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Me,me, me 

I've always admired Rochester women for their fortitude, their pulchritude, and their attitude. After a recent break-up, a friend of mine pawned all the jewelry she'd gotten from the ex and bought a stack of Charles Bukowski books. She's available, and soon she'll know all our secrets.

            "Be a model or just look like one." I posed at Sari Gaby's portrait class last Friday morning for three hours. A room full of budding art students looking at me, drawing pictures of me, and asking questions about me --- me, me, me. That's right, sitting still for eternity, staring at the wall as Van Morrison drowned out my guardian angel.

            Word to the wise: If you're hooked on these new Colgate battery-powered toothbrushes like I am, you might want to turn it off before pulling it out of your mouth (big mess if you don't). These new dental devices work great on belly buttons, as well.

The virtuosos in The California Guitar Trio waxed euphoric and hypnotic at their Milestones show. They were like PDQ Bach munchin' peyote on a Baroque surf board in the Santa Fe desert, while the good, the bad, and the ugly looked on for a fistful of dollars.

Ok, so Drums & Tuba are unique in their approach (though I think the tuba player should wear lederhosen), but what about that guitar player? Holy shit. He made them sound like The Band Of Gypsies in space --- funky, exploratory, and fun.

The new Lux Lounge is truly a lounge; ultra-hip and tres cool. I'm having all my mail forwarded there.

Went to the LA County Zoo last week, where the line between animals and humans blurred. The endless parade of slack-jawed dimwits, snickering at primate genitalia while shrugging off their brat's demands for corndogs, ice cream, and attention, seemed to amuse the animals.

The Gore Gore Girls, three red-hot Motor City mamas in go-go boots and white vinyl mini-dresses, positively tightened the wigs of all the hip-shakin' hipsters at Montage Friday night with their bad-ass girl-group-in-a-girl-gang garage rock. Carried on with the girls until 3:30 a.m., feeding our faces at Mark's Texas Hots (where the girls received a standing ovation upon entering). Dragged my Lumina against Herman's Omega down Monroe Ave. for pink slips, with the Gore Gore Girls screaming out the window.

            Played a mighty triple bill with the Razzles (muscle-car punk from Buffalo), The Cheats (dirtypunk rock from Pittsburgh), and special guest sax-man Tommy Gravino (in clothes) at The Bug Jar Saturday in front of one of the best looking audiences I've seen in a while, all shakin' their asses in the torrid heat and diggin' me, me, me.

            After being up a record 72 hours, I fell back to earth at the Clothesline Arts Festival and admired the widely varied art and widely varied patrons through glassy, road-map eyes. One patron entertained me one on one with some contemporary blue-eyed soul.

            A few hours in dreamland, then I'm off to play me some bingo.

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