TAVERN TROVE PORTABLE
He just lets you watch Ricki Lake or The Price Is Right or whatever's on his portable TV while he administers the comb dipped into blue antiseptic "Barbicide," the talcum on the neck, the hot foam shave, the razor around the ears, all the things you go to a barber for except conversation.
Show up with gum in your hair and he probably wouldn't bat an eye. Unlike snooty unisex salon stylists, this masterful mane man isn't interested in who cut your hair last. That's why the silent scissors of Yury Yakobuv are such a godsend. Rule of thumb, if your mother doesn't know something, why should your hair stylist? Just because barbers spend on average three hours a year running their fingers through your hair doesn't mean they have to know how much you make or what you paid for your house. Recommended choice: Rogers Hornsby facing the hard-throwing - and hard-drinking - Grover Cleveland Alexander.
If you buy the right combination of Hall of Fame action figures, you can even set up your own dream batting match-up. In addition to a smart collection of sports cards, you'll find sealed boxes of Jake's Flakes (Jake Plummer's premature stab at cereal immortality), Frosted Mini-Wheats celebrating Grant Hill, and a whacked-out array of action figures, from David Cone to Charles Barkley to soccer legend Diego Maradona. It's an equal-opportunity kitsch paradise, with mint-condition pop esoterica like Doctor Who comic books, UNICEF Barbie dolls, Superman costumes, Chewbacca masks and even a KISS makeup kit that includes autographed stamps of approval from Gene Simmons and Co.īut the shop's sports section makes up in quality - or, at the very least, weirdness - what it lacks in sheer volume. Pop Culture Classics doesn't specialize in sports memorabilia.
(In the interest of botanical discretion, we'll refrain from making any jokes about "sticker price.") Plan on shelling out $200 for smaller specimens and as much as $8,000 for the gallery's tallest cactus, a 20-footer. The largest - hundreds of years old - are untouched, their gnarled bases formed like melted candles, their tall arms still reaching for the sky. Some are medium size, and hollowed out to be fitted with a light bulb inside. Some are small and smooth, made into wall sconces. They soar from the top of the Gallery's roof, lounge against its fences, and decorate its cool interior. It's impossible not to be touched by the grandeur of these once-green giants, now stripped to skeletons of wood bleached gray, white and yellow. (Don't try this yourself! It is illegal to take saguaros, living or dead, from the desert without a permit, and no permits have been issued since 1991.) For more than 17 years now, the gallery's owners have been scavenging fallen saguaros and making them into beautiful art. What happened to that cactus, we don't know, but we hope it found a loving home with the folks at Spur Cross Gallery. Remember that incident back in the '80s, when some yahoo was killed when a giant cactus he'd been shooting at toppled over, crushing him to death? We do, and had the cactus survived, we would have been the first to give it a prickly high-five.
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