American Idol goes back to the well that is…here

Note: This column appears in the 7/17 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 7/18 issue of the Peoria Times

The American Idol auditions are coming to Glendale, and this is big news.


Off you go...

The city of Glendale has long been recognized for its firm opposition to reality show tryouts, as outlined by the founding fathers. So not only does this event symbolize the progression of a city, but it will also provide a rare opportunity for the FOX Network to callously exploit many of this area’s great young citizens for their inability to sing and/or possess any kind of self-awareness.

Let’s face it -- while this is being billed as simply a “tryout,” anyone who watches American Idol is quite aware that each season peaks in its first few episodes, during auditions. Take the show’s website, for example, which states: Once again, auditioners will have an extraordinary opportunity to perform before millions of TV viewers and become household names, with one winning the coveted American Idol title and a major recording contract. Right next to this statement is an advertisement featuring that dude Renaldo from last season, who sang the “I am your brother” song and who wore a fur cape and top hat. So we can see just how important auditions are.



Is there a Renaldo in Glendale? Technically, probably. Realistically, those of us not between the ages of 18-26 and without aspirations of having Simon Cowell berate us on national television will have to wait until January to find out. But of course, the talent pool will not just consist of Glendale. Young adults from Peoria, Surprise, and every other locale with the possible exception of Sun City will be there. I’m sure there will also be people from Kentucky at Jobing.com Arena on July 25th, mostly because they failed to impress the judges at auditions in Louisville, and spent $500 on air fare to come here so they could get made fun of again. They will probably be wearing chicken costumes. Man, I can’t wait for Season 8 to start!

You may be asking yourself, why Glendale? To you I say, welcome to the new millennium. Contestants from Glendale and its surrounding locales have been dominating the American Idol scene for the past few seasons now. Season 6 winner Jordin Sparks is from Glendale. Two of last season’s Top 12 finishers -- David Hernandez and Brooke White -- are from Glendale and Mesa, respectively. Clay Aiken’s aunt lives in Peoria. That last part I made up. Still though, the higher ups at American Idol have been virtually forced to host auditions here to see if the talent is as overflowing as the above facts would imply. Also, Ryan Seacrest had a good time here during Super Bowl week.

I imagine the end product -- the actual airing -- of these auditions will go something like this: Producers make the entire crowd at Jobing.com Arena scream “I’m the next American Idol!” It is mentioned approximately 400 times that Jordin Sparks is from Glendale. The first 5,000 people to try out are nothing like Jordin Sparks, in that they are awful. At least three contestants try to argue with Simon, failing miserably. Everyone tries to open the door that won’t open on the way out. Every home viewer gets the impression that Glendale has a collective IQ of 17 ½. Simon, Paula, and Randy begin to wonder if there is any talent here. Then, out of nowhere, a contender emerges! She is immediately labeled “the next Jordin Sparks.” Paula has goose bumps.

This is going to be awesome.

Regardless of how this plays out, allow me to wish each and every local hopeful the best of luck in their quest to become the next American Idol! Make Glendale proud.

Actually, don’t. It’s more fun that way.

Sign-holders reduce fear of finding something by accident

Note: This column appears in the 6/12 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 6/13 issue of the Peoria Times

There is a phenomenon sweeping this part of the country. I am not sure how long it’s been here, but I am certain that I noticed it the second I moved to Arizona. It is a revolutionary tactic in advertising, and it combines a lack of technology, minimum wage, and an utter disregard for human life and dignity. What is this phenomenon, you ask, as if you don’t already know?

People standing outside holding signs.

Seriously. Local businesses are paying people to stand a few feet away from oncoming traffic and hold up a sign advertising a store inside of a strip mall nearby. The reason for this, of course, is that every business -- as mandated by Arizona law -- must be contained within a strip mall, so that the only way you can find that business is to randomly drive into strip malls and look at all the stores without running over anyone in the parking lot. Or, in this case, you can be cordially invited to shop at a local establishment by someone standing outside in the 115-degree heat who looks like they have lost the will to live.



I had noticed this trend dating back to last summer, but it seems like I’m seeing it more and more as local businesses struggle in the current economic climate. Last week I was driving on Lake Pleasant Parkway in Peoria, and I stopped at the light next to the new Wal-Mart store. Keep in my mind that this Wal-Mart is the only store within a 10-million square mile radius of that area. Also keep in mind that this is Wal-Mart -- not a local bagel shop -- and you would have to be a blind person to miss it. Nevertheless, there was a woman on the corner of the road holding a “Wal-Mart” sign with an arrow directing traffic into the parking lot. Except that it was five o’clock in the afternoon, and it was approximately 8,000 degrees outside, and the woman was using the sign to shade herself from the blaring sun, so the sign was actually directing people to drive to the Wal-Mart in the sky.

A few weeks before that, I was getting onto the 101 on Union Hills Dr in Glendale on my way to work. And what did I see on the side of the road at 7:00 in the morning? A girl dressed like Wendy -- yes, of Wendy’s fame -- holding a sign while sporting a half-smile that screamed, “Help me!” This was pretty embarrassing for everyone involved. I felt so bad for her that I almost went to Wendy’s. But I didn’t.



From an advertising standpoint, this is really thinking outside the proverbial box, isn’t it? If business is struggling, pay someone to stand outside and hold a sign, and wait for the money to start rolling in. (That’s how Microsoft was created, true story.) Thing is, seeing a person on the corner holding a sign does grab my attention…but in a very negative way. Instead of saying, “Oh, that’s where ‘Barry’s Bait & Tackle Supply’ is! I think I shall go in and purchase something,” I say, “Poor dude. Look at what they’ve done to him. I will never shop at ‘Barry’s Bait & Tackle Supply again!”

Sure, recent technology has proven there are signs that hold themselves. But you just never know what to expect when you remove the human element. (Except, of course, one less person on staff, a decreased chance of someone dying in the heat, and, considering the alternative would be more creative means of advertising, more business.)

Luckily, it seems that these human sign-holders may be gaining more and more rights within the sign-holding industry. In fact, two days ago I was waiting at a red light and I noticed a high school-aged kid sitting in a lounge chair on the corner. He was under an umbrella and was wearing sunglasses. I couldn’t see what his sign was for, as the prop he was using to hold it up had fallen over, and thus, so had the sign itself. Also, he may have been sleeping.

And that, my friends, is what we call advertising.


Or...that.

T-Mobile bridges gap between technology, oxygen

Note: This column appears in the 5/29 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 5/30 issue of the Peoria Times

Everyday more and more people are moving here, which is good, but also pretty annoying. I can say that because I’ve been here a year now. I have tenure. Developments and strip malls are going up in the blink of an eye, especially in northern Glendale and Peoria, which has more room to build on. The reasons people want to live in this area in the first place -- its openness and serenity and the opportunity it presents to encounter a wild animal that could kill you in like, two seconds -- are being destroyed everyday.

And people are getting upset.

Residents of Vistancia in northwest Peoria are concerned about the APS initiative to place a series of power lines along the northern edge of the development instead of on the originally proposed Route 74. If you’ve never seen a series of power lines before -- and I don’t know why you wouldn’t have -- it’s pretty much like looking at the back of your entertainment center at home, except on a much larger scale, and with the increased risk that they could burst into flames at any second. But other than that, they’re great!


Picturesque

Longtime residents of the area around Pinnacle Peak Rd and 83rd Ave are battling a local developer with intentions to erect an office building on the open land there. This is especially traumatic, because for years local residents had only Campbell’s Mercantile for all of their consumer needs. It has served as their gas station, restaurant, bait supply, post office, concert hall, and local hospital since the days of Lewis and Clark, and now a stupid office building threatens its embraced monopoly.

Many of us feel trapped on that fine line between progression and maintaining the beauty of this area. Sure, being able to see the mountains is great, but being able to get a burrito without driving 18 miles would be cool too. Just when it seemed no compromise could be reached, somebody came up with the right idea.

That somebody was T-Mobile.

Plans have tentatively been accepted for T-Mobile to create a cell phone tower disguised as -- get this -- a palm tree at their new facility on Lake Pleasant Parkway. This is pure genius.


Monopalm = chameleon

Amazingly, these plans are in the works despite the pleas and unbelievably unimaginative alternatives proposed by the Peoria planning board, which suggested that T-Mobile disguise their cell tower as a flagpole instead. Their problem with the palm tree idea was that palm trees are not native to the desert, and that this “monopalm,” as it’s called, would stick out. Of course, this ignores the fact that every new development in the area is lined with beautiful palm trees, and that flagpoles, also, do not grow in the desert. Regardless, it looks like this is going to happen.

And you know what that means? Problem solved. With T-Mobile leading the way, I don’t know why other companies in the area can’t follow suit. Take APS, for example. Why not enclose those new power lines near Vistancia in a giant, plastic mountain? Seems pretty simple to me. Everyone gets their power, but you can still look out your window and enjoy the view. As far as the proposed office building on Pinnacle Peak and 83rd goes, there’s only one solution -- disguise it as Campbell’s Mercantile. A guy goes in for a quart of milk, and bam! -- he’s in a dentist’s office. Might as well get his teeth cleaned.

This is what happens when progress meets compromise. You get a fake palm tree that is actually a cell phone tower. Just how nature intended it. And by “nature” I mean T-Mobile.

So please join me in welcoming the monopalm to the area! Let’s also hope that the monopalm doesn’t look so real that local developers install a drip system near it. That would be bad.


Monorailpalm!

City making good on promise to solve cart epidemic

This column appears in the 5/22 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 5/23 issue of the Peoria Times...and, yet again, has nothing to do with sports

Peoria is great, for the most part. There are quiet, friendly neighborhoods, lots of fun stuff to do, and even an IHOP, which is great, because I love that strawberry syrup that they have there. But something has been plaguing the city for years now, and it’s pretty much the only thing holding Peoria back from becoming a respected part of the state.

Shopping carts.


Bastard

I remember it was around a year ago when my wife and I traveled to Peoria to start looking for houses. The city was beautiful, of course, and we knew it was where we wanted to start the next chapter of our lives. But still -- everywhere we looked we saw shopping carts. Taking up parking spaces at the local grocery store. Hanging out on the corner smoking cigarettes. Sometimes we’d be driving and a shopping cart would pass us on the road, that one faulty wheel threatening to swerve the cart into our lane. It was crazy. We decided to move to Peoria regardless of the shopping cart epidemic, which was tough at first, especially after that time this one shopping cart kept ringing our doorbell and rolling away, forcing me to shake my fist in anger. But it now appears as though our fortitude has been rewarded.

For the city of Peoria has finally recognized the plague of shopping carts, and is doing something about it. In fact, as part of their ongoing plan to rid Peoria of stray shopping carts, the city has rounded up over 1,500 of them since October. Yes, over 1,500 stray carts have been recovered. And you thought I was making light of this issue by exaggerating it. Shame on you.

But where do these stray carts go -- jail or rehab? Amazingly, neither. They are sent to the Municipal Operations Complex, and while that may sound like the most fun place in the world to go, they mean business over there. In fact, while walking out of Safeway with my groceries last week, two secret service agent-looking guys with MOC patches on their chests tried to grab my cart away from me. I was like, “Whoa, dude. This one’s with me.” Then I packed my car up and rolled the cart into the street.

So how does this work, you ask? Well, when stray carts are apprehended and arrive at the MOC, their parents -- or in this case, the “retailers” -- are called. The retailer then has three days to pick up their carts, at no cost. And they should. Because do you know what the cost of a brand new shopping cart is these days? I’ll give you a hint: It’s at least $200 more than whatever price you were thinking. Give up? It’s $250. I’m sorry, but that is insane.

Nevertheless, some retailers do not take advantage of this special offer. After that three-day window, the retailer has 30 days to buy the cart back for $30. Even still, some places to refuse to pick up their prodigal carts. After those 30 days, the carts officially become property of the city of Peoria, where they are a) recycled, b) sold to different retailers, or c) taken to another town at night and rolled down a giant hill.


The shopping cart-bike hybrid is part of the recycling program...and it's environmentally friendly! And ridiculous!

This program is already reaping benefits. Not only have the streets of Peoria been cleansed by the removal of stray shopping carts, but the city itself has also made almost $5,000 through the resale of said carts, money that will go towards the 2009 budget for removing stray tumbleweeds from the desert.

It remains unclear what the city plans to do with the carts that have actually escaped from the Municipal Operations Complex, but something needs to be done. Because if we’ve learned nothing about shopping carts through this entire ordeal, we’ve learned this: those suckers have a knack for getting loose.

A couple of out-of-towners take in Arizona

Note: This column appears in the 5/15 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 5/16 issue of the Peoria Times...and has nothing to do with sports

My parents came to visit my wife and I last week from New Jersey. They were here for about nine days, and in that time, they managed to experience more of Arizona than we have in a year.

Much of Arizona they discovered while searching for the 10 East from the airport in their rental car. When I called my mom to find out where they were -- roughly three hours after they landed -- she said they had finally found the 10E, and were going straight to the nearest divorce court. Then they’d get something to eat.

Once everyone was settled in, it was time to experience the desert. After a weekend that included a D-Backs game, several stints at our development pool, and a few tastes of fine, local cuisine (the Peoria “Chili’s”) my parents were on their own once the workweek started. Luckily for them -- because our section of Arizona is largely bereft of street signs, though with a surplus of construction cones -- they had their trusty GPS.

Their first stop was the Cibola Vista Spa in Peoria. This was negative one point for the GPS, which directed them to drive straight into a cactus one mile away from the spa. Nevertheless, they found the spa, and they loved it. It was good for them to relax and unwind after a nine-hour flight, five hours of which were spent sitting on the Newark runway. And while they were lounging outside on the spa balcony, soaking in the sun, they noticed a horse farm across the street that offered horseback rides. When in Rome…

The next morning they had their horseback ride bright and early. Keep in mind that I, personally, have never been on a horse in my life. I actually just fed a horse for the first time two weeks ago. His name was Buckwheat. Anyhoo, their guide recommended that they wear helmets, although my dad, kindly, I’m sure, refused. My mom did wear her helmet, and looked like the exact opposite of John Wayne in the photos that their guide kindly took of them. (I find it intriguing that this state has no helmet law for people riding motorcycles at 75mph, yet they recommend wearing one while riding a horse.) They had an absolute blast though.


Hi, Judy? I found your horse. It was in the ocean. Good thing you were wearing a helmet.

What’s the next logical stop for two fun-seeking tourists who just experienced beautiful Arizona on horseback? The local chiropractor, of course! Yes, my parents -- a little sore now -- walked into Parkway Chiropractic for some quick treatment. Not only was this experience, in their words, quicker and cheaper than back home, but also Glenn, the chiropractor, was from New Jersey. Good times all around.

Feeling refreshed and less arthritic, the next day they traveled around Peoria with our fabulous real estate agent (plug alert!) Ryan Richter to get a read on the area. Not that they’re thinking of buying or anything (yet), though this did provide my dad -- a recently retired plumber-pipefitter -- a chance to ask many questions about vents, roofs, outlets, and other blue-collar stuff that his own son had been previously answering with a shrug of the shoulders.


Yes, Dad -- the supply air ducts in Arizona ARE different...I think

Later that night, with us, they discovered their favorite Arizona restaurant, North in Glendale. Then they traveled to Sedona. (The GPS was banging on all cylinders now.) Then we all went to the Shrine of St. Joseph in Yarnell, and finally to Westgate and the Yardhouse for our last meal before they left.

Last Saturday morning my parents, sadly, boarded the plane back to New Jersey -- no word on whether my mom was wearing her plane helmet -- acutely more aware of why we moved here. In fact, they talked about coming back as soon as possible. When they do, maybe they can show us around.


I wasn't kidding about Buckwheat

New license plates help save earth, increase vanity options

Note: This column appears in the 5/9 issue of the Peoria Times...and has nothing to do with sports

My wife purchased a new car a few weeks ago. A few days ago she received her Arizona license plate.

Let me first say that this is quite a big deal for someone relatively new to the area. In fact, my wife was rolling around with New Jersey plates (she had her car shipped) since we moved here. For us, much more so than our house or our jobs or our willingness to exist in 125-degree heat, an AZ license plate signified our commitment to living here. It said to the world, “For all you know, I am actually from Arizona. So BACK OFF!” Or something like that. This would officially make my wife a local. A townie, if you will. An Arizonan. A woman. You get the idea.

She opened the big envelope while we did drumrolls in our heads. And there it was.

“What the heck is this?” she asked.

It appeared as if someone had mistakenly sent my wife one of those fake license plates that you would find in a tourist shop. From afar, it looked as though the license plate contained the entire alphabet, and all of those letters were flat, not raised up like on traditional plates. Possibly we could hang this on the wall of our bedroom and wait for the real license plate to arrive.


Dramatization

But the plate came with what appeared to be official documentation -- “This is your license plate. Love, Arizona.” -- so we relented, and attached it to the back of her new vehicle. Still, I needed to find out what was going on.

I did some research. Turns out -- according to the Arizona Republic -- that the AZ Department of Transportation issued its final six-character plate back in January, plate No. 999-ZZZ. (Knowing the unprecedented penchant for vanity plates around here, I imagine this was a pure coincidence, and the driver was the president of a company that sells $9.99 sleeping pills.) Also, the letters are no longer raised up, but flat, in order to make the plates more environmentally safe by using less aluminum. Which is nice, although it does take away some of the pure joy of running your fingers along a brand spankin’ new license plate, ya’ know what I’m saying? No? Whatever.

It seemed appropriate to me that the state had basically run out of license plates because so many people are moving here. People like us. And sure, the new seven-character plates will make it harder to jot down the license plate of the pick-up truck that just cut you off without using a blinker and while going 40 mph over the speed limit only to slam on its brakes and narrowly miss causing a 10-car pileup, in which case you can ineffectively report it to the police. But hey -- the new plates are environmentally safer! And they’re still made by prisoners, which is the American way. (I think the “#1 Yankee fan NY” plate I have hanging above my desk at work was made in Taiwan. Pfffttt.)

So, mystery solved. Now my wife has her new Arizona license plate, and although she still feels like somewhat of an outsider being one of the 12 people on the road with what appears to be a fake plate, she’s happy to be helping the environment. Even better, now we’re both, on the surface (of our cars), locals. So with our next car purchase, we’ll feel comfortable telling our fellow drivers how we really feel. Which is to say: BACKOFF.


First AZ license plate -- not very environmentally safe; Vehicle, however, is a hybrid

Hanging with Jimmy Buffet down at Margaritaville

Note: This column appears in the 4/17 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 4/18 issue of the Peoria Times

When my editor handed me two tickets to go see Jimmy Buffet perform live at Margaritaville, I asked her if I could write about it, since ya’ know, I usually write about sports (poorly). She joked with me that I should try and find a sports angle for the column. At least, I hope she was joking, because after much contemplation -- I think I may have heard “Cheeseburger in Paradise” during halftime of a Nets game back in the ‘90’s! -- I have decided this is too much of a stretch.

So, screw it. I’m writing about Jimmy Buffet this week. Not sports. You’re welcome.


No. 1 album on iTunes last week

I should preface this by saying I am not a Jimmy Buffet fan per say, which is to say I do not consider myself a Parrothead. (This should thoroughly annoy all of the die-hard Buffet fans who couldn’t make this show, as tickets could only be won, not purchased. Or, in my case, handed to me by an editor.) In fact, because I didn’t know until the day of that I was going to this event, I showed up in my work clothes while also talking on my cell phone, which is pretty much, by my own estimation, the antithesis of everything Jimmy Buffet stands for. In an attempt to fit in, I immediately downed a 16-oz beer. Then another. See, I can relax, darn it! It worked. I think.

The event served as the official grand opening -- though it’s been up and running for a few months now -- of Margaritaville in Westgate. And who better to kick things off than Buffet himself, the sole reason a place like Margaritaville even exists. My friend Ryan met me there, a real estate agent in need of a break. We figured, as the Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffet duet goes, “it’s five o’clock somewhere.” In our case, it was five o’clock here. We got another beer.

The stage was set up in the center of Westgate, outside and in front of the fountains, but the party started inside Margaritaville. I had never been there before, but I really have to say, the whole environment just forces you to leave all your cares behind. It’s impossible to think about work when you’re standing next to someone with a balloon animal on top of his head, and a guy on stilts is bringing you a plate of nachos.

The crowd was amazing. For starters, tailgating for the show began at noon – the actual showtime was 5:30 – so virtually everyone inside of Margaritaville was, well, wasted away again. (Thank you, thank you.) It was tough to spot anyone not wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a shark hat, a parrot hat, or all of the above. You could sense the anticipation. The TVs inside Margaritaville showed the stage outside, and when Jimmy Buffet walked out onto it, five minutes earlier than expected, the woman behind me grabbed a hold of her friend, and said, “No {bleeping} way,” as if she just happened to be there, and had no idea Jimmy Buffet was performing. The crowd subsequently rushed outside as if the place was on fire. We followed.

There he was, Jimmy Buffet, with his guitar, a microphone, a beach-themed background, and one other guy that served as his band. He played his songs while everyone in the crowd sang along, and we stood there, beer in hand, feeling pretty content. We marveled at the life this guy has forged, a life defined by relaxing and having a good time. Pretty darn cool. He finished with, of course, “Margaritaville,” and right after that I said to Ryan, “Man, not many people can say they saw Jimmy Buffet play ‘Margaritaville’ in front of Margaritaville!” Then we both looked out onto the crowd, and Ryan said, “Yeah, except for the thousands of people right here, right now.” What a jerk.

It should also be mentioned that Jimmy Buffet loves sports. I have no evidence to back this claim, but really -- who doesn’t love sports? Speaking of sports, stay tuned for next week’s column, where I will discuss, in detail, the nachos at Margaritaville.