To call Lumonics an art gallery is to do this one-of-a-kind place something of a disservice. Yes, there is plenty of art on hand, mainly in the form of "light sculptures" -- industrial plastic pieces that range from small to monumental, all illuminated either from within or from outside sources. Some of these date back to the days of co-founder Mel Tanner, who died in 1993; others were made by his wife, Dorothy, who has carried on the work she began with Mel when they first started creating their light-based art in the late 1960s. But these pieces, as extraordinary as many of them are, are just the tip of the iceberg at Lumonics. The Tanners have always called their space a "specialized sensory environment," and that environment stimulates all the senses: subtle incense to tickle the nose, fragrant teas to stimulate both nose and palate, gently pulsing lights to engage the eyes, softly glowing fountains to soothe eyes and ears, and cushiony furniture to encourage relaxation. Did we mention the light show? A visit to Lumonics isn't complete without Dorothy and creative partner Marc Billard's spectacular show, which pairs music (including original compositions) with multimedia and digital video projections and a dazzling array of light effects projected onto a huge wall in the gallery's big main room.

Historically speaking, Monday night is clubland wasteland. After a weekend of partying, folks tend to use Monday for rest and recuperation. Most club owners and talent bookers hate to schedule bands on a Monday night, especially out-of-town acts without a proven track record in these parts. In fact, this inaugural visit from New York City's Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra could very well have ended up one of those embarrassments plagued by a pitiful turnout. Yet not only was the Culture Room filled with spectators this particular Monday evening, the pure Afro-funk energy turned them into bona-fide participants. Encapsulating the energy, spirit, and politicized venom of deceased Nigerian superstar Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, the 13-piece orchestra turned this bar at Oakland Park Boulevard and Federal Highway into a sweaty Lagos discothèque, with each and every soul compelled to dance in a most uninhibited fashion. Even after a year, just the memory of that punchy horn section and those sinuous polyrhythms is enough to make feet do a phantom tap for old times' sake.

Historically speaking, Monday night is clubland wasteland. After a weekend of partying, folks tend to use Monday for rest and recuperation. Most club owners and talent bookers hate to schedule bands on a Monday night, especially out-of-town acts without a proven track record in these parts. In fact, this inaugural visit from New York City's Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra could very well have ended up one of those embarrassments plagued by a pitiful turnout. Yet not only was the Culture Room filled with spectators this particular Monday evening, the pure Afro-funk energy turned them into bona-fide participants. Encapsulating the energy, spirit, and politicized venom of deceased Nigerian superstar Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, the 13-piece orchestra turned this bar at Oakland Park Boulevard and Federal Highway into a sweaty Lagos discothèque, with each and every soul compelled to dance in a most uninhibited fashion. Even after a year, just the memory of that punchy horn section and those sinuous polyrhythms is enough to make feet do a phantom tap for old times' sake.

Have you ever gotten a whiff of Nag Champa? It seeps into your clothes. It does strange things to you. It makes you want to turn on your black light, stare at your Pink Floyd poster, and just "be cool, man." It turns anxious Type A's into mellow love and peaceniks. Now, Afro-Cuban free-jazz groups aren't often known for a sense of humor, but this Fort Lauderdale band makes the dreaded dorm room incense (all right, now you know what we're talking about) sound clever, and that deserves a round of applause. Or, at least a "right on."

Have you ever gotten a whiff of Nag Champa? It seeps into your clothes. It does strange things to you. It makes you want to turn on your black light, stare at your Pink Floyd poster, and just "be cool, man." It turns anxious Type A's into mellow love and peaceniks. Now, Afro-Cuban free-jazz groups aren't often known for a sense of humor, but this Fort Lauderdale band makes the dreaded dorm room incense (all right, now you know what we're talking about) sound clever, and that deserves a round of applause. Or, at least a "right on."

Cheap 'n' dirty. That's the way we like our women, and that's the way we like our movie theaters. Here, there ain't no $8 popcorn, there ain't no $12 tickets, and there ain't no highfalutin "independent films" for no sissies. It's three bucks a person ($1 for children under 12) to get in, and y'all can sit just fine in the bed of your pickup truck or what have you. We always bring a blanket, and we like to bring a boom box, 'cause you gotta listen to the sound on the radio, and we don't like to drain the battery on the Ford, else Scooter's gotta come and give us a jump. Just the other night, I took Debbie to see Starsky & Hutch -- I'm tellin' ya, they show pretty new movies for three bucks! But I can't really say how good the movie was, 'cause it's a drive-in and all, and like I told ya, I like my women cheap 'n' dirty...
Cheap 'n' dirty. That's the way we like our women, and that's the way we like our movie theaters. Here, there ain't no $8 popcorn, there ain't no $12 tickets, and there ain't no highfalutin "independent films" for no sissies. It's three bucks a person ($1 for children under 12) to get in, and y'all can sit just fine in the bed of your pickup truck or what have you. We always bring a blanket, and we like to bring a boom box, 'cause you gotta listen to the sound on the radio, and we don't like to drain the battery on the Ford, else Scooter's gotta come and give us a jump. Just the other night, I took Debbie to see Starsky & Hutch -- I'm tellin' ya, they show pretty new movies for three bucks! But I can't really say how good the movie was, 'cause it's a drive-in and all, and like I told ya, I like my women cheap 'n' dirty... Readers' Choice: Muvico Theaters
Taking responsibility for Stickshift Lover is a quintet of crazies consisting of moonlighting members of Where Fear and Weapons Meet and The Agency. A sendup of cock-rock excess, SSL is like Spinal Tap meets Tenacious D, topped with mulletized fright wigs of ungodly proportions. With a 300-pound front man packed into spandex tights, plus smoke machines and dry ice out the wazoo, Stickshift Lover is truly a sight to behold. In case you missed their sole live appearance, at the Factory in December 2003, our condolences. If "How much cock will it take, baby, before you're satisfied? You took a shot in the back, then you took one in the eye, oh my!" isn't the most memorable line in rock 'n' roll history by now, it's only because "You've got bedroom eyes, but I want what's between your thi-i-i-i-ghs" got there first. Stickshift Lover collects every sexist cliché known to hair-metal, spreads it around on a Slip 'n' Slide, and dives in.
Taking responsibility for Stickshift Lover is a quintet of crazies consisting of moonlighting members of Where Fear and Weapons Meet and The Agency. A sendup of cock-rock excess, SSL is like Spinal Tap meets Tenacious D, topped with mulletized fright wigs of ungodly proportions. With a 300-pound front man packed into spandex tights, plus smoke machines and dry ice out the wazoo, Stickshift Lover is truly a sight to behold. In case you missed their sole live appearance, at the Factory in December 2003, our condolences. If "How much cock will it take, baby, before you're satisfied? You took a shot in the back, then you took one in the eye, oh my!" isn't the most memorable line in rock 'n' roll history by now, it's only because "You've got bedroom eyes, but I want what's between your thi-i-i-i-ghs" got there first. Stickshift Lover collects every sexist cliché known to hair-metal, spreads it around on a Slip 'n' Slide, and dives in.
No, you don't have to try the garlic ice cream if you don't feel like it. But for your own sake, put away your preconceptions. Toss your trepidation. Forget your aversion to the smelly subterranean substance. The lowly clove is enjoying a quiet renaissance -- led by nouvelle cuisine chefs, mostly, and those who praise its health benefits -- and we are so down, the fest has turned into one of Delray's biggest claims to fame. Now, South Florida's soils aren't at all compatible with the conditions favored by the old Stinking Rose, but that doesn't stop farmers from trucking in six-headed hybrids of the beloved bulb. Now in its sixth year, this unlikely combination of garlic and good times has expanded to a three-day blowout featuring live music, and hordes of folks so geeked-up over garlic, the Altoids people should seriously consider co-sponsorship. Garlic -- it's not just for vampires anymore.

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