Perhaps there wasn't much to begin with. Or, maybe it had already been pretty picked over, which is what someone leaving told me as I arrived.  Or, maybe the previous evening's preview party had been heavily attended and they scooped up the treasures. Regardless, when I took a look early Friday afternoon the Arts & Treasures sale at the Memorial Art Gallery didn't seem to have much of the latter.

Well laid out, the items were placed on tables along the walls and an inside perimeter of Cutler Auditorium. The dishes, records, collectors' plates, linens, quilts, jewelry, rugs, silverwares, etc., seemed oddly exposed, taking up such little space in the cavernous area.

Across the hall were works on paper by Ester Polick and paintings by Mary Orwen. Lining the walls and set on tables, this area was well stocked with artwork.

Not finding any gotta-have-its, I left. I did find a treasure though -- the tree-lined walkway between the old and new buildings. Priceless.

Thursday night I made my way down to the new Party in the Park site to see Los Lobos. Parking, as my friend texted me in all caps, F*CKING SUCKS! All parking is a walk from the site. And security rivals that of an airport. Or of Water Street Music Hall, where it seems they're always looking for a fight. Even my tiny paperback-sized purse was thoroughly checked for weapons of mass destruction.

Once in, If ound that the Riverside Park space is big, but bigger is not always better. Ultimately, you're standing in a big-ass parking lot. A big, flat expanse of blacktop that reflects the heat right back atcha. Not a tree or any shade in sight.

Refreshments are limited. There's beer and wine and Temple Bar burgers and such. And if you don't drink alcohol, you've got just three other choices: RC cola, Diet Rite cola, or water. No Coke, no Pepsi, no getting your Dew on, no being a Pepper allowed.

The upside: the sound was good.

Next up: "Rochester Biennial"

Last week I ran into a woman who told me that reading a City's Choice on an altered book workshop inspired her to attend. Neither of us knew the other had been there, but we discussed how cool we thought the books were, and also our own pitiful attempts at the workshop to make one. I blogged about it here. I say this because when I learned that the Memorial Art Gallery's "Rochester Biennial" was to include a book artist, I was excited.

First, a gripe. The $10 admission seems a bit steep considering I can go to Buffalo's Albright-Knox, which IMHO has a far superior permanent collection, for the same price.

And on to the dogs. Juan Perdiguero's doggy drawings are the kind of art that makes me see what I view as mistakes. "You smudged it there. You forgot to erase your pencil outline." They reminded me a bit of Tim Burton creations, with their glowing eyes.

Next was Susan Lakin's photographs of peoples' reflections in their television sets. Initially interesting, like TV-obscura, it quickly became boring. I found the settings and the posed smiling faces lacking any interesting features. The placements, high and low on the walls, while giving the idea that the settings were to seem life-like, were a bit annoying. It mattered not, as I was just about to turn the corner to see what I really came to see -- the books.

The books. Some were like murals painted on accordion-like folding pages. Others were collages. One had piano-hinged pages. They were pretty. They were well made, beautiful even. But not at all what I expected. These were more the art of bookbinding and bookmaking. They were art books. I was expecting altered books -- books made into artworks. I was bitterly disappointed.

Then, I turned the corner...

Gigantic, 800 lb. bronze sculptures of black birds are impressive. "I model these forms to contain a taut equilibrium, a balanced pressure from inside and out -- like a breath held in," says Todd McGrain's artist statement. Mission accomplished. I would gladly take one home to live with me. There was a living essence in them that made them feel like old friends to me.

Imagine things wired to a wired stand. That's Ronald Gonzalez's installation. Wiry stands with odd objects like antique toys and tools connected on top. I didn't understand the artist's statement about the "...shared psychic indeterminacy, tragic consciousness..." of the objects, but I did feel like I was channeling Ty Pennington giving a lecture on grouping objects by theme.

By far the most surprising to me were Melissa Sarat's paintings. At first I thought they were quilted. They are so bright and plump that they seem almost three-dimensional. Brimming with symbolism, they transported me to a steamy bayou, replete with drug-induced dancing. I don't know much about art, other than what I like and don't like. But her work, I just know it is good.

Next up: Stay-cation on Canandaigua Lake

It's challenging to find anything good about the rising cost of gas. However, as I am a woman who loves words, the addition of two new words to the Urban Dictionary created by the soaring oil prices gives me the self-delusion of finding something redeeming about it. Daycation and staycation, while now admitted only into a rogue dictionary, may well someday end up in The Oxford.

This past weekend I went on a staycation at a cottage on Canandaigua Lake. Arriving late afternoon on Friday, and having established the Top Secret House Rules, me and four of my gal pals proceeded to eat, drink, sleep, float, soak, sloth, and giggle our way through Sunday.

All of us are pet owners, so we were pleased with the kitty who entered the open door the first night and proceeded to come and go as she pleased for the weekend. We named her Matilda, gave her bowls of half and half, bits of leftovers, and speculated about her permanent living arrangements ad nauseum. She slept on our beds, usually on our heads.

Set on the eastside of the lake, we watched the sun go down nightly, had a campfire and the mandatory yearly s'more, and discussed such highbrow subjects as women TV personalities. Kelly Ripa - mixed. Elizabeth Hasselbeck - ick. Rachael Ray - nice, but no neck. Across the lake, wonderful illegal fireworks were set off nightly.

As the gal in charge of bringing the vodka brought raspberry flavored -- we have yet to find out why -- we experimented. Raspberry vodka does not a good lemon drop make. And no, it does not make a new cool shot. Better to stick with mixers; in our case, pink lemonade and ice tea.

Sunday, we decided to venture out and pretend to be tourists in downtown Canandaigua at the Art & Music Festival. On our way from the parking lot we got sidetracked by the huge blown glass birds in the window of Nadal Glass Gallery. Struck by the beautiful rounded glass brick columns and aluminum awning that belonged to Wally's Pub next door, we decided it would be the perfect place for Bloody Marys. Inside was a well-worn wooden, horseshoe-shaped bar with a glass brick kick. Being told we had to wait two minutes until we could be served - it was 11:58 a.m. - we checked out the rest of the place. A dive, but a beautiful old art deco dive. We were treated to homemade BM's -- not a mix -- with the barmaid making a great show of the libations. After quickly slurping them down through straws, we headed to the fest. We lasted about a half hour in the humid hot and headed back to lakeside, making a quick stop for ice cream cones. Mine: chocolate soft-serve with cherry dip. Yum!

Home, we began the rotation of eat, drink, sleep, float, soak, sloth, and giggle once again. Leaving was sad.

Next up: Garage Sale & Super Flea at the Public Market

In years past, the Rochester Public Market offered its summertime Community Garage Sales and Super Fleas once a month. They are now held every Sunday, and that might explain why only a portion of the available vendor spaces were in use.

The day was bright and sunny, and upon entering the compound I was struck by the amount of doggy bags. That's dogs in bags, a practice that has become somewhat of an epidemic since "Legally Blonde." After questioning one such pet carrier, I was told the practice saves the pooch's paws from being trampled upon. However, I also wonder if this is a way around the "no dogs allowed" rules, a possibility that both excites and concerns me. Breaking rules can be exciting. Dogs where dogs shouldn't be is a concern. Are itsy-bitsy canines that yip rather than bark not considered dogs anymore? I digress...

Although there were some stalls of fruit and veggies, the majority were full of garage sale finds. At first not being drawn to explore any spot more fully, I soon found myself rummaging through vintage dinner and silver wares, frayed quilts, and taste-testing some of the best sweet potato pie I've ever had.

After years of unrestrained collecting, I have a self-imposed rule regarding purchases. If I don't want to take care of it for the rest of my life, I don't buy it. I appease myself by telling myself I can come look at it anytime and therefore don't need to own it. I found nothing that I wanted to dust or move with me forever. My friend, on the other hand, set herself up for disappointment. She told herself she wasn't going to get anything, but left carrying two paintings, a lamp, and some plates, all from the 1950-60s.

The security guards get to drive around in cute little electric carts. They told me it was similar to a golf cart with a top speed of 26 mph.

I'll be back to visit my non-purchased items -- and to get another piece of that sweet potato pie.

Next up: "Peels & Squeals"