I'm told the band quit over a spiritual schism that developed during the "Jesus on a Taco" tour last winter... but they were replaced by machinery.

I could care less...I've come for the singer, and if there's a piece to be written, I figure divine guidance might help me through...now or never.

The waiter steps out of the kitchen, murmurs a few words to the bartender, who leans down and shuts off the juke box, which had just finished a retrospective of the Cowsills' "happy period"... culminating in their version of "Ave Maria" that made my hair stand on end.

The waiter walks towards the pool, and as he passes my table he leans over imperceptibly and quietly places my food and drink in front of me...I barely notice. He steps to the bandstand and flicks the switch on the Rhythm King, and the intro begins: the singers are canned, but at least they're on pitch, which helps.

The waiter--I know him as "Doc"--steps up to the mic on cue, and begins: "Nunc hic aut numquam," he sings, and I know what he means.

The absinthe grabs hold of my lower brain-- the part that controls my ability to discriminate between Art and Near-Art--and pulls up a chair for the duration.

It looks like another normal evening for: Rick Rosenbaum, Jewish Critic...On Assignment!