I’m in the back of Louis XIV’s tour bus as the San Diego group’s front man Jason Hill is knocking out a new composition on acoustic guitar on the couch next to me, something with the refrain, “I don’t want to be a fool no more.” I wait politely for…
No slight intended to that toddlin’ town of Mesa, but few are the delectations that would motivate me to drive down to that burg in 110-degree-plus heat, with the monsoon on my tail. Exceptional barbecue is one, and exceptional barbecue Mesa now has with the opening of a Big City…
“Hey, where’s the buffet?!” cries the Mandy Moore of P-town, otherwise known as Her Regal Jettiness, as we saunter into the Scottsdale sports bar known as Buster McNutty’s. “You’re tellin’ me this is a big girls’ night and there’s no buffet?” I answer her query by stepping on her big…
So I roll up on the Jettster’s crib to pick her up for another night of pimpin’ in tha PHX, and I find her parked on the couch in her raggedy jammies, eating a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and watching The Real World: Austin. “Hey, Kreme,” she mutters, scratching her…
If I were not duty-bound to visit a restaurant more than once before reviewing it, I never would have returned to Scottsdale’s Tapas after my initial, disastrous visit. There were even a couple of points during the evening when my companion and I seriously discussed walking out. Mostly, this occurred…
Does anyone else cringe when they hear of Mayor Phil Gordon’s front porch benches and how they’re now greeting visitors at Sky Harbor Airport? The mayor’s Mayberry aesthetic may have a noble intent; it’s supposed to bring us all together, and in doing so, help fight crime. But can’t we…
Once in a blue moon, the Jettster and I catch hell from some fossilized old feminist who hasn’t worn a bra since 1973, doesn’t shave her ham-hocks, and, in general, looks like she just stepped out of the Shire in The Lord of the Rings. It’s always the same song:…
I feel like kicking up my heels à la Tom Cruise and pumping my fist for joy. That’s right, I’m in love, and I don’t care how dirty I get Oprah’s couch! No, it’s not with some pretty young thing 16 years my junior. And no, I don’t need a…
It’s 100 degrees at midnight, we’re chokin’ on smoke from the nearby wildfires, payday is a week away, and the streets are infested with crazed po-po who’re actin’ like the world doughnut supply has just been reduced to zero. So what the eff do you think the Jettster and I…
Chef Christopher Gross never misses a lick when it comes to reminding you of all the plaudits he’s picked up in his day. There’s a fairly exhaustive list on the take-home menu for Christopher’s Fermier Brasserie, Gross’ acclaimed Biltmore Fashion Park grub shack, and the list includes everything from his…
Dining in Phoenix sometimes feels like going toe-to-toe with Torquemada during the Spanish Inquisition, or at least Monty Python in that skit where they declare, “No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!” Except here, they let you choose your method of torture. Breakfast at a pretentious resort eatery? Lunch at a…
Call me the Benedict Arnold of Phoenix boosterism for saying so, but the thought of light rail does not titillate me. Nor does the prospect of ASU Prez Michael Crow spilling more of his Mormon seed money all over downtown. Bioscience Center? Sounds too much like “Biosphere” for me to…
A masterpiece of meat-puppetry, that’s what Jett and I are watching, along with hundreds of other corset-and-chaps-wearin’ sensation seekers as the clock clicks past 10 p.m. or so at The Sets in Tempe. The occasion is the June 4 Arizona Fetish Ball, dubbed the “Fetish Prom” for theme’s sake, and…
Like the late, great Rodney Dangerfield, Buffalo wings get no respect, no respect at all. The name “Buffalo” hardly engenders esteem, as that burg’s other contributions to the culture include Millard Fillmore, Vincent Gallo and the Goo Goo Dolls. Probably doesn’t help that the word can be used as a…
“Kreme,” sighs the Jettster via phone as we consult on our next nocturnal escapade. “I need a lap dance.” I’d only just gotten through to the J-unit at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday, following a series of phone calls trying to locate her sorry ass so we could sketch out…
Whenever I visit The Gelato Spot, that new purveyor of Italian “ice cream” across from Zen 32 at 32nd Street and Camelback Road, I’m often reminded of that classic short story by Irwin Shaw, “The Girls in Their Summer Dresses.” It’s the one where this Gotham couple gets into a…
Like Houston MC Mike Jones says, if you don’t grind, you don’t shine, so the bisexual Eva Green and her cohort (that would be me) always make the scene, even when our funds are tight. As this has been the case of late, Jett and I have been on the…
Pizza is one of those foods I enjoy too much to actually indulge in very often. Once the feeding frenzy begins in earnest, I’ll go through an extra-large pie solo and start on the cardboard box if any cheese has dripped onto it. Keep your hands and feet away from…
“Take a hit off this Indo, Kreme,” Snoop Dogg advises, passing me a spliff the size of a Subway sandwich. “One toke’ll give you Chinese eyes, nephew.” I grab the fatty and inhale ’til the cherry’s blazin’. My lungs feel like that cherry looks, but I’m doin’ my Kremealicious best…
For this food critic, there’s nothing quite as satisfying as gnawing on a hunk of butt while perusing the Scottsdale-based Serbian Times and occasionally wondering how many pierogi a grown man can ingest before he explodes. The butt in question? Smoked pork butt, silly! From Stanley’s Home Made Sausage Co…
It ain’t easy being the Jay-Z and Beyoncé of the nightlife scene here in the PHX. For real, goin’ out every week, gettin’ our drink on, and sliding up on some of the finest squirrels you’ve ever seen may look like a sweet deal, but once in a while, the…
As any Birkenstocks-clad liberal arts major will tell you ad nauseam if you let him, the word “empire” is a loaded term, a Pandora’s box of negative connotations. From the conquest and subjugation of native peoples to Darth Vader and the Death Star, empires lack any redeeming characteristics. Or so…
