05:43 PM MST on Monday, May 10, 2004

By Rhonda Bodfield Bloom / Arizona Daily Star

There's a good chance you've heard the following refrain, typically uttered from the lips of bored teenagers, big-city snobs or people with limited imaginations:

"There's nothing to do in Tucson."

The next time you hear such sentiments, rip out the Community Calendar from inside the Accent section. Arm the speaker with a map and a full tank of gas. If you're feeling particularly generous, you might throw in some granola bars and jerky to keep their energy up. They'll need it.

In what was clearly a project designed to test the mettle of the hardiest of reporters, editors wanted to know just how much Tucson color a person could soak up in a day. My mission, if I chose to accept it? Go to everything listed on the calendar on a particular day — in this case, Wednesday, April 28.

8:30 a.m. Downtown Farmers Market, 101 N. Stone Ave. Cost: 50 cents for parking, 75 cents for a bagel.

The merchandise varies from week to week at this often overlooked funky little mercado, but on this particular day a shopper could pick up polished natural stone necklaces, indulge in all-natural oatmeal soap, then fly a dragon kite.

Hungry? Choose from tea breads, coffeecakes or scones (and, yes, the bagel) from Yummies by Phyllis. "I enjoy baking, and this way I don't have to eat it all myself," says Phyllis Factor. And don't forget fresh fruit salsas by Adela Durazo, 42, which include peaches, pineapples and mangoes and comes in mild, hot and stupid hot.

Mother Tina, who insists she always goes by Mother Tina, an ebullient ordained minister and manager of Govinda's Natural Foods Buffet, is selling packaged aloe vera drinks for $2, incense, clothing handmade in India, and books on yoga and spirituality. Psychic adviser Morgana Canady, 58, offered tarot readings for $15. "We don't make a lot of money," Canady says, "but for the people out here it's become something like a sisterhood or brotherhood."

Carmela Johns, a 24-year-old student, chanced upon the market on the way to the Joel D. Valdez Main Library. "I didn't even know it was here," she says, picking up some incense and aloe vera juice from Mother Tina. "It's cool. It reminds me of something you'd see in Tempe."

Watching her walk off, Mother Tina sings out, "Life is good."

10 a.m. T Rex Museum, 1202 N. Main Ave. Cost: $2 admission, free parking.

Quick. What's the difference between a trilobite and a cephalopod?

Just what we figured. It's time you brushed up on your prehistoric history. And in this case, the history at the T Rex Museum starts about 570 million years ago. (FYI: Trilobites were marine anthropods with large eyes, while cephalopods were ancient mollusks like octopuses or squids.)

The year-old museum is still growing, and its presentation isn't the fanciest. Don't go there expecting life-size displays of towering fossils — though a Tyrannosaurus rex cast should be here in the fall. Instead, it's billed as an educational, experiential museum with children in mind. Spiders were once 5 feet long, according to the displays, and salamanders grew to 20 feet. You can see rocks from dinosaur gizzards — apparently, like birds, they ate them periodically to aid digestion. You'll see fossilized dinosaur eggs and the jawbone of a T. rex.

Admission rises to $5 for kids who choose to do a fossil dig, where they might find ancient clams or shark teeth. Movies run by request or on the hour. On this particular day, visitors can follow Baby Al, a carnivorous allosaurus whose fossilized remains were found in Wyoming, from his hatching on through his violent young life.

If you keep your expectations in check, it's a fun little stop. And, quite frankly, you won't likely find a $2 movie anywhere else to escape the heat. Annette Brion, 36, visiting her mom from Alaska, has brought 2-year-old Liam. She is planning on the fossil dig and a movie. Just as soon as she can extract Liam from the sandbox.

11 a.m. Barnes & Noble, 5130 E. Broadway, Earth Day readings. Cost: Free.

Bearded and genial Leverett Clark reads three books to four children and their parents for a belated celebration of Earth Day. It's a chance to talk about gravity and warblers, recycling and photosynthesis. "What's recycling?" he asks the group. A 4-year-old girl chimes in: "Not throwing things away." Why should we do it? Because, he explains, trees help us breathe and hold the soil on the land.

OK, so I wouldn't be here if it weren't for my job. A 34-year-old in the midst of toddlers does look a little odd. But you never know when you'll learn a new gem. And in this case, Clark is explaining that Barnes & Noble store employees save cans for the Hermitage No-Kill Cat Shelter. The proceeds help save abandoned cats.

Noon. Community and Concern, St. Phillips in the Hills Episcopal Church, 4440 N. Campbell Ave., "Hiking the Rugged Inca Trail in Peru." Cost: Free.

The nonprofit social club has roughly 90 members who meet every week from September to May for lunch and community speakers. Topics range from the gardens of southern France to the history of the Loft Cinema to an exploration of the lives of Mexican artists Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. On this day, local veterinarian Karen McWhirter shares her September 2003 hike up the Inca Trail, while members eat gazpacho salad and birthday cake.

McWhirter's tale is full of glorious detail.

In poverty-stricken Cuzco, once the capital of the ancient Inca empire, children try to talk tourists into a shoeshine — even though they're typically wearing tennis shoes in preparation for hiking some of the 18,000 miles of trails through the area.

Families raise guinea pigs for food and raise corn on unbelievably steep mountainside terraces.

Although the Incan people had not discovered the wheel, they used logs and pulleys to stack precisely cut boulders, some as heavy as 160 tons.

The subject matter lured Julie Ferdon, an adjunct professor at the University of Arizona College of Law, and her mother, Vearl. Ferdon's father, an anthropologist, took the trail by mule in 1935, and the women couldn't help but be interested in McWhirter's slide show. Neither of the women knew about the group. Vearl is sold. The annual membership fee is $5, and she happily pays.

1 p.m. Book signing of "Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body" by Rosemarie Garland Thomson at the UA Bookstore, 1303 E. University Blvd. Cost: $1 parking fee.

At this point, I longingly glance at a Circle K banner advertising three cans of Red Bull Energy Drink for $5. But since the signing was only supposed to run from noon to 1 p.m., I have no time to stop and can only hope things are running late. I can't not go. It's billed as a discussion of "Cultural Freakery" and inquiring minds can't see that phrase and not wonder what it's all about. Alas, the book signing ended a bit early. But the book is still there.

Turns out, it charts the way the body has been used to construct societal boundaries, by tracing the freak show of old and how it has evolved today. Think there aren't freak shows anymore? Modern versions include talk shows and Michael Jackson.

2 p.m. "The Underpants," Arizona Theatre Company, Temple of Music And Art, 330 S. Scott Ave. Cost: $34.

Ah. It's dark. And air-conditioned. And no need to interact with anyone. There isn't even an intermission. There's nothing to do but enjoy the zany, lightweight comedy adapted by comedian Steve Martin about the plight of Louise, a woman who has slept with her decidedly unromantic husband exactly one time in one year, and who sparks an uproar when her pantaloons fall down in the middle of a crowded street. Suitors are soon flitting around like mosquitoes on a summer night — except she's not entirely convinced she should swat them away. There's a lot of sexual humor — just what you would expect from the title. And since there's nearly a guarantee that jokes will be scarce at the next event, I figure I'd better enjoy some easy comedy while I can.

The show's run ended May 1, wrapping up the season at Arizona Theatre. But don't let that stop you from enjoying an afternoon play. Check out Live Theatre Workshop and Invisible Theatre for plays throughout the summer.

4 p.m. Academy Village, 13701 E. Old Spanish Trail, "The Very First Result from NASA's New Spitzer Observatory." Cost: Free.

I'm almost afraid to go. Everything I learned of space I gleaned from the movie "Apollo 13." I never even won a science fair award in school. But I've long been interested in Academy Village, where retirees refuse to retire from life and, on any given day, may attend a concert or a guest lecture or an art lesson.

It's a good day for an Academy Village introduction. UA astronomy professor George Rieke gives an interesting presentation. Granted, at one point the Harvard-educated professor mentions the Hubble Space Telescope launch, saying, "You know how that went," and attendees, looking very academic indeed, all nodded in unison. But his demonstration of infrared technology is downright watcher-friendly. When he aims the camera at the back of the room, the pot of hot coffee glows white, while the pitcher of ice water stays black. OK. This I get.

Rieke's involvement with the Spitzer project goes from its 1983 inception to its 2003 launch. It was worth the wait, apparently. The space data are coming in so quickly that the team is having trouble keeping up with it, he says. Take Vega, one of the closest and brightest stars in the sky. Rieke's prediction of what the system looks like was vastly different from what the images from Spitzer showed. "It doesn't always come out the way you thought it would," says Rieke. "If it did, then we wouldn't be doing science." Amen.

5 p.m. Singles RV and Camping Club, Viscount Suite Hotel, 4855 E. Broadway. Cost: Free.

A dozen people from the Pueblow's Chapter of Loners on Wheels are gathered around a table, nursing ice teas and talking about some of the great camping trips they've taken. To be in this group, there are three main criteria: single, senior, likes to camp. I strike out on two of the three.

But they're welcoming and friendly anyway. With this crew, camping comes in all kinds. Some pitch tents. Others camp in recreational vehicles. Camping outings are once a month from September through May, with the accouterments that typically come with camping: cards, hiking, bonfires and singalongs.

"It's more fun to have people to go with," explains Renette Saunders, membership chairwoman. "It's not much fun to go alone, and when you go with a group of all married couples, you always feel like you're the extra."

Every now and then, they'll lose members. It's not supposed to be a romance club, and the big rule is no cohabiting on camping trips, but it happens every now and then. Thank goodness.

6 p.m. American Needlepoint Guild Night Group, 5360 E. Pima St. Cost: Free.

The women of the needlepoint guild want to clear up a stereotype: They're not old ladies making chair covers.

I don't know anything about needlepoint. But if I ever find myself in such circles again, I now know I can automatically fit in by making disdainful comments about the basket-weave stitch, which is sturdy but, apparently, altogether tedious.

There are 103 guild members, who pay $41 in membership dues a year. About 25 show up at the regular monthly meetings. Sometimes they just have open-stitch nights. Other nights are for show and tell, or they work on one project as a group. They're also busy planning. Tucson will be hosting the national needlepoint seminar in September 2006.

7 p.m. Homophobia and the Holocaust, Wingspan, 300 E. Sixth St. Cost: Free.

There are no fewer than seven other events in this time slot, but I select this one because it sounds particularly interesting.

Jennifer Evans, a visiting professor from Canada, is speaking about her research on the persecution of gay men in Nazi Germany. Although there was a law on the books punishing "indecent" acts between men, it was rarely enforced, and a sizable gay community flourished in 1920s Germany.

When the Nazis came to power in 1933, they shut down popular clubs and decried gay men as social outsiders, concluding that homosexuals were not doing their part to father a new Aryan generation. Convicted men were forced to wear pink triangles.

After the camps were liberated, the Allies left many homosexuals behind to finish out their jail terms, Evans says, because they concluded that the criminalization of homosexuality existed before the Nazi takeover.

Since there were only a dozen people at her speech, you likely missed it. If you're still interested in the topic, a traveling exhibit will be at the Jewish Community Center through Sunday. Or you can rent the documentary "Paragraph 175" (VHS or DVD) from Casa Video.

8 p.m. Readings from Persona, the University of Arizona's undergraduate literary magazine, UA Modern Languages Building, 1423 E. University Blvd. Cost: $2 parking.

Young talent lives, and it's angry and funny.

Mike Tolle reads about a character who watches his laid-off dad try to land another job. He wears old pants with a button missing, which he tries to hide under a belt.

Tom Bethell's piece probably works best as a reading, since it's a snapshot of a guy out dancing with a flirtatious girl, and he actually performs the raps (channeling LL Cool J, no less) from the club.

Neal Bonser does a bittersweet piece on a bored young couple at a grocery store late at night, dancing in the aisles while stockers put Fruity Pebbles on the shelves.

John Pulley, a university maintenance mechanic whose daughter, Anna, wrote about an insecure coed, was disappointed by the turnout of about 100 people.

But he was impressed by the students. "I thought they were all great, very creative," he says. "It was a lot of fun."

Agreed.

9 p.m. The Sleepy Jackson, Club Congress, 311 E. Congress St.

Well, it's 9:20 p.m. now. I can still make most of the show at Club Congress, but I fear instead I'll just veer off into the Cup Cafe and end up face-first in a fluffy pillow of coconut cream pie. My odometer has logged 85 miles today.

As I head for home, I wonder if I would have liked the band and am a little disappointed that I didn't have the stamina to find out.

Sleepy Jackson. Hmpph. What do they know about being sleepy, anyway?

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© The Arizona Daily Star, 2004