I am terminally ill with rectal cancer. (Go ahead, make a crude joke. I’d have cracked wise if the tables were reversed. If only.) The pain is unimaginable in a place that should never hurt. The hospice attendants have given me control of the morphine drip, something I longed for…
Twin Piques The Spike is always happy to be the first to tattle on people — especially high-powered people — who fib. Case in point this week is actually from the weird world of reality TV (and The Spike is using that phrase loosely), where local twins Matt and Michael…
It’s not every day that the governor of a state is faced with an open insurrection by thousands of religious zealots. It’s even rarer when the fanatics flout the state Constitution in a hell-bent pursuit of reaching heaven by coercing teenage girls into a life of subjugation, rape and breeding…
Hey, Phoenix, where the freaks at, baby? Your 300-pound mack of wack and his lezzie Lara Croft been hankerin’ for some underground weirdness of the first water. We craved the bizarre, the bugged-out, the deviant — and the plain ol’ nasty. Luckily, a light bulb illuminated above Jett’s spiked ‘do:…
The Passion for Christ An order of piety, hold the blasphemy: I don’t usually read your newspaper because I am a Christian and generally the content is not in line with my values. However, a friend of mine mentioned the article on Christian rap (“Jesus Christ Rap Superstar,” Darren Keast,…
Oubai Shahbandar loves America. The only thing he loves more than his adopted homeland, people often say, is the sound of his own voice. On a winter day, Shahbandar sits at a blinding, metallic table outside the Memorial Union at Arizona State University in Tempe, reminiscing over his college career…
Travesty of Justice The Spike was intrigued by the fancy media kit that landed on several desks here last week. More interesting was the fact that it came from the Office of the Federal Public Defender’s Capital Habeas Unit (that’s the death penalty appeals folks for you non-legal types), an…
I ventured up to Flagstaff the other day. Just to walk around and enjoy its wonderful downtown at the base of Arizona’s most impressive mountains, the San Francisco Peaks. Rain, wind, sleet, snow flurries and occasional sunshine had left the air clear and crisp. The dramatic landscape and tumultuous weather…
Phil Root is sitting among the peanut shells and hot dog wrappers strewn across the aisle at Arizona State University’s Packard Stadium in Tempe on a recent Sunday. He has his “Bible” at his side — a black, three-ring binder full of opposing player biographies and some of the more…
I’m at home splashing on some Pierre Cardin musk, preparing to step out and get skunked at the illustrious Bikini Lounge on Grand Avenue, when the celly beeps to the tune of Too Short’s “Shake that Monkey.” Of course, it’s that lezzie lady-pimp of renown, my partner in nighttime inebriation,…
Damn it, Inferno’s cool! Hippie parent killin’: I can’t believe that recent letter writer, Sandleboy of Seattle (“Business As Usual,” Letters, March 18). What the fuck is Greg Leos’ waterlogged problem? I’ve lived in both cities, and Phoenix has just as many cool nightspots as the precious jewel of the…
Even the son of Gretzky wanted to meet Brian Boucher. So, on Valentine’s Day, after the Phoenix Coyotes had beaten the Dallas Stars, Wayne, part-owner of the Coyotes and the best hockey player ever, brought his three-year-old, Tristan, with him to the locker room of the brand-new arena. But Boucher…
There are two rule books for doing business in downtown Phoenix. One is for Jerry Colangelo and his stable of businesses revolving around the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Phoenix Suns. This rule book is very thin. In fact, open it, and there’s only one page containing four words: Cut Jerry…
Tom Avila prides himself on getting the scoop. Early this year, Valley talk radio listeners became acquainted with the 45-year-old’s distinctive nasal voice, as he delivered the day’s “Big Story News” on KFNX (1100 AM). Avila worked for two months as the station’s news director, signing off each newscast with…
That Big Playboy in the sky works in mysterious ways. The Lesbian Johnny Knoxville and I had chosen to ride on Minder Binder’s ska-punk Thursdays, expecting to find folks bouncing their heads to the sounds of local, Von Dutch-wearin’, AFI wanna-bes. But when we arrive at that big, red barn…
Artwork Exposed Taking offense: I am continually surprised by the lack of decency prevalent in society. Today, upon arriving at work, I was unable not to notice the cover of your most recent newspaper (“Degas Uncovered,” Stephen Lemons, March 18). While I have become somewhat accustomed to seeing similar works…
Jesus raps a bit like Tupac. Not in the content of his lyrics, of course — he devotes his rhymes to condemning the vices of thug life, unlike ‘Pac, who lived and died by them. But his delivery is definitely West Coast, his meter precise and masculine like a gangster…
Connie Thompson was livid about my recent column reporting that she had lied by failing to disclose a felony arrest record on an application leading to her appointment to a powerful state regulatory board. In a widely circulated e-mail to people she thinks are her supporters that was forwarded to…
Don’t expect Walter Winfield to ever attend another office Christmas party. In December 2000, Winfield was a top salesman at Auto Trade Center and the only African American at the car remarketing firm, then based in Scottsdale. His superiors celebrated his success by mocking him at the company Christmas party,…
Through the Years A real old-timer: Hey, I go way back with New Times. I am looking at Volume Two, Number One, in my archives and indeed beside the roast I received for the 100-year storm that wiped out the Summers End Festival, the headlines and a Michael Lacey review…
Cheers to Mayor Phil Gordon for moving to seize control of downtown Phoenix’s rehabilitation from a corporate cabal controlled by Jerry Colangelo. In public statements and in an interview with New Times recently, Gordon claimed the city won’t rubber-stamp Colangelo’s privately funded, secret master plan for downtown that Disney-esque Jerde…
Dave Misbeek and Silvario Garcia are, by their own admission, anal-retentive guys. They thrive on detailed perfection. They know every letter of the law and follow those letters religiously. They are the kind of guys you would hate to have running your homeowners’ association. But they are precisely the kind…
