How low can you go? For Buffalonians, that question has no easy answer. You shell out for the Entertainment Book, but you can't use the coupon for the Eagle House because it's not good on the fish fry and that's all you ever get. You don't tell your friends about the Trinity White Elephant Sale because they might wear the same size as you, and you don't want to share the bargains. You ask your buddy to grab that half-full pitcher of beer the folks at the next table left behind. Better still, you grab the pitcher yourself. ... These are all good penny-pinching ideas. But they pale before this last one: You garbage pick from Tiny Gleed! We're serious. It seems the famed East Aurora packrat finally did throw something out -- a couple of broom handles -- and a neighbor grabbed them. He says, "They come in handy."
That face, that face
That mustache. That silver hair. That enigmatic smile. They can mean only one thing -- that Channel 2's Mike Igoe, host of the annual Jerry Lewis Muscular Dystrophy Telethon, has somehow bumbled into "The Pink Panther." We've got him all mixed up with Steve Martin, the new Inspector Clouseau! Could Clouseau use Igoe as his double? Better still, could Igoe inject the next telethon with a soupcon of zat French aczent? We bet zee donations would zoar.
What the dickens
Last week, Aquarians and their sympathizers gathered at Prespa for their annual Aquarius Birthday Party, the best part of which is the way you can talk about astrology and not feel silly. One Aquarius got a special flower because her moon was in Aquarius. A Leo declaimed: "If I ever start a business I'd surround myself with Libras. There's never any friction between us." Guests wore Aquarians' names stuck to their backs and had to guess who they were, from Carl Bernstein, Rosa Parks and Matt Groenig to Paris Hilton and Placido Domingo. The Leo who had no friction with Libras wound up being Charles Dickens. He said Buffalo has a disproportionate number of Scorpios, and that he had attended a few Scorpio-themed parties. "But," he added, "what happens there isn't something you can talk about the next day."
Glass half full
Unbelievably, twice in three days, with the bar at Sportsmen's Tavern completely lined with patrons, someone bought the entire bar a round of drinks. Twice! In one weekend! The second time, it turned out the big butter and egg man was none other than Ronnie of Pokey Joe's Club Bar, the retro Austin Street place where we used to go for Sunday night jazz. There's no jazz at Club Bar these days, but he says there are great bands Saturday. (But here he was on Saturday night, clear across Black Rock. Oh, well.) One important thing that lives on at Club Bar, though, is its vintage block glass. "Damn right, from the '50s!" Ronnie said. But his customers, he sighed, are hard on the place. "@#$(*&'s break my glass," he lamented. "They break it with their bottles."
What is a man without an accordion? Find out at 5:30 p.m. Thursdays, starting today, when Lee Ron Zydeco puts down his squeezebox to sing and play keyboards for happy hour at Shango, the New Orleans bistro in the University District.
"One night he helped a young woman whose fist had gotten stuck in a bathroom wall after she tried to punch another woman. Something drew them together..."
-- Story in Parade magazine Sunday, dismissing how Garth Brooks met his first wife