For the past 35 years, this is the column I’ve been wanting to avoid writing. My last column for the Tucson Citizen.

Now that it’s here, I’m thankful the wait took 35 years.

I’m also thankful this column doesn’t mean the end of life as I know it. Reporting on Tucson’s thriving performing arts scene will continue.

I’ll be moving online with the rest of the world. Starting right away, you can find my theater reviews, film, dance and music commentary at www.tucsonstage.com. This is the Web site Bill Dell built into a powerhouse listing service for the entire arts community.

Now Tucson Stage will become the online address, as well, for my own arts page “Let the Show Begin.” The plan is for me to be posting new items daily, so there’s always a new reason to click on the page and check it out.

Hot reviews will be even hotter with the timeliness of digital technology. When I first started writing for the Tucson Citizen in 1974, everybody used typewriters. The phrase “cut and paste” literally meant cut the type-set copy off a larger piece of paper and paste it on the layout sheet.

Whew . . . the printing process was clumsy but the writing was better. Having a computer spell-checking everything is the absolute worst. Typos are popping up all over the place.

But I digress.

Progress will always be pushing us ahead, creating bad things along with good ones. Assuring us there will always be a need for the entertainment and insight that art provides.

Tucson, with its do-it-yourself attitude, will continue to be Arizona’s arts oasis. All those dusty dreamers who can’t live without an overdose of sunshine will keep on creating stuff, whether there is any money in it or not. They just can’t help themselves.

I couldn’t help myself, either, back in the 1970s writing about new rock bands and dinosaur big bands touring the music of Woody Herman, Glen Miller and the like. Tucson was a bigger music town than Phoenix. In 1978, the Rolling Stones skipped Phoenix altogether. The band’s only stop in Arizona was the downtown Tucson Convention Center Arena.

Then Phoenix built the Desert Sky Pavilion and some other giant-sized venues while Tucson’s city leaders sat on their hands. Sound familiar?

After covering rock ‘n’ roll in the ’70s, I moved over to reviewing theater in the ’80s. Counterculture issues were thriving: plays about injustice in Vietnam and stateside injustice over the AIDS crisis, feminist protest onstage, performance artists on tour, plays about conflict and every skin color in the human spectrum, lots of theater dramatizing border issues insisting the rights of people are more important than the laws of nations.

It was a time rich with ideals and ideology. The whole experience was made stronger by seeing this entire parade of scenes pass through the city’s open-minded and open-hearted playhouses. Plenty of times it felt like I was being force-fed Thanksgiving dinner several times a week.

There is a lot I will miss, but also a lot to be thankful for. The philosophical lessons I’ve learned taking notes in dark theaters have just been prelude to the next act of my life. The one that begins May 17, the first day there will be no printed edition of the Tucson Citizen.

Part of the fun at working in the Citizen Features Department was that it didn't always take itself seriously. Case in point: the Citizen's inaugural mustache day earlier this year.

“Auf Wiedersehen.”

“Please pack your knives and go.”

“Your show has been canceled.”

“You are not the biggest loser.” (Um . . .)

Or, because I am addicted to “Rock of Love,” “Your tour ends here.”

But Bret . . .

Like so many reality contestants who have tried their darndest, I am cast from the wonderful serial that is the Tucson Citizen. The tribe, it seems, has spoken.

It’s sad, of course, to get kicked off the island before you’re ready. I like my tribe mates. They make me laugh and they make me think.

But enough about me. The closing of the Tucson Citizen is far beyond one writer. It’s far beyond one local daily newspaper.

Since Gannett announced its decision to sink the “for sale” sign in our lawn in January, the Scripps-owned Rocky Mountain News and Hearst-owned Seattle Post-Intelligence have bitten the dust, and the fate of Hearst’s San Francisco Chronicle is shaky. McClatchy’s Miami Herald is on the market. And on and on. It’s old news, this domino game, with fewer and fewer papers to report that news.

It’s easy enough to see why multinational news corporations didn’t see all of this gloom and doom headed their way. Newspapers, in good old-fashioned, ink-on-paper form, have survived many challengers over the years. But while radio and television were dealt with, the Internet proved a greater opponent than the newspaper chains were able to understand. Danny Bonaduce was sent into the ring to fight Mike Tyson.

Of course, technologies aren’t animate, but it sure seems like there has been a lot of fear of the machine. Our parent companies have forgotten the old “guns don’t shoot people, people shoot people” notion, though it seems so simple: The Internet doesn’t attract people, people attract people. Readers have flocked to a medium that works for them and away from one that doesn’t, and too many news corporations distracted themselves with the print product, insisting the problem was aesthetic. Ah, to be able to use that “lipstick on a pig” analogy and sound original.

The light at the end of this absurdist tunnel, the Godot we’ve been waiting for, has been here all along. And this is where I find comfort for the many talented people I have had the pleasure of working with, as well as our counterparts at dying newspapers across the country: Good writing is always good writing, and good information is always good information. We may be displaced for a while, we may have to break up the family as we forage for work wherever we can find it, but talented journalists will always be needed to tell the stories that are our cultural currency.

A new model is needed. While I like to think there will always be a New York Times in existence (and online-only counts), daily, local news organizations need to be reimagined. And that’s exciting. We’re at a point where we’re rediscovering what it means to communicate to one another. The system is broken, and we’re at the point where replacing the engine just doesn’t make sense. Scrap it, start fresh. It just might be nice to have the vehicle locally owned again.

Still, it’s been a good ride. I never felt the corporate hand when I ventured into the community to meet the many amazing artists and musicians who live here, to interview everyone from a tough, 6-year-old Tucson Roller Derby girl-in-training (skate on, Madeline BootyFly!) to an 80-plus-year-old woman revisiting her family history. You’ve all been kind to let me share both the stories that circulate in my head and the ones I’ve found in Tucson.

For now, though, it’s time to pack my pens and go.

The fun never stops at the Citizen. Former Features designer Christine Seliga tries to prevent Rogelio Olivas from being sucked into the pneumatic tube system and winding up with the crazies in Composing.

I’m either in love with or co-dependent on the Tucson Citizen. It’s hard to know the difference.

After leaving twice to work at bigger newspapers, I returned within three months to the Citizen. I just couldn’t stay away.

At the other papers, I felt like just another cog in the machine, someone whose name the publisher didn’t even know. Departments didn’t even mingle with one another.

They were so different from the Citizen, where everyone knew one another and where the editors and employees made staffers feel like family.

That feeling of family is what’s helping many of us get through this wrenching time – but it’s also what’s causing the most heartache, because we’re losing loved ones.

Fellow employee Gabrielle Fimbres described it best. When she found out that Gannett was selling the Citizen, she said she felt as if she had just unexpectedly been served with divorce papers from someone whom she still adored but who didn’t love her back.

The situation’s been tough. Many of us can’t sleep at night and we’re deeply worried about finding work in this troubled economy. Like many Americans, we’re afraid of not being able to provide for our families and of losing our homes.

We’re desperate for jobs. Many of my fellow employees are applying for positions for which they are way overqualified, which is a shame because they are so talented and good at what they do.

It’s unfortunate that they just can’t work for our competition, The Arizona Daily Star, whose employees also are insecure about their future in this Internet-cable TV age where newspapers are becoming a dying breed.

With the closing of the Citizen, some journalists and readers have lamented the loss of a second source for local news coverage in Tucson. But readers also will miss out on having two distinct (and often opposing) voices covering entertainment in the Old Pueblo. No more dual reviews of movies, restaurants, books and plays, which disappoints me because our critics were always fair, objective, knowledgeable and just as good (if not better) than the competition’s.

Like many of my colleagues, I have no idea what I’m going to do next. Journalism is all I’ve known since graduating from the University of Arizona in 1985 and working at papers in Yuma, Phoenix, New York City and here.

But I’m glad I have interim editor-publisher Jennifer Boice and associate editor Mark Kimble to help shepherd me and my co-workers through this trying time. Jennifer, who’s been at the paper for 25 years, truly is one of us and cares deeply about our welfare. When she cries with us, her tears are genuine and heartfelt.

I’ll never forget Mark because when I started working here in the early 1990s, he encouraged me to ask for a raise. Without me even asking him, Mark accompanied me to the publisher’ office and argued my case. I got my raise that week. Thank you, Mr. Kimble.

As I wind down my career at the newspaper, I find myself working 12-to-14-hour days instead of the usual 8 to 10. I tell myself it’s because I have lots more work to do. But deep down I know it’s because I want to spend as much time as possible with my Citizen family in our home. After 18 years (off an on) as a copy editor, page designer, reporter and entertainment editor, I dread my third departure from the Tucson Citizen on May 15 – because this time I can’t come back.

———

Stupidest headline I ever wrote

“Man drowns to death” – almost as bad as saying someone was murdered to death.

The two words on the police scanner that always drew a collective groan from the newsroom

“Rectal bleeding”

What I always wanted to tell callers complaining about a missing Jumble or astrology listing:

Get a life!

The life lesson I will take with me

Never let a boss abuse you emotionally. I did – but I never will again. To others in the same situation, no job is worth your dignity. Call the abuser on his behavior, or quit. You’ll be a stronger person for it.

What I’ll miss most

• Interacting with readers and the thrill of discovering new music talents and sharing them with others.

• Working with our great Features staff, including the incomparable Chuck Graham, whose stuff I began reading (and enjoying) when I was in junior high; the wacky Dan Buckley, who always brought a smile to my face; the always hip Polly Higgins, who schooled me on pop culture; the irascibly charming Larry Cox, my partner in snark; Kristina Dunham, who made all our stories come to life with her dazzling page design; our super talented young writer Otto Ross, who restored my faith in today’s youth; and my right-hand gal, Elsa Barrett, who always had my back.

What I won’t miss

• Whiners who say there’s nothing to do in Tucson. Bull! The Old Pueblo has plenty of options for fun. You just need to open your mind, get off your lazy butt and explore the city.

• The cowardly online posters who hide behind a cloak of anonymity to spew their bile and link all the woes of the world to illegal immigration. What will you do without us?

Future career options

Telenovela writing school; Tiger Beat intern; plus-size model

Otto Ross began his writing career at age 9, penning a story about a superhero mouse.

“The Times They are A-Changin’ ”

Come writers and critics who prophesy with your pen . . .

When I was 9 I wrote a 20-page book about a superhero mouse titled, “ONYAY.” This was the magic word he would say before throwing the cat into the sink or lifting the school. For illustrations, my mom took me to a local pet shop and we posed mice in tiny Superman capes. I still prefer to take my own photos.

Twelve years, multiple journalism classes and a brief stint with the Arizona Daily Wildcat later, I landed a three-week internship with the Tucson Citizen.

My first assignment was a Calendar cover story about local painter David Tineo, whose eyesight has been deteriorating over the years, making it more difficult for him to pursue his passion. I could not have asked for a better assignment. Being able to write about such an extraordinary man who has managed to overcome such adversity was something I hardly expected to be doing in my first week. I was covering a story that I legitimately cared about and that I thought the public would as well.

I can’t forget the gratification I experienced the following week when I saw the center-spread photo of Tineo in front of his mural. Aside from the awe of seeing my byline, I truly felt that I was doing something significant, something that would make a difference to somebody, anybody, maybe just him.

Since then, the Tucson Citizen has given me many other opportunities to further explore this aspect of journalism. On another assignment, I sat on the low cushions of a local Afghan restaurant while the family that owned it explained that in their culture serving people food is an honor, not a chore. At a local library, DJ T. Richard Smith told me about the racism and adversity he overcame to become one of Tucson’s most legendary radio personalities. In another story, the smooth-talking street magician, Crow Garrett, graciously offered me tips on how to pick up ladies using a bit of magic.

I am fascinated by people and the stories they have to tell. For the last nine months the Tucson Citizen has allowed me to make a living conveying these stories to the community. I am sincerely grateful for the time this paper and its staff allowed me to perform this service.

“Then you better start swimmin’ or you’ll sink like a stone, for the times they are a-changin’.”

Recently, all newspapers, not just the Tucson Citizen, have fallen on hard times. Whether it’s the Internet or the economy or a cruel combination of both, traditional newspapers all over the country have been fighting to keep their heads above water. Every day seems to be the bearer of bad news for this profession that many of us hold so near and dear.

I don’t know what the future of journalism holds or whether print media can survive, but I do know that the ideals of the profession will endure, in one form or another. With the exception of police officers and firefighters, there are few other professions in this world that so highly value their duty to serve the public. While journalism can sometimes be a thankless job, there are people who dedicate themselves day in and day out, not for recognition but because they believe in the fundamentals that journalism represents. They believe that the public has the right to be informed in an accurate, dependable and professional fashion.

While I am new to the world of journalism, I like to think that through my time working with the Citizen I have begun to embody these ideals as well. Unfortunately, it is becoming increasingly difficult to find work as newspapers sink and hiring freezes. For this reason I have been considering eventually getting a degree in teaching to ensure that I will have an income once I graduate. However, I don’t think I could ever turn my back on journalism. There is too much I would miss: The fascinating people, the fast pace, the exhilaration of creating and the accomplishment of a job well done. Then there is the overwhelming excitement of deadlines, including buckets of coffee, lack of sleep and the night terrors of thinking you’ve missed one. It’s a journo’s life for me. If that doesn’t pan out I could always go back to writing children’s novels.

Having the opportunity to work with the staff of the Tucson Citizen has opened my eyes to all of these things, both the exhilaration and the night terrors. While I did not get to know all of the staff as well as I would have liked, simply seeing their dedication has showed me what selfless and devoted people journalists are. I am so thankful to every one of you for that and wish you all the very best. Here’s to you, ol’ Tucson Citizen.

This is a sad time for newspapers. It is also a sad time for me.

Since losing a newspaper is much like a death in the family, the fact that the Tucson Citizen is ceasing publication has left me with a feeling of crippling loss. Within a day or two of the first announcement in February, I found myself in denial, the first of five stages of grief as outlined in “On Death and Dying,” the 1969 bestseller by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross.

I told myself that this could not be happening, because belts were tightened and there had been assurances by Gannett that the paper was safe after the latest round of cuts. My denial was quickly followed by anger, a red, hot rage. How could corporate America be so heartless?

Even though my pain was deep, I wasn’t alone in feeling such despair. One afternoon as I left the paper, I saw a colleague in the parking lot, crying. Nothing I could ever say would lessen the pain that we both felt. As I drove home that afternoon, I wondered if corporate executives ever think about the impact their decisions have on people? Profits are important but what about the cost in human terms of the people who make those profits possible?

As time marched on, I found myself playing out various scenarios in my head. Perhaps, if the skeleton staff at the Tucson Citizen worked a little harder, or if a buyer could be found, maybe, just maybe, the paper could be saved. Not even I believed that.

A week or two later, the depression I had deepened even further when I read a sampling of hateful postings from our readers who seemed jubilant the paper was on life support and probably would not survive. Why do some people feed on the calamity of others? What joy is there when people lose their jobs and possibly their homes? It was shortly after that when I realized I didn’t care anymore. Maybe closing the paper was for the best.

Gallows humor was one of the last stages I experienced and then came acceptance.

When the last issue of the paper rolls off the presses, I have prepared myself emotionally for whatever happens. Nevertheless, there remains an empty feeling, and I am sad.

Memory can be comforting, especially during difficult times. I originally arrived on the doorstep of the Tucson Citizen because of a promise I had made to myself years before. I vowed I would never work for either a person or a company I didn’t respect.

After being treated rather shabbily at another publication in Tucson, I quit. Because I love writing and it is an important part of my life, my next move was to meet with Michael Chihak, the editor and publisher of the Tucson Citizen. After a brief conversation that lasted no more than five minutes, I was hired one autumn day in 2002. I agreed to write two weekly columns that would continue until Michael no longer found they fit the paper or I decided the work was no longer fun. That was the totality of our agreement. We shook hands and I began my work as a columnist at Arizona’s oldest daily newspaper.

For the last seven years, I have had more than just fun working for the paper. The friends I have made there will continue to be my friends even though the paper that brought us together will soon be nothing more than microfilm and dusty clips.

I love newspapers. I get excited when I hear the crackle of police radios, hear a reporter doing a telephone interview, or see the latest issues hot off the presses. What made the Tucson Citizen so extraordinary was the sense of family that existed in the newsroom. Simply put, the Tucson Citizen is and was a special place and it will always be so in my heart and memory.

Because this isn’t a perfect world, there are things that I won’t miss. At the top of my list are the mean-spirited anonymous comments posted by what I hope are a small minority of our readers. More often than not, the comments are vile and racist and have no place in a civilized society.

Even topping those comments is a personal e-mail that I received several years ago. After reading one of my book reviews, a woman called me a “liberal pus-sucking pig.” As if that wasn’t enough, she ended her little poison pen message by saying that she hoped I died of cancer. If she had wanted a bull’s-eye hit, she got it. I received this message just three days after I had returned to Arizona from burying my mother in Arkansas. Mom died after three terrible years fighting cancer. I consider myself a strong person but I remember even now how I wept after reading that hateful e-mail.

This finally brings me to the end.

Goodbyes are never easy and I hate saying them. I’ve had to say too many of them in my lifetime. There are so many things I could say and so many people I should thank but, as the closing of this proud old newspaper has taught me, there is never enough time.

I am sad.

When I was a child, there was little love in our family for journalists.

My grandfather, a federal judge in Tucson, spoke of newspaper reporters who botched the facts, or twisted them to fit the story.

When I told Grandpa that I yearned to be a journalist, he did a pretty good job disguising what must have been disappointment. He loved us so much and would never have discouraged our dreams.

I knew from the time I started my “Dear Gabby” column in the student newspaper at St. Michael’s Parish Day School that I wanted to be a journalist.

I wanted to tell people’s stories.

I walked into the Citizen newsroom Jan. 7, 1985, as a journalism student at the University of Arizona.

I knew I was home.

The image of the adrenaline-charged editors jumping up from the news desk to yell “Stop the presses,” still brings a shiver.

My early days were spent filing photo negatives and answering phones. Then I became a real reporter. I covered cops and courts. I covered Mexico. I wrote breaking news and in-depth projects. I was doing what I dreamed of, telling the stories of people in the city I was born and raised in, the city my ancestors lived and died in.

I became assistant city editor, and later assistant features editor.

Then came the babies. After becoming a mom, I worked out a deal that allowed me to work part-time, mostly from home. I wrote about fetal alcohol syndrome. I wrote about drug-addicted parents. I wrote about violent children.

They are unforgettable, these stories of a lifetime.

There was the elderly woman, dressed in black and clutching rosary beads as she prayed at the base of a mountain of rubble in the heart of Mexico City.

Her daughter’s family lived in a high rise that tumbled during an early morning earthquake that left more than 10,000 dead. She prayed for a miracle that somehow her family had escaped.

It was a miracle that never came.

There was the hulking, blind man with mental illness who was led shuffling and shackled into the courtroom after voices in his head told him to kill his mother, whom he said had inflicted cruelty upon him for decades.

There was a young woman with all her possessions piled into an abandoned shopping cart as she headed to a shelter after completing rehab. Free from methamphetamine after a 13-year addiction, she was starting a new life for her and her boys.

There were the heroes, too many to count.

Gail Leland was the first hero I met along the way. Her 14-year-old son Richard was murdered in 1981, and his killer was never caught.

Gail and her best friend, Gloria Fritz, helped others going through their same hell. Gloria’s adorable 7-year-old daughter, Cathy, was murdered in 1982.

The two moms sat in their living rooms and talked with other parents who had lost children to murder. Today, 27 years later, Gail continues her mission, always missing her friend, Gloria, who died from cancer in 2000. Through Parents of Murdered Children and now Homicide Survivors, Gail has helped thousands of Tucsonans devastated by the murder of a loved one.

There was quiet rancher Jim Corbett, who was prosecuted for helping Salvadorans fleeing violence in their homeland. He offered food and shelter to the tormented.

There was Teresa Kellerman, who 31 years ago adopted John, a baby with fetal alcohol syndrome. What started as a mom advocating for services for her son led to Teresa educating people around the globe about the permanent brain damage caused when a pregnant woman drinks alcohol.

There were Laura and Bill Henderson. When Laura said her prayers at night, she would ask God to let her live long enough to see her grandsons into adulthood. The couple, in their 70s and 80s, were helping with homework, packing lunches and carting kids around after the boys’ parents could not care for them.

The Hendersons were among thousands of Tucson grandparents left to raise children, usually when parents are lost to addiction, incarceration, mental illness or death. They found help and a family at the KARE Family Center in Tucson.

There was Mark Loebe, a young man struggling to figure out who he was. He had pieced together his past, one in which he was so terribly beaten as an infant that he nearly died.

But he survived, and was adopted. Mark dreams of someday becoming a dad. For now, he helps other youngsters who have been abused.

They are the stories that live in my heart, and in the Tucson Citizen archives. I am forever grateful to those who shared their lives with me.

It has been a privilege to write about the city I love so dearly. I am thankful for my grandfather, my parents, my brother, my husband and my three children for all their love and support, as well as my incredible Citizen family.

I hope I made you proud, Grandpa.

Only in the Citizen did readers learn how to do the Electric Slide, thanks to dancer extraordinaire Elsa Nidia Barrett.

It’s hard to believe that more than 27 years have passed since I walked into the Tucson Citizen newsroom.

I clearly remember that day. It was like walking into the land of giants, because everyone was about 2 feet taller than me. The office was noisy and smoky and everyone was running around like a chicken without a head.

I was terrified and just wanted to turn around and go home. But I’m glad I didn’t because my world changed forever on that day. I was exposed to a very different breed of people and new attitudes.

There was never a dull moment working at the Citizen. Every day provided something different: breaking news stories of killings, bomb threats, serial killers, earthquakes, and a shuttle explosion. Nowadays, the newsroom is not as noisy or smoky and no one’s running around like a chicken without a head. It’s a different Citizen now, with mostly everyone chained to their desks.

But that feeling of terror I experienced my first day has returned, and it’s even stronger. My Citizen is closing its doors and there’s nothing that can be done about it.

With it go my feelings of stability, my meaningful work, and most of all, my great, caring friends. I will miss talking to the people in the community, getting information about everything happening in Tucson – from gallery openings, to fiestas, movies, book signings, and family-friendly events.

I will miss talking to co-workers Rogelio, Gaby, Polly and Chuck about the best dishes in town, the newest films, the best CDs and everything else going on in our lives. I will also miss my weekly discussions with Jennifer and Teresa about television shows, including “Lost,” “24,” “Bones,” “House,” “Damages,” and “Life on Mars.” Our little get-togethers started when we discovered we were all huge fans of Joss Whedon’s teen dramas, “Buffy” and “Angel.” I wouldn’t had been able to keep with all those shows if it wasn’t for Señor Dave Petruska, one of the sweetest persons in the Citizen. Year after year, he kept me up to date by recording some of my favorite shows.

Throughout my roller coaster of a life the Citizen was the only constant. No matter what happened, I found refuge in my work and colleagues.

I will miss working at the Citizen. It was more than just a job. It was a huge, caring family. Adios, mis amigos.

It’s my final column.

I knew this day would come, though I actually figured I’d just drop dead in the middle of writing something and that would be that.

When I started at the Citizen back in August of 1987, one of my friends said, “Why are you going to work there? They’ll be out of business in a few months.” Turns out he was off by about 21 1/2 years.

So what now? Honestly I’m not quite sure. My phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook with offers. But with Gannett saying we were up for sale, I’m sure many were convinced someone would step up and buy the Citizen. Nobody really wanted to believe this day would come.

On our annual evaluation forms there was a place for employees to list the job you feel qualified for that you’d like to be considered for next. For the last few years I’ve always written “Spaceman” in that slot.

The fact is I really liked what I did here. I met interesting folks. I watched history unfold in front of my eyes, and got to write about it or videotape it to share with our readers. I met politicians, scientists, artists and musicians of every sort. One of my first feature stories was on a dog psychologist. Arf! I reported on marches, watched the Phoenix Mars Lander touch down, watched Tohono O’odham pick saguaro fruit, and spent a wonderful time with an Apache violin maker. I fell in love with the music of the mariachis and the colorful pageantry of folklórico dance.

I watched the summer solstice sunrise over San Xavier Mission through the viewfinder of my video camera, and nearly got trampled to death at the odd football game. I spent literally thousands of nights in concert halls, walked the campus with a near-nude performance artist, and watched the Aaron Copland of Australia, Peter Sculthorpe, drop Coke cans I’d scooped off the floor of my car’s back seat to listen to them plink and plunk.

I saw kids grow up and blossom, and short lives come to a close. And when the presses roll for the last time, I will be there to record it. In all likelihood I will be the last man out after editing those last bits into our farewell video.

But I will write for these pages no more, and it’s highly improbable I will again be a journalist.

Back in 1987 when I signed on as a music critic and features writer I had a reason for doing so. People were excited about downtown becoming an arts district. I was president of the Central Arts Collective gallery downtown and had been supporting myself with a mix of work as a composer, photographer’s assistant, performance artist, freelance writer and recording engineer prior to the Citizen hiring me.

It was a huge trade-off. On the plus side, I was in a position where I thought I might help get artists’ dream of a city of the arts off the ground. On the minus side, my work as a composer was deemed a conflict of interest, and had to be put aside. At that point I figured the Citizen would be a temporary gig and I’d get back to writing music in a year or two.

Instead I discovered the endless stream of amazing talent this city has produced as well as the array of talent we’ve been introduced to by organizations such as UApresents, Borderlands Theater, the Tucson Symphony Orchestra, Arizona Theatre Company, Arizona Friends of Chamber Music, Arizona Opera and so many more.

How many composers on hiatus get to be inspired night after night by the greatest musicians of our time while they slowly and privately evolve their own voice? Mind you, I still stink, but it’s not for lack of good examples.

Over my 21 years at the Citizen I was tempted many times to leave. But year after year I was convinced that there were many more important stories to be told of folks from this special place like no other in the world.

It has been a privilege to serve this community and in some small way reflect a tiny corner of the beauty and life Tucson has shared with me. I thank our readers for their indulgence, their generosity and patience. I wish the town all the best, and I will miss our readers more than I miss being 17.

So what do I do now? I don’t know. It looks like my dream of putting on my second opera may become just another victim of budgetary axes. That’s life.

One thing is certain. Unless NASA decides it needs grizzled, semi-chunky prospector types to mine the moon and opts to honor my spaceman post request, I’m not going anywhere. Tucson is my home. You can take the job away but it’s going to take a lot more than that to make me leave.

The hardest part of this is saying goodbye to all the wonderful folks I work with here at the paper. They are dedicated, hard-working, highly intelligent and more fun than one can legally have with clothes on. They have a dedication to and perspective on Tucson like no other team in the business.

In the end there is one great consolation. Our slogan has always been “The Citizen is Tucson.” We meant it, and we earned the right to say it every day. As we leave, we know that Tucson is a better place for our service, and it will become an even better place as we all find other ways to serve.

If you want to stay in touch I’ve set up a crude Web site with a blog (http://web.me.com/dbtucson/Daniel_Buckley_onda_web/Welcome.html), or you can reach me via e-mail at dbtucson@gmail.com.

Adios, amigos. See you around.

As you may have heard, the Citizen is currently publishing day-to-day as our parent company, Gannett Inc., negotiates with a pair of unnamed potential buyers.

We got the news of that negotiation process on St. Patrick’s Day, followed by a note at 4:59 p.m. Friday from Tucson Newspapers president Mike Jameson that we would be open at least through tomorrow. Not knowing when or if the end is coming is tough for many on staff who had plans beyond our scheduled March 21 closing.

While I admit I’m steamed that Gannett didn’t bother to share the information that it is bartering a possible 11th-hour save for the Citizen, I’m also glad we’re not gone yet.

As most of you know, my prime responsibility these days is creating video content for our Web site – something I’ve enjoyed immensely. But for the past few weeks, with the help of interns Brian Mori and Heather Raftery, I’ve been interviewing the staff in preparation of a Tucson Citizen farewell video to run if/when the paper expires.

We’re been asking staffers when they started with the paper, what jobs they’ve held here over the years, what they’ve enjoyed most and are most proud of, how they feel about the paper’s demise and what they think they might do next.

Not surprisingly, many of the answers to certain questions come out the same. Many feel that what they’ve done for the Citizen has been their dream job – something that never felt like work despite the grueling hours and personal sacrifice involved. And almost everyone said that the best part of the job was the people we work with.

It’s true. This crew is like family. When the sports guys keep the copy desk and editing folk late on a Friday night, nobody’s mad about it, even if it is 2 a.m. or later when we get out. We know that what they do is important, and that if we needed their help until late for something else they’d pitch right in.

We know one another’s actual families. We’ve watched staffers kids grow up, and sometimes had to bury a few of those kids way too soon. Everyone’s personal trials were shared by the rest. I’d like a dime for every time a Citizen staffer stepped up to help me feel better when I went through a rough time. When a crew member had a baby, got married or was just experiencing a financial hardship, we all pitched in what we could. When someone took a new job or moved away because a spouse got a new job, a party was held and another collection taken up.

Several of our sportswriters talked about the personal bond they had with their department members, many of whom had known one another since they were in college at the University of Arizona together.

Probably the most touching story I recorded was from Elsa Barrett, who has been the Citizen’s utility fielder for longer than most of us have been here. She told about going through an ugly divorce that left her broke, miserable and foundering to put her life back together. She was trying to buy a house in the middle of all of this, and having trouble coming up with the down payment. A grumpy old dude who, I’m sure, would rather remain nameless, quietly came to her and handed her an envelope full of cash. Serious cash. He told her she could work out paying him back any way she saw fit.

Now that’s family. And while none of the rest of us was that specific and revealing, most of us have a similar story of unexpected kindness beyond what might be expected.

I’ve only had one other job in my life where I came to love the people I worked with as much as I do these folks. From the mid-1970s until the mid-’80s I worked for a record store in El Con called Record Bar with a supremely elegant crew. One or two of them I run into every now and then. One in particular, who calls herself Mel, comments from time to time on my columns. I don’t see her often but when I do it’s like seeing a sister who moved too far away. It’s a shame that we don’t all keep more in touch – something I need to correct ASAP.

Thinking of that makes our current state of flux all that much harder.

My life at this newspaper has been so much more than a paycheck. It’s been the love affair that I’ve had with this amazing, diverse and wonderfully talented community. And it’s been the family I’ve developed right here at 4850 S. Park Ave. I was raised Irish Catholic, so I’m used to big families. Going through what we have over the past few months has made it ever clearer how much we all mean to one another.

I hope somehow the Citizen does get saved and that you never have to see that farewell video. But if we do survive, I hope to re-edit some of that footage so that Tucson can see what a wonderful family exists here. We tell the city’s stories all the time. Maybe it’s time we told a few of our own.

Self-portrait of artist Ted DeGrazia

The snooty art critics of the world never had much use for Arizona’s most famous artist, the late Ted DeGrazia.

The Tucsonan didn’t have use for them either. He fashioned himself into an artist of and for the people. While never selling out, he sold his work to the admiring masses and made a fortune along the way.

Not too shabby for a boy born to Italian immigrants in the mining camp of Morenci on June 14, 1909.

Friday, the DeGrazia Gallery in the Sun opens its Centennial Retrospective featuring 100 significant examples of his work.

If you think you know DeGrazia because you’ve seen his oils of Indian children, think again. The sweep of his life’s work is astonishing for both the range of mediums and styles that he worked in – from oils, watercolors and sketches to ceramics, textiles and stained glass.

“We’re hoping that people get more of an idea of the breadth of what he did, in terms of working in all these different mediums and also that there is so much more to it than the reproductions that people grew up with,” said curator Kristine Peashock said. “For us, it’s a matter of getting people though the door. Then they can see for themselves.”

The retrospective will include many of the old favorites in the collection, including the 1957 “Los Niños” oil painting of children dancing in a circle, an image famously reproduced into a best-selling UNICEF card in 1960. But Peashock also has pulled lesser known works from the gallery’s vault, including, on public exhibition for the first time, “New York,” an undated oil depicting a street sweeper in in the foreground of a cityscape of grimy, gray skyscrapers.

By the gallery’s account, DeGrazia, who died in Tucson in 1982, graduated from Morenci High School at age 23 and “hitched a ride to Tucson in 1933 to enroll at the University of Arizona with $15 in his pocket.”

In 1941, Arizona Highways began publishing DeGrazia’s artwork, helping to launch his career and introduce legions of readers around the world to the beauty of southern Arizona’s native people and cultures.

In 1942, he studied under Mexican muralists Diego Rivera and José Clemente Orozco. Rivera was so impressed with the young man that he sponsored a weeklong show of DeGrazia’s work at the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City. Orozco predicted DeGrazia would someday be one of America’s best painters.

But throughout his career, DeGrazia’s standing with the critics would be inversely proportional to his popularity with the masses.

“They thought that DeGrazia was simplistic. He painted little children without eyes. To them, he wasn’t a real artist. They didn’t see any value in what he was doing, said Lance Laber, executive director of the Gallery in the Sun.

“I think,” Peashock said, “that the art critics thought that was all he did and that it was kind of kitschy and didn’t look beyond that to the other work he had done.”

DeGrazia, she said, was a stubborn man who didn’t like art world politics. In the 1950s, he began building his own gallery in what was then the far outskirts of Tucson. The main gallery of the Gallery in the Sun, now listed in the National Register of Historic Places, opened in 1965.

“He said, ‘If nobody wants to display my work, I’m going to build my own museum to display my work,’” Peashock said.

At the gallery, which houses some 15,000 DeGrazia originals and attracts more than 50,000 visitors each year, you can see his more serious works. Among them are paintings that document the Yaqui Easter celebration and the stories of Jesuit missionary Father Eusebio Kino and Spanish explorer Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca.

DeGrazia was as much a historian and anthropologist as he was a painter, Laber said.

And let’s not dismiss his paintings of Native American children as mere kitsch. If you take a closer at these paintings in the environment DeGrazia designed for them, you’ll see they are more than just cute. In those paintings, as in all his work, he captured the sun-soaked pastels and swirling energy of the desert and the unique beauty of its natives.

“I always thought that DeGrazia’s work was beautiful,” said Bernard Siquieros, administrator of the Tohono O’odham Nation Cultural Center & Museum in Topawa, about 75 miles southwest of Tucson. “I thought just from his paintings that he saw something special in the children. . . . In fact, I was just commenting about one of our grandsons, who is 8 months old, and they came to visit my wife and me on Sunday. He had those big round eyes and I said, ‘You look like a DeGrazia baby.’ . . . I thought this must have been what DeGrazia saw in many of the children, their beautiful eyes.”

In some of DeGrazia’s paintings, the children have no facial features, as Laber noted. In others, the children have dark dots for eyes and mouths that look like sweet, black gumdrops.

DeGrazia’s work has yet to get the respect it merits from the art world, Laber said.

But his reign as Arizona’s favorite artist of the people remains unchallenged.

Anne T. Denogean can be reached at 573-4582 and adenogean@tucsoncitizen.com. Address letters to P.O. Box 26767, Tucson, AZ 85726-6767. Her columns run Tuesdays and Fridays.

Famed American artist Thomas Hart-Benton (right) was a friend of DeGrazia.

DeGrazia's O'odham legend

Artwork on display at the DeGrazia Gallery in the Sun. The gallery's Centennial Retrospective features 100 examples of Ted DeGrazia's work.

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IF YOU GO

What: “DeGrazia, 100 years, 100 Works”

Where: DeGrazia Gallery in the Sun, 6300 N. Swan Road

When: Opening reception is 6 to 9 p.m. Friday. The gallery is open 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. daily.

Cost: free

The Lich King.

Editor’s note: Tucson Citizen reporter B. Poole has played “World of Warcraft” since March 2007. He is seriously addicted to this online-only game, which allows players to interact with others from around the globe to complete quests or kill non-player characters or each other. Through “World of Warcraft,” Poole has met gamers from Singapore, Brazil, France, New Zealand, Canada and more than a dozen states from Florida to Washington. He sometimes forgets he can’t make himself invisible in real life.

At first, I resisted “World of Warcraft.” That lasted about a week, then I was hooked on the computer game, which can be played only online with a high-speed Internet connection.

I am not alone.

Since WoW launched in 2004, it has grown to more than 11 million subscribers worldwide – each of whom pay $13 to $15 per month. The game, much like other online environments such as Everquest and Second Life, does not have the feel of a video game.

It’s more like a place to hang out with friends – with a heavy dose of shooting, spell-casting and demons, dwarves and dragons.

On Nov. 13, WoW publisher Blizzard Entertainment will release an expansion to the game – “The Wrath of the Lich King.” The much-anticipated launch will bring a fourth continent into the game world – Northrend – as well as thousands of new weapons and other gear and new skills and opportunities for player-vs.-player and player-vs.-environment combat.

The Lich King will also likely lure new players and spur old ones to new enthusiasm. WoW subscribers have been waiting for this launch for more than a year.

The expansion is selling fast in pre-orders. Many stores, including most local Gamestop stores, will be open at midnight Wednesday to let gamers get their hands on the goods as early as possible. Gamestop near Craycroft Road and Broadway has sold more than 200 pre-orders.

Daily WoW player Clint Wallace, a local insurance company staffer, is eagerly awaiting the release.

“I’m going to go to Gamestop to pre-order, just to make sure it’s in stock and I can have it after work on the 13th,” says Wallace, 31.

Some gamers will take vacation days to play next Thursday and Friday. Expect low attendance in some classes at the University of Arizona. Call your favorite store to see if it will be open for midnight sales.

New content, which Blizzard keeps flowing in periodic minor updates between major expansions such as Lich King, is a big draw for Tucsonan Scott Martin, 33, who has played for about 18 months.

“That’s kind of what keeps you coming back,” says Martin, owner of Arena Gaming, 1740 E. Fort Lowell Road. Martin hopes to have the game loaded on computers in his store shortly after the midnight release.

The game has something for everyone. If you want a point-and-shoot combat game, you can play WoW that way. If you want group interaction, you can do that.

There are simple tasks and beasts that can be tackled solo, or there are raid “dungeons,” areas accessible only in high-level groups with advanced weapons and armor.

“Just like life, there are decisions. Whatever you want it to be, it can be,” says Wallace, who sometimes logs in and just chats with friends.

The expansion will also introduce the death knight, a new type of character that combines skills from other classes (there are eight: rogue, mage, hunter, priest, shaman, warrior, paladin and druid). Players will be able to start a death knight at level 55 – more than halfway to the top level of 80 in the expansion. Currently, the top level in WoW is 70, which can take months of daily play to achieve.

New content also includes siege vehicles and destructible buildings and a new player-vs.-player battleground, Strand of the Ancients.

Some of the new features are already in the game. Talent trees, in which players assign points to customize their skills, already show talents to level 80. The skills, however, will not be available unless you buy the expansion.

Another new feature added in a recent update is the achievement system, which tracks accomplishments from the number of fish caught (yes, you can fish in WoW) and number of recipes learned (you can cook, too. I am a Chef de Partie, having learned 75 recipes).

The expansion, which requires both the “World of Warcraft” base game and the “Burning Crusade” expansion released two years ago, will launch with a suggested retail price of $39.99.

Tucson Citizen reporter B. Poole (Zzig) with his wife, Julie Sachau (Jaic), mingle with other Tucsonans in Undercity, a major Horde gathering spot. All play on the Suramar World of Warcraft server.

———

“WRATH OF THE LICH KING”

What: ‘World of Warcraft” expansion

When: Available Nov. 13. Some stores will be open at midnight Wednesday for impatient gamers. Call to check for midnight sales.

Where: Wherever video games are sold

Cost: “World of Warcraft” base game and “Burning Crusade” expansion, $40 when purchased together at Best Buy. “Wrath of the Lich King” expansion, $40. Subscription – $12.99 monthly if paid for six months in advance, $14.99 if paid monthly

Free trial: Free trials of “World of Warcraft are available for download at www.worldofwarcraft.com. For a link see this story at www.tucsoncitizen.com.

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GAME TIDBITS

• Includes hundreds of new quests to take characters from level 70 (the current maximum) to 80

• Has a new class, the death knight, which is a “tank” class. Tanks keep the attention of enemies while other players deal damage. The death knight, depending on customized skills, can also be a pure damage-dealer.

• Features new dungeons (player-vs.-environment group play areas) and a new battleground (player-vs.-player area)

• Includes more useful high-level patterns and recipes for all professions

• Has new daily quests, including more quests that will change daily – much the same as current cooking and fishing quests, which rotate daily

• The first patch (downloadable upgrade) after the Lich King release will allow ground mounts to swim

• The first patch after the Lich King release will include siege weapons that can destroy buildings

———

INTERNET LINKS

World of Warcraft: www.worldofwarcraft.com

Wrath of the Lich King: www.worldofwarcraft.com/wrath/

Allakhazam, a popular WoW info site: wow.allakhazam.com

WoWwiki, another popular WoW site: www.wowwiki.com

Some wall calendars can be so boring. Baby animals? Yawn. Nature scenes? Dull. Sports teams? No good unless they have a winning season. Corporate calendars? Zzzzzzzzzz.

Realizing that the market is ripe for exploitation, some companies are shaking things up by offering calendars featuring nontraditional pinups. The latest batch of models? Sexy priests, frolicking nuns, hot Mormons and hunky morticians.

Holy hunks

Intended to promote tourism in Vatican City, “Calendario Romano” features 12 handsome priests or seminarians striking poses in and around the ornate area that houses Pope Benedict XVI. Ladies (and a few gentlemen, too) will appreciate the beauty of the European men, who I’m sure have elicited some impure thoughts from usually well-behaved, good Catholics.

As my mom used to say when she got flustered and crossed herself, “Ave Maria Purisima!”

If churches had priests who looked like these, Sunday attendance would reach record levels. Heck, some parishioners might even sin on purpose just to get a few quality moments with the cute clergyman in the confessional.

Just ask LizzyG1978, who posted this comment about the calendar’s YouTube clip:

“I’d confess 10 times a day with these little priests, and I would gladly do my penance!! . . . Don’t tempt me, Satan, because these are forbidden men!!! hahahaha.”

Another woman adds, “What makes them even more beautiful is they have devoted their lives to God.”

Amen, sister, amen.

A used 2008 Calendario Romano is available for $6.99 on Amazon.com.

Nuns gone wild?

If you thought the boisterous behavior of the nuns in “Sister Act” was refreshing, then “A Year of Bad Habits” is the calendar for you.

The product description promises innocent enjoyment: “Nuns behaving badly? Well, not necessarily? . . . but they’re definitely having fun! “A Year of Bad Habits” presents a glimpse of what happens when holy sisters raise a little hell. Vintage photos are paired with hilarious captions that will have you laughing so hard you’ll get a ruler rap across the knuckles. . .”

Most nuns aren’t the mean, cold fish they’re made out to be in movies. They usually have a good sense of humor and don’t take themselves too seriously.

The photos show the silly sisters flying high in a Dumbo amusement ride and knocking one another around in bumper cars – among other activities.

A 2009 edition retails for $12.99 on calendars.com.

Men on a mission

Shirtless Mormons? Oh my god! What is this world coming to?

Entrepreneur Chad Hardy created a controversial calendar, “Men on a Mission,” showcasing 12 young Mormon hotties who had completed their religious service trips for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Some of the men pose without shirts, others are in traditional missionary garb.

Hardy, who in July was ex-communicated from the church over the calendar, says his intent was never to disrespect the church.

“The project is about stepping outside the stereotypes and stepping outside of the image,” Hardy told The Associated Press. “Not everybody fits the image and I let them (church elders) know we’re not trying to portray an image for the entire church.”

Church members appear divided on the issue.

On Amazon.com, customer Jason “JDawg” of Provo, Utah, writes: “This calander (sic) is representing returned LDS missionaries. It’s not of them currently serving. It’s their own choice to pose and I think it’s great! Mormons are sexy! We can be conservative and modest as usual, but sometimes we just need to flaunt it! Great job! Love the calander (sic)!

But another Amazon customer, Trevor Cook of Los Angeles, disagrees. “This product is completely inappropriate. It lacks modesty. It’s too bad I had to give this item even one star in the rating scale. There should be an option for a black hole rating scale because this item is detracting from all that is good in this world.”

You can order the calendar for $14.99 from www.mormonsexposed.com and form your own opinion.

Manly morticians

Morticians are a naughty bunch – if the menofmortuaries.com Web site is any indication. “These are just some of the few things that we do with our suits off …” teases a promo for the “Men of Mortuaries” 2008 calendar.

With a theme of “celebrating life,” the calendar spotlights drop-dead gorgeous funeral directors and morticians from across the country in various shirtless poses. These are no working stiffs (Sorry, I couldn’t resist).

It’s all in good fun. Proceeds benefit KAMM Cares, a nonprofit organization that helps breast cancer patients.

For only $3.95, you can have your own copy. Go to www.menofmortuaries.com.

The four-bedroom, three-car garage house built for the the Harper family of Lake City, Ga., is now in foreclosure.

Last week The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that a home in Lake City, Ga., was in foreclosure. That four-bedroom, three-car garage house was built in January 2005 by the “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” team, that teary-eyed crew led by man-child Ty Pennington.

And while foreclosures are happening across the U.S., this $450,000 mini mansion in Georgia highlights the gross commercialism and materialism of the ABC show.

Milton and Patricia Harper of Lake City just needed a house with a working septic system – the one in their old home, according to the Journal-Constitution story, backed up post-rainstorms. What the Harpers got, however, was more than a flushable toilet: a turreted house with four fireplaces, a solarium and a porte-cochere leading into an office. The heating and cooling bills would be enough to put the structure into foreclosure.

The hook of “EM:HE” is that the families are deserving, Sears banners chasing after them like crooked lawyers behind ambulances. There’s a weekly parade of community members pounding the pavement to the original home holding signs for the multinational corporation, led by Sears hawker Pennington.

Head to abc.com and you can see short videos – “Sears moments” – of crew members wandering the store. “Sears Gives to the Turner Family!” follows “EM:HE” carpenter Ed Sanders frolicking about the entertainment section, passing by TV after TV until he finds the largest one. He bows before it, an actor so grateful for reality TV.

Of course, Sears is savvy, super-sizing a long-standing tradition of product placement in an attempt to make some noise in the Tivo-lution. You could fast forward by the lovely Electrolux appliances, but then you’d miss Ty’s gelled hair and wrinkles of concern.

But besides being a giant advertisement for Ty’s sugar daddy and an assortment of construction companies, “Extreme Makeover” pushes an extreme notion of consumerism. A recently re-aired January episode featuring the Woodhouse family – so in debt because of their daughter’s medical bills they didn’t even have their own home – resulted in a two-story house with a bowling lane and ice cream parlor in the basement and a free truck. Courtesy of Ford.

Home improvement shows hammer their way throughout the cable box, from creaky grandpa “This Old House” to perky Gen Y-ers like TLC’s “Date My House.” The hosts offer decorating advice, low-budget fixes, a survey of a city’s real estate market, etc. They hold our hands as we go to The Home Depot and Crate & Barrel, smart consumers who make bad choices and just need to speed date for the right credenza.

The centerfold of “EM:HE” certainly includes that ginormous house, but every room is draped in the recipients’ sad story. No one would argue that the families aren’t deserving but Ty, ABC and the underwriters are the real heroes, armed with superpowers of charm and deep pockets.

The obscene materialism thrown at the families repositions their suffering as a lottery ticket, a means to getting a home that dwarfs every other in the neighborhood, as that house in Lake City reportedly does. Clearly it’s a Band-Aid that will get ripped off when the maintenance fund provided dries up or, in the case of the Harpers, when the business that used the house as collateral fails.

I miss the original, plastic surgery-focused “Extreme Makeover,” when the construction was done to bodies that later bore scars and bruises. The impact was immediate and raw and clearly self-destructive. Ty and company are more insidious, pushing a version of the American Dream that creates real-life stresses not seen on camera. Just ask the Harpers.

As of Aug. 5, according to the Journal-Constitution, they were in negotiations with their bank to be able to remain in the home. It had been listed for sale at $950,000 until recently.

Ty Pennington

The product placement on the show is less than subtle.

The Tucson Citizen Guayabera Social Club. Front row: Jen Lum, Michael Chihak, Polly Higgins, Kristina Dunham. Back row: Mike Truelsen, Dina L. Doolen, Arnie Bermudez, Elsa Nidia Barrett, Rogelio Yubeta Olivas.

Guayaberas aren’t just for old men anymore.

When I was in college 20 years ago my buddies used to make fun of me for wearing the Mexican wedding shirts. “Those are for viejitos (old men) or fat dudes,” they would tell me.

With the tops more stylish and varied than ever, I bet some of my pals now have developed an appreciation for them. Today’s guayaberas are appropriate for formal or casual gatherings. They also come in an array of colors, fabrics and looks, from traditional to contemporary, with elaborate colorful embroidery or kitschy retro patterns.

It’s no surprise the shirts have become popular outside Latin America and the United States, with everyone from young hipsters to older intellectuals wearing them. The clothing is especially prevalent in Cuba, Mexico and the Philippines, all of which claim to have invented the pleated, pocketed camisas.

Some nice guayaberas can be found online but the really cool and original ones are those hidden away at thrift stores. In Tucson, Savers has proved to be a treasure trove for the shirts.

Eight in my collection were on display last week when the Citizen had an unofficial “guayabera showdown” in honor of departing editor-publisher Michael Chihak. Mr. Big Cheese, who thinks he’s part Cuban (see his taste in music), was bragging about how nice his new shirt is. He said we’d probably never seen one like it and would be blown away.

Ever the skeptics, my co-workers and I decided to challenge him. I brought in the shirts and handed them out. The black-and-white photo (in print) doesn’t do them justice. But it shows the variety available on the market.

Arts writer Polly Higgins is wearing a Savers find: a retro classic from Yucatan, Mexico. It’s white with little blue Aztec or Mayan figures and a super-long ’70s collar.

Features designer Jen Lum is decked out in a peach top, with beautiful matching embroidery. Like Polly, she belted her oversized shirt over jeans, and completed the ensemble with high heels. They converted guayaberas into high fashion. Who knew? Tyra and Miss Jay from “America’s Next Top Model” would be proud.

The aqua one modeled by features editor Dina L. Doolen is unusual because it has a zipper instead of buttons. Pretty cool for a guayabera made in Korea. It’s an eBay special.

I’m wearing my personal fave: a “disco” guayabera I discovered at Savers on Fort Lowell. It’s made of shiny light-blue polyester-cotton, with subtle, little paisley designs throughout.

Chihak’s shirt is black with gold and reddish embroidery. It’s classy, elegant and perfect for the sophisticated, mature man.

Illustrator Arnie Bermudez’s model is the opposite of Chihak’s. With its tribal-like pattern and fewer pockets and pleats, it’s targeted more at the hip, younger set. Another eBay find.

Online content editor Mike Truelsen, events coordinator Elsa Nidia Barrett and Calendar designer Kristina Dunham opted for traditional variations in green (eBay), blue (Savers) and wine (Meryvn’s).

After modeling our shirts for most of the day, Chihak, with little discussion, fanfare or voting, proclaimed 27-year-old Arnie the winner of the contest. Which just goes to show that guayaberas really aren’t only for old, fat men anymore.

Comedian George Carlin

George Carlin’s death puts a spotlight on a void: The lack of comedian culture watchers.

Carlin, who died Sunday of heart failure at age 71, riffed on just about everything, and central to his persona was keeping one eye on us, one eye on The Man. He challenged the notion of “dirty” words (and had his favorite, which I certainly can’t expect my editor to let into print, but it rhymes with duck), he got pissed about the government’s reaction to 9/11, he was open about his love of pot. During his 2008 HBO special – his 14th, according to USA TODAY – he reveled in old age, saying that an old “duck” like himself can get away with anything. “(Duck) Lance Armstrong,” he said in that raspy voice that made you want to clear your throat, asking us if we were as tired as he of being told who to worship.

Carlin, after decades in the business, had status. That old (duck) had an audience.

I’m hard-pressed to think of an equivalent in the new crop of comedians, largely because the game has changed. The ones who achieve star status seem to come to celebrity by current standards: sheer availability.

The sad news is that arguably the biggest comedian we have is Will Ferrell, who pretty much plays one tune in his films. (“Me-me-me-me-me-me-me.”) I know this because I keep renting them. It’s a little thing called hope: Everyone wants a laugh.

Ferrell’s “Semi-Pro,” the most recent of his canon to hit DVD shelves, hinges on one-dimensional comedy. A lot of the jokes are sight gags, Ferrell’s gut packed into a form-fitting basketball uniform, him in a 1970s leisure suit (the film is set in the decade of disco), him with an afro.

The mere sight of his bare torso practically becomes a plot point in his movies. If a comedian revealing his man belly is still shockingly funny then call me an old lady and, please, bring me a decaf.

One reason I have a fondness for Carlin is because I didn’t understand him when I was a kid. His humor had layers, points to be made – it was adult. Trying to find layers in Ferrells’ humor is like peeling a grape: frustrating and pointless.

Carlin’s MO was to (duck) with norms, (duck) with expectations. Ferrell is a straight read whose comedy makes little commentary on the system. He’s just not filling.

Of course Ferrell’s earning power is bloated by his appeal to all ages, on down to the wee ones (naked jokes, accessible to toddlers). And he dominates the big screen, while Carlin peddled his comedy mainly on TV specials and live in concert halls. It’s scripted versus stand-up.

Not a fair fight? Let’s turn to cable, both the great hope and biggest disappointment for stand-up comedy. There are a lot of hours to fill in a day, so there’s a lot of recycled (crap) comedians willing to step in. They schlep it on every kind of pop culture montage show – not the kind of culture watchers I’d put in bed with Carlin.

Sarah Silverman could make a decent bedmate. She challenges taboos, has one filthy mouth and delivers jokes wrapped in stories and context rather than just dumping them on your doorstep. And her star is on the rise. Ditto Dave Chappelle on all of the above. His star will get back on track. (Jon Stewart seems like an obvious inclusion here, but I have yet to make it through an entire episode of his show.) They’re both a bit rough around the edges but are necessary voices who hopefully, with their shock-with-purpose coterie – Amy Sedaris, Chelsea Handler and on – continue to be heard.

Carlin just spoke loud enough until we couldn’t turn away, and, really, in these (duck)ing unstable economic and political times, we need some good shouters.