms have durable tunnels and tug toys, and an outdoor playground includes a "facility" known as Potty Park. Inside, dog-friendly movies are shown in a room with couches, armchairs and beds (not to worry -- if Fido isn't allowed on the bed at home, he's not allowed on the bed at Ruff Life, either). Your pet receives a report card at the end of the day, detailing his behavior. A day (7 a.m. to 6 p.m.) costs $25, a six-hour half day is $17. Discounts are available to frequent visitors.
Got a golden Lab that ought to wear a drool bucket? A German shepherd that eats couch cushions for fun? Finding an apartment when you have pets, especially dogs, can be taxing. But Tom Mastromatto's company, Apartment Experts, specializes in finding a place in the Valley (as well as in Tucson) that will welcome your precious pooch. He'll even find a home for your hard-to-place breeds such as pit bulls or rottweilers. The apartments pay Mastromatto a commission; the service is free to you and Fido.
You've just settled onto the couch for a Charlie's Angels weekend marathon when you realize that Rover will be out of food before Farrah Fawcett's 12th swimsuit change. You could get off the couch, get dressed and fight traffic all the way to the local pet-food monolith. Or you could pick up the phone and call the Pet Pantry, wait a couple of days, and open your front door to find high-quality dog food waiting for you in a sturdy white bin. If you're in its delivery area, which includes all of central Phoenix, as well as Paradise Valley, Scottsdale, Cave Creek, Carefree and Fountain Hills, Pet Pantry will bring you canned food, kibble and treats for dogs and cats at prices generally comparable to what you'll find at brick-and-mortar stores. Now if it only delivered beer . . .
Try washing a large dog in your bathroom tub, and you'll find yourself sitting up and begging for Gina Zoppa's self-service shop. The Dog Wash, which also does conventional grooming, provides all of the materials you need to make Rover clean again: brushing and drying tables, full-size raised tubs, and professional-quality spray nozzles that quickly rinse out one of the many shampoos offered. The management isn't stingy, and patrons are encouraged to rinse, lather and repeat. Following Fido's bath, a super-powered blow dryer disperses and removes all the loose hair and moisture that would otherwise end up on your sofa. The best part, aside from the unbelievably low price tag of $7, $10 or $12 depending on size, is that one of the friendly staff members will trim Spot's nails, gratis. And you get your fifth wash free.
Has your special someone been giving you that "why do you keep giving me these cheap roses that arrive wilted and die in a day" look lately? Community Florist can help you say "I love you"
without also saying "I'm a cheap S.O.B." Its $10 roses are big, beautiful, and look like they cost about five times as much. The flowers are wrapped nicely in tissue, not stuffed into an ugly plastic sleeve, and come with a sincere admonition to "never cut the stems with a scissors." The owners are friendly and always seem delighted to discuss the characteristics of each blooming bud they sell. In other words, this isn't your average $9.99 florist. Check out Community Florist when you care enough to give the very best -- but don't want to pay for it.
Did you know that people breed lap goats? Goats that are small enough and so friendly that all they want to do is cuddle, follow you around like a puppy, and nibble at your feet? While we prefer to keep our livestock outdoors, we admit we're charmed by the darling critters at Darlyn Pygmies, a private ranch in Buckeye that breeds, trains, shows and sells pygmy goats. More than 70 goats live here, all pedigreed and registered with the National Pygmy Goat Association. Pygmies are naturally petite, standing between 16 and 23 inches tall. They like to talk, and sound pretty much like cats. They love to have things to stand on. Poop's not a problem -- think rabbit pellets. They don't eat much (ours won't even eat weeds, just alfalfa). And if you're zoned for dogs, a pygmy goat is fine, too. Don't plan on cheap, though. Although pet goats go for $50 to $250, a show goat can cost $500 to $1,000. Not a bargain, but for such a cute new friend, not a baaaad deal, either.
Go-Kat-Go, a time-warp of a department store, is the only retro shop around that will do time travel at your bidding. The husband-and-wife team who run this happening haven can fill your oddest vintage custom order from the '40s on up, often within weeks. We've asked them, just this year, to find very specific items -- from a clunky turquoise swag lamp to a huge plastic fern to the devilishly hard-to-find "Blue Lady" velvet painting -- and they've come through every time. As much as we like placing wacky special orders, shopping for nothing in particular is half the fun at Go-Kat-Go. Furniture, clothes, appliances -- it's all there, and realistically priced. Proprietors Chris Swanberg and Brandi Kvetko may be the only antique dealers in town who'll answer your request for a Patty Duke alarm clock with, "We just got that in!" We never, ever ask, "From where?"
Everybody knows it's the yoga teacher who makes the class, and Candace Rose is a knowledgeable, well-trained and genuinely peaceful instructor. More important, she's a teacher with a sense of humor. Unlike some yoga instructors, who forget that this is Phoenix, not Katmandu, Rose doesn't take herself too seriously. She cracks jokes throughout the class and keeps the spiritual lectures to a minimum. Rose has tailored her set to a North American audience, making the poses easy for the flexibly challenged and the environment relaxed enough for the spiritually insolvent. For anyone who's ever left a yoga class feeling cheated and a little flaky, Rose's $5 yoga hour is a down-to-earth alternative.
You've arrived at that interminable stretch of the calendar where the mercury has stalled above the 100-degree mark. The only chink in your scheme for never being away from air conditioning or shade for more than 90 seconds at a time is how to do your grocery shopping. All hail Eddie Basha, whose Bashas' at 40th Street and Thunderbird now offers drive-through grocery service. Simply phone in your order (fax and Internet orders are also available) by 10 a.m. for same-day pickup, drive your icy-cool Suburban up to a reserved cabana, and open your window just long enough to utter your name into a microphone. A few moments later, a friendly attendant will load your groceries into the back of your car. All coupons and club card savings apply to this luxurious service, which carries a nominal $4.95 service charge. For those of you who refuse to leave your house at all, delivery service is also available.
Among all the predictable contemporary bargains at this former Disabled American Veterans Thrift Shop, we've discovered cool vintage dresses, nasty '70s Spanish-Med wall hangings, a silver potted plastic tree, and even a pair of blond wood '50s end tables. On our last visit, we found some swinging two-tone wingtips. (So what if they were golf shoes! We just yanked the cleats out!) Cecilia, a wonderful lady with excellent makeup, will comment cheerfully on your selections as she rings them up, and she won't make you surrender your unpriced item "to the back room," where it will never be seen again. More good news for the thrift-minded: Every other Wednesday is half-off day, and seniors older than 60 get 30 percent off every Monday.
When it comes to catching fish, you want big. But for a bait shop, forget the Wal-Marts of the world -- small is good. And small has worked for 20 years for Richard La Porte and his father, Dick, who run Liar's Korner, a bait shop that can barely hold more than a half-dozen customers at a time. Liar's Korner is stocked with all things fishy: rods, reels, stringers and fishing licenses; crank baits, spinner baits, buzz baits and live bait; minnows, waterdogs and high-quality worms shipped in from New York. Fridays and Saturdays are usually crowded (Liar's Korner is on the way to four popular fishing lakes), but early in the week, you'll have the store to yourself. This old-time bait shop is simple and unpretentious, except for the trophies and stuffed fish covering the shop's walls. Most of the awards were won by the La Portes, but the father-son team would rather sell you what you need to catch the big one that got away.
Housed in a bright yellow brick building with blue awnings lined with a long row of white stars, Larada's Army Surplus Store is hard to miss. But once inside, you'll find everything you need for disappearing into the woodwork -- or the woods. Larada's is filled with military gear and not-for-sale displays of military might such as bullets, holsters and non-firing rifles, but what it really sells is survival. Alongside the army fatigues, gas masks and caps emblazoned with every division of the armed forces are lanterns, knives, mess kits, freeze-dried food and boots for any terrain or weather. Upstairs is nothing but tents. While you pick out a parka, you can watch a videotape on the art of camouflage. Surviving a trip through the hodgepodge of gear (Larada's winds around an L-shaped shopping center) is a feat in itself. But once you do, you'll have what you need to survive anything.
Once upon a time, an excited youth with a new model airplane kit could visit any drugstore to purchase "hobby paint" right off the shelf. Today, thanks to social disintegration, such substances are kept under lock and key, lest they be stolen and used for nefarious purposes -- like paint-sniffing or marking buildings with gang insignia. But not at the Hobby Bench, where nostalgia rules. Where else might one find a model kit of the Bates Mansion from
Psycho? Or that old standard "Visible Woman" model, with all her internal organs displayed? Neato miniatures and all the requisite railroad-enthusiasts stuff can be found here, along with a wealth of model cars, model-making supplies, and craft items. And yes, you can walk right on up to that big rainbow-hued rack of "hobby paints" and help yourself.
Chances are pretty good that you wouldn't know where to go to purchase a set of comedy bosoms or a papier-mâché turd. Take note: Since 1947, Bert Easley's has provided our great state with all variations of rubber vomits, fake cigarettes (great on airplanes!), and phony squished cats. October is the best time to visit, when Halloween masks, reasonably priced life-size skeletons, and wonderfully sick-making foam-rubber body parts and polyethylene organs fill the shelves. Easley's also rents and sells a vast array of costumes year-round, and stocks more than 5,000 rentable costumes on premises. The shop carries a full range of stage makeup, and the counter help will gladly explain how to apply clown white, a fake bolt-in-the-head, or that zany chest-hair wig. Speaking of wigs, this place offers every style imaginable, all of them affordable and displayed for easy viewing. Try doing all your holiday shopping here, just once!
This is absolutely the place to find that long-sought antique Tappan range the color of scrimshaw, or the O'Keefe and Merritt in its birthday suit of chrome and white enamel. The peeling paint and yellowed window of this gray storefront reveal the shop's devotion to vintage. Words like re-porcelain and re-chrome fall from the tongues of the knowledgeable workers like answers to your kitchen prayers. They'll recondition or fully restore the stove you have, or set you up with one to match the 19-something vintage of your house. You want to decontaminate a range, rejuvenate its "match-lite" ignition, or simply find or fix that lost or broken knob? They do it all. Doubters need only poke their heads in the back workroom, where the carcass of someone's old flame is almost always on the path to renewal.
Mountain and road bikers have long competed for attention, products and services at cycle shops. At Landis, salespeople won't choose sides; its philosophy is equality for all, whether you've got mud in your spokes or highway beer bottle shards in your tire.
This cover-both-sports philosophy won't confuse new bikers: Signs and a helpful staff make clear what each item is intended for. Salespeople can tell you exactly why one mountain bike breaks the bank at more than $2,000, while another sets you back only about $300. If you're female, they'll show you a line of bikes built for women. There are even baby-buggy bikes, so you can tote your tyke. Each of Landis' four stores offers bicycle repairs, and out-of-stock items are happily shipped from other locations. So get your bike, helmet, shoes, gloves or inner tube here, but take the feud outside -- on the pavement, or the dirt trail.
We've been in dressing rooms that have sent us screaming out of the store and straight to the nearest Yellow Pages in search of a plastic surgeon. It's curious that the millions of dollars spent by retailers on marketing research has not led them to this simple shopping truth: If you look ugly in the mirror, you won't buy the stuff you're trying on. (Here's our fancy marketing tip: Tone down the operating-room lighting and give people more than six inches between themselves and the mirror. That'll be a million dollars, please.) Neiman Marcus must have highly paid consultants, because its ladies' dressing rooms are like lovely studio apartments, with lighting suitable for a cocktail party. There's plenty of room to stand way, way back and squint your eyes at your reflection, if you're so inclined. If those mirrors don't make you look good, then you know you'll fare far worse under your office's fluorescent lighting. Buy accordingly.
Most dressing rooms leave us wondering why no one has bothered to mention our sagging chin and jaundiced complexion. Neiman Marcus, on the other hand, only sets the mood for some serious designer dud shopping. These dressing rooms are classically appointed and impeccably clean. An upholstered chair takes the place of the carpeted benches found in most other establishments. A mirrored wall allows you to view yourself head-to-toe without budging an inch, and a three-way mirror in the nearby and very private common area allows you to fully assess whatever assets you may have. What's more, Neiman's roomy compartments lock automatically, and an attentive but never bothersome clerk is always on hand to help you find the perfect fit.
How far do you run? How often do you run? What shoes are you using now? Are you flatfooted? Count on questions like these from the salespeople at Runner's Den. Selling you the right pair from the Den's vast selection is serious business to these clerks, most of whom are runners themselves. (One salesman has logged more than 100 marathons and teaches a community college class in marathon training.) These guys know the heartache (or leg-ache) that comes from shoe-related injuries, and don't want you to end up in, um, those shoes. They'll even make you do a test drive with an outdoor jog or a quick spin around the store. So runners, take your mark and lace your shoes.
Sure, we're slaves to fashion -- but not when it comes to our feet. Give us a pair of clogs or some close-toed Birkenstocks and we're delighted, style be damned!
Turns out, you can have both comfort and style. We were waltzing through life, happy in our brown clogs and our gray Birks, until we happened upon the selection at the Shoe Mill. The shop stocks a wide supply of the black, gray and brown basics, but we could take to the runways in leopard-spotted Danskos, flowered Dr. Martens boots, bright blue Simple sandals -- a rainbow of arch support.
The Shoe Mill has the best selection of comfortable shoes we've seen anywhere. The sandal-clad employees practice what they preach and offer knowledgeable assistance besides. We'd bet our bright red, closed-back Danskos on it!
A return policy at a thrift store? It's true. Savers has one and will issue store credit if you've made a fashion boo-boo. This comes in handy if you're costuming a kid's play, costuming a family, or costuming yourself and realized you should have gone to the dressing room after all, to make sure that spangly sweater set actually fit. Speaking of dressing rooms, here they're abundant and clean. Like the ads say, Savers really is "the thrift department store," and a lot of bargains can be had on its "Dollar Tuesdays" and ongoing half-off weekly color tag sales. This chain consistently shatters all "thrift shop" stereotypes: It doesn't reek; screaming kids are drowned out by piped-in "Everything Old Is New Again" Muzak; and -- because the friendly staff is forever restocking -- there's always something new (and old!) to find.
The clothes here aren't just old, they're insane. Wonderfully, utterly insane. Amiable proprietor Louis Merisola is quick to tell you why: His wife, Linda, is a show-biz wardrobe stylist who outfits actors for films and TV commercials. Which explains why you're likely to find more than one hot-pink marabou peignoir on display at this hip downtown boutique. In addition to new-issue, retro-look togs, Spine offers some incredible vintage items, like garish dinner jackets, shocking layered-chiffon capes, and the swankest period sleepwear and smoking jackets you'll find in town. Prices vary, but the time saved seeking a vulgar solid-gold-sequined trench coat or a Busby Berkeleyesque lamé-lapeled tuxedo is worth a couple of extra dimes.
For many crafty folks, bead parties have replaced paint-your-own-pottery as the creative outlet du jour. If you're looking for materials, head to Beads Galore International, Inc.
Tucked into a small industrial park, Beads Galore is easy to miss -- and easy to skip, you might think as you enter the cramped foyer and are asked to hand over your purse to a clerk as a security precaution. But step inside to a mesmerizing beader's paradise, with every color and touch from inexpensive glass to moderate crystal and ceramic to pricey semiprecious garnets, tourmaline and topaz. Beads Galore also has trappings such as trays and clamps to help you bead properly, and jewelers pliers, cutters, wire and clasps to turn your strands into bona fide jewelry. The friendly staff will assist befuddled beginners. Bead happy!
We've been to enough weddings to know that finding the perfect present for a bride and groom can be excruciating, far worse than buying an elusive Christmas gift for the "person who has everything." We've also seen the pained expressions of newlyweds as they unwrap some God-awful gift that they don't need or want. ("Oh, what a lovely set of crocheted doilies!") Crate & Barrel offers a fresh, modern take on household basics like dishes, linens, silverware and kitchen appliances -- cups and saucers fit for a French cafe, or a Japanese-inspired lamp to give the honeymooners a sexy bedroom glow. And couples can register for enough gorgeous matching furniture and accessories to outfit an entire house.
If such names as Knoll, Herman Miller and Thonet weaken your knees, this Scottsdale franchise of the Seattle store offers plenty of swank seats and remakes of classic modern furnishings to swoon on. It's all posh, with prices to match -- chairs can run you anywhere from $350 for a molded, laminated wood-and-steel one by Arne Jacobsen to $2,300 for Eero Saarinen's womb chair. Owner David Cline, a graduate of the design program at ASU, will feed you the tales behind the designs, like the fact that Charles and Ray Eames first began their patented process of molding compound curves in plywood to supply the Army with wooden splints during World War II. In fact, Cline can sell you one of those splints -- but we recommend something cozier, like the Eames lounge chair and ottoman. And Cline makes house calls, to help you decide which kind of design should go where.
You say your idea of home entertaining doesn't go any further than a keg, a large bag of Cheez Doodles, and a mop? Well, thanks for asking but, uh, we're busy that night. If, on the other hand, you shop at Party City, consider this an RSVP. Where else in town will you find everything (okay, so you
will have to hit the liquor store, too) from invitations and tableware to canisters of helium and luau kits -- more than 30,000 party items in all, at discount prices, no less?
And even if you're one of those folks who thinks no social gathering is complete without a rubber mask of WWF honcho Vince McMahon, you're in luck here. But can we take a rain check on that invitation? On second thought, we're busy that night, too.
Let's be clear: The operative word here is hardware. Not gardening supplies, power tools, bathroom fixtures or wallpaper; there are stores that specialize in each of these. But when you really need honest-to-God hardware -- nuts, bolts, machine screws, ball bearings, nails and so on -- you could do no better than to go to Paradise True Value, with its impressive and thoughtful selection. The woman-owned (and mostly woman-staffed) establishment carries hardware in every possible size and material. (Try finding stainless hex cap screws at most places -- go ahead, try.) But the best part is that everything is in little drawers, just the way it should be, and you can buy as many or as few items as you need. The staff is extremely helpful and knowledgeable, but won't insult your intelligence if you know what you're doing and want to be left alone, either.
Nowadays, HTC owner Steve Haworth is better known as a "3-D Modification Artist," famous for epidermis-pushing experiments in extreme body modification such as subdermal implants and penis beads. But Haworth originally established his reputation as a pioneer of safe, sane and sterile piercing techniques. The instruments used at HTC were personally designed by Haworth to be less painful and more accurate, ensuring a relatively non-agonizing experience for your targeted navel, septum, nipple, or whatever. Though HTC tends to be a bit expensive compared to tattoo parlors that offer piercing as a side-order item, wise men opt for spending a little more when what they're paying for includes a guy pointing a sharp instrument in their direction. Think about it.
Plenty of print shops have color copiers out on the floor, but if you're looking for lifelike skin tones, Lena Flores will be happy to do your bidding. She's Alphagraphics' assistant manager and, when she isn't busy answering stupid questions ("Will your color copier make my black-and-white photos come out in color?"), she'll be delighted to assist you with your custom enlarging, photo Christmas card, or wedding invitation design. Lena has improved more than one commercial artist's portfolio with her skillful assistance, and proves that a fancy $40,000 color copy machine is only as good as its operator. Tired of being waited on by bored, surly college students at your neighborhood copy house? Lean on Lena.
Toys, dog accessories, books and novelty items fill this smartly appointed store, where our four-legged friends are always welcome to sniff barrels of bulk treats and sampler gift boxes. But it's Three Dog's baked goods that get your doggy drooling. They look so yummy, we want to taste them, too. The most endearing feature of Three Dog Bakery is the weekly Yappy Hour, in which man's best friends (many of whom arrive at this Biltmore shop stuffed into the Louis Vuitton handbags of society ladies) and their owners gather to swap stories, enjoy fresh-from-the-oven goodies, and listen to canine-themed comedians and speakers. Occasionally, a certified pet psychic is on hand to assist in better reading the inner workings of your dog's psyche -- although it won't take a professional to tell you what Rover's thinking: "I'll take a dozen rawhide chews to go!"
Sure, most newspaper food sections will tell you that you can make a great meal in 10 minutes or less using what "everyone" already has in the kitchen. But we can't figure out how to make five-star fettuccine with leftover ketchup packets from our McDonald's Happy Meal. So we just let the experts do their thing: We call Delicious Deliveries, which has contracted with participating restaurants to deliver a fine meal, for menu prices, plus $4.49 per order within a four-mile radius of the restaurant, and tip. Just a few of the participating restaurants include Bamboo Club, Royal Barge Thai, Avanti's, Don and Charlie's, Jewel of the Crown, Malee's on Main, Mr. C's Chinese, Miracle Mile Deli and George and Dragon English Pub. With service like this, you'd have to be a ding-dong to fire up the stove. The only ding-dong we want is the sound of the doorbell.
It's hard to get good incense now that Jerry Garcia is gone and the Grateful Dead aren't touring. We used to pick up a year's supply of our favorite cones and sticks from Deadhead parking-lot vendors, but those days are over. Well, almost. We've found a swell, smelly stash at Hippie Gypsy, an upscale head shop busting at the seams with black-light posters and clove cigarettes and water pipes. Entire walls of this fragrant shop are devoted to displaying incense and sages, along with a vast array of paraphernalia for safe burning. The store's homemade incense is of superior quality, and the commercial versions aren't bad, either. (There's even a line called Liquid Blue Grateful Dead Incense with fragrances like "Campfire Jam" and "Fractal Steal Your Face.") And unlike the Dead show vendors, the clerks at Hippie Gypsy can actually make correct change and focus on their clientele without seeing double. Whoa, dude!
More fun than a Toys "R" Us, the often-bizarre aisles of ABC Cakes are our favorite place to find party favors, stocking stuffers and just plain goofy weirdness. They've got the full range of cake pans, decorative icing tips, and those papery things called glassines (they go between your cake and the big pink bakery boxes sold on the same rack). But ABC's "Toppers" aisle is the real icing on this proverbial cake. Here's a box full of little plastic African-American infants. There's a wee '50s barbecue. Look! A tiny zoo with little cages and trees. And a handful of Barbie-size champagne bottles! How about a "Sexy Doll," a little vinyl naked lady in a teeny teddy? (Or, if budget is a concern, opt for the "Mini Sexy Doll," also available in brunette.) Or a plaque bearing a hooded death mask and the legend, "I Only Came for the Cake!" We could neither fathom nor pass up a banner reading, "Caution! Wedding Cake Being Delivered!" Let them eat cake. We'll play with the toys!
The sign says "Johnny's Used Work Uniforms," but we'll settle for "My Blue-Collar Heaven." A working stiff's dream haberdashery, this would-be New Wave warehouse is crammed to the rafters with industrial-style shirts, smocks, pants and jumpsuits, many emblazoned with "can-I-be-of-service-ma'am?" monikers like "Chet," "Billy Bob" and "Flo." All pants are $3, shirts are $2, and if your name doesn't happen to match up with anything on the rack, the store carries dozens of name tags that can be sewn on for an additional $1.75. Whether you're suiting up for your new gig at the gas station or greasy spoon, or just wondering what to wear to the Devo reunion, Johnny's has something with your name written all over it.
The name of Michelle Zekanis' shop may suggest architecture or interior decorating, but her appointment-only business is about creating fresh and silk flower arrangements for weddings large and small. Zekanis favors arrangements designed by the customer -- and within the customer's budget. Photo albums display flower-adorned ice sculptures, floating pool bouquets and elaborate flower arrangements that brides have designed themselves, right down to the length of each flower stem. The only thing Zekanis insists on is that you not throw the crowning piece of her work, the bridal bouquet, during the flower toss. She has a separate, smaller bouquet for that.
Imagine being a guest at an afternoon tea in the Hamptons, where your hosts happen to be a friendly, knowledgeable and accessible group of gardening professionals who are eager to share their love of flora. That's what a stroll through Berridge is like. It has all the traditional aspects of a well-stocked nursery: long flats bursting with annuals, herbs and vegetables, bare-root roses in season, native landscaping plants, succulents and indoor tropicals. But this carefully tended nursery at the base of Camelback Mountain also offers an unparalleled combination of charm and expertise. You'll find rare plants here, but no sniffy attitude: If you don't know a begonia from a bougainvillea, an affable staffer might point you to the miniature amphitheater, where a variety of demonstrations and lectures are hosted for both the novice and seasoned enthusiast. Berridge, established in 1938, gets a two green thumbs-up rating.
This relatively new addition to north Scottsdale is a quaint shop with a turn-of-the-century general store ambiance. Rows of self-serve bins display bath salts and beads, as well as potpourri and a whimsical line of bubble-bath confetti (a confetti that cleans up after itself -- what a concept!). Bailiwicks also carries a full line of perfumed and highly moisturizing soaps made from stuff like goat's milk and shea butter, as well as your standard glycerin and cocoa butter bars. There's even a line of bar soaps for your dog. Sample a rich selection of body products including scrubs, lotions and lip balms, then sign up to make your own. Bailiwicks offers a variety of classes in soap-making and home spa products, and will even arrange a private soap-sniffing party in your home.
No doubt there are many criteria that could be used to determine excellence in tire shops, but how about free tire repairs? While this particular Discount Tire outlet certainly charges for most of its services, the exceedingly cheerful and friendly staff has been known on many occasions to quickly patch tires without charging. This sort of gesture is sadly antiquated, given the current "customer is always wrong" service mentality. Also noteworthy is that, when all those Ford Explorers needed replacements for their Firestone death tires, this Discount Tire was the only place we found that a) did not mention a four-month waiting list and b) actually had the needed tires in stock. And to tread on a politically incorrect non-tire criterion for those who appreciate a good-looking guy: Virtually all the men who work here are handsome as heck. So you won't get tired of watching while you wait.
Super chefs like Julia Child and Jacques Pépin can't be wrong. If Sur La Table is good enough for their culinary contraption needs, then it's good enough for us. This is where the pros stop to shop, do demonstrations and share their secrets with regular home chefs like us.
We fill our baskets with bread machines, coffee mills, waffle makers, brioche pans and cookbooks. We're sold on cedar smoking planks, Majolica corn dishes, scales and sauciers. And treats tempt by the ton: specialty chocolates, coffees, teas, cookies, mustards and marinades.
Let's just put it on the table. It's the best.
Laundromats are typically best approached with blinders on: Don't look too closely at the floor; try to ignore your surroundings and your fellow launderers; don't subject your clean laundry to the folding tables and counters without disinfecting them first. Although doing laundry may never be a pleasure, Spin Cycle at least makes it possible to clean clothes without lowering one's hygienic standards. This is a squeaky-clean facility with bright signs marking double, triple and quadruple loaders. Folding tables are immaculate and plentiful, and several even have televisions built into them. Dryers are efficient and almost always available. The facility also offers Ms. Pac Man and a few other classic arcade games to amuse you while you wait for your duds to dry. There's even Internet access available at 10 cents a minute. If you're too caught up with all these amenities to be bothered with doing laundry, a reliable Fluff-and-Fold service is available on the premises.
