I was spectacularly out of my element.

LIFE <META>: I have been...out. Tonight, that is. I have been out with The Twins. The evening began with shopping, followed by dinner, followed by many drinks at a familiar nightclub. There was dancing, there was shirt removal, more dancing and...well, after there the details are a bit hazy. Somehow, we ended up in a downtown warehouse tricked out with more sound and lighting equipment than one commonly sees at a Rolling Stones concert. I am unclear on the pharmacological menu of the evening but, after some four hours of virtually non-stop music and motion, I am wide awake and expect to remain so for two to three days at the outside. As has become par for the course on my outings with My Favorite Circuit Boys, I was spectacularly out of my element. I was at least half to a full decade older than most of the crowd, had far fewer piercings and, despite my recent near-religious gym attendance, felt conspicuous amid so many men with bodies so tight it appeared they had marinated in Preparation H. I have been assured by my companions that I held my own, however, and I suspect that when the messy specifics come to light in days hence, it will be revealed that I attempted to hold several other people's as well.

YOUR PLASTIC PAL WHO'S FUN TO BE WITH: Some serendipitous surfing uncovered this unofficial 2XL page. I'm certain that somewhere in a box at the old homestead, my 2XL toy is entombed along with an assortment of his rudimentary interactive 8-track (!) tapes. Yes, children, this is what passed for high-tech entertainment in my youth.

I AM SUCH A DOG: I'm not a huge fan of "young country," preferring instead the piquant twang of George Jones or the mournful wail of Patsy Cline to such newcomers as Garth or Shania. (There are some notable exceptions, of course.) But now and again, I can be swayed into picking up a CD solely on the basis of the cute boy on the cover. Such was the case when I picked up Jason Sellers' latest album, "A Matter of Time." Damn me and my hormones...this album blows. Forget the toothsome mug on the jewel case. The kid sings as though he's in pain and there's only a too-brief duet with the talented Pam Tillis to redeem it. Henceforth, I shall count to 10 and insist on a preview listen before making such an impulse purchase again. (I originally — and charitably — thought perhaps this was just a weak debut CD, but the folks at CDnow say he had another album in 1997. Clearly there's a reason for the gap.)

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