Get outside, people: Maybe most of you, dear readers, are hardy souls who have continued to go outside all summer during the insane heat and life-sapping humidity that afflicts those who live in the near-tropical American South, perhaps especially here in the benighted province of Alabama.

ATTENTION DEFICIT DRAMA: If you’re someone who appreciates theatre, then you know the possible drawbacks that come when you step into an auditorium or amphitheater or concert hall to take in a play. You know that a restless audience can easily impede your enjoyment of the material.

This week, the Alys Robinson Stephens Performing Arts Center celebrates the beginning of their new season. In the course of their first 11 days, they will assemble close to 30 performances for your enjoyment, as well as bring together outdoor parties, an afternoon salon, lunchtime demonstrations and discussions, a show for families and more.

STEP INTO ART: There are a lot of reasons not to go to an art show. For one, the work could be lousy. You’re obviously not going to get much out of the experience if you don’t think the artist is talented. Secondly, exhibitions are often-times limited to one or two artists.

SELECT YOUR SCENE: Nights at the Firehouse, you’re most likely to see a string of four or five obscure bands with exceedingly esoteric names. The venue has been going strong almost a year now under this regiment—booking shows on four to five days out of the week, cramming the line-up full, and letting loose. So far it’s seemed to work like a charm, enough that the venue can afford to go out of its way this month to arrange some broader, more eclectic events.

ROLLIN’ FOR THE RIVER: We’re not talking about Creedence Clearwater Revival’s story of man who left a good job in the city in which he was working for the man every night and day (possibly as a dishwasher in Memphis or pumping propane in New...

AN AMPLE PREAMBLE: On one weekend every year for almost the past decade, dozens of artists have installed their visual art in the galleries and shops of Birmingham’s loft district for a free walkable, beautiful art festival of sorts. In past years, more than 10,000 folks have perused that gathering of art, music and vendors, which is called Artwalk.

WE SHOULD BAN THE WORD INDIE: Seriously. For me, the word carries the same lack of meaning as words/phrases like “responsible drinking,” or “healthy eating,” “livable wage,” or “Tea Party,” or perhaps “9/11” during Rudy Guiliani’s failed campaign for president.

For last week’s cover story, Birmingham Weekly contributing editor Jesse Chambers interviewed Lee Shook about the 2010 Improvisor Festival happening all this month at various venues around Birmingham and throughout the South. Shook described improvisation in this way: “You may fall flat on your face and have people running for the exits, or you may blow somebody’s mind who says, ‘I didn’t know you could do that with music, I never knew that was possible.’ When you see someone do something amazing, it’s one of the most uplifting things. Somebody just threw themselves into the cauldron to see if they sink or swim.”

There’s this song I’ve loved for a long-time called “Sharon” by a bluesman/folk singer named David Bromberg. It’s about a trip to a carnival—“No big deal, Ferris wheel, same old stuff, you know”—except for this one little tent. Outside the barker described the goings-on inside in this manner: “She walks, she talks! She crawls on her belly like a reptile!” Inside the tent, there’s basically a belly-dancer strip show—Sharon walks out “in a scarf in a sneeze,” and dances “like her back had no bone.” That song was really the first piece of art that, for me, lent any sensuality to the circus/carnival circuit, but now I appreciate the sensuality and the sensuousness—the art, if you will—of such alternative entertainment, and am greatly looking forward to the burlesque and sideshow entertainment at The Coney Island Cockabilly Roadshow.