In the past few days everybody has been thinking and talking about where they were and what they were doing on 9/11. What about how we picked up the pieces on 9/12? To be sure, there were many head-on musical responses to the events of September 11, 2001.

In California, not only is marijuana on the cusp of being legal (it's walking a razor's edge), but it's big business. Think expo halls full of half-naked females being leered at by middle-age, judiciously stoned men. At this year's Hempcon 2011 in San Jose, California - the basic conceit of which is, "So, you want to open a marijuana dispensary?"

Think about this for a second: monkeys that are robots, fighting. Or to put a finer point on it: robot monkeys smashing into and hitting one another until your local bar is littered with shards of broken plastic. This Saturday, Brooklyn takes on Manhattan in the Robot Monkey Wars Chimpionship II at t.b.d.

The off-season on the East End was nothing so much as an elaborate game of musical chairs, where restaurants swapped locations, switched bays and changed towns, and when the music stopped, one of the only people sans chair was, of course, Jean Luc.

You always knew Williamsburg was a real freakshow. And if you like both craft-brewed beer and sideshows, then has Spike Hill got the lager (and entertainment) for you. Coney Island Lager is finishing a week-long residency at the Bedford Ave bar. How does a beer have a residency you may ask?

Few people come to the West Village to go to the WXOU Radio Bar. It's flanked by famous neighbors like The White Horse Tavern across the way and The Spotted Pig down 11th Street. But locals know WXOU boasts one of the best jukeboxes in the city and provides a respite from having to elbow your way to the bar at other places.

Just when you think we've all gone off the cliff in this city, that we've all become so obsessed with the minutia of leisure and lifestyle and dining that we no longer make any sense and never will again, that we've gone past the point of no return, there is the voice of reason to rescue us from spiraling into meaninglessness.

As Almond, the well-regarded Bridgehampton bistro, opened a Manhattan outpost last week there were a few questions. First, will the menu carry the standbys of the namesake, or skew more towards the offerings of the trattoria Almondcello? The menu revealed when the restaurant opened its doors on 22nd Street showed mostly the former with a smattering of the latter.

A man preparing for his wedding has a whole lot on his mind. That's where a medical marijuana license can come in handy. But as a displaced New Yorker exiled in Northern California, I didn't exactly have the right to avail myself of the state's loosened marijuana regulations as I prepared for my impending nuptials.

The grand opening of Avenue (10th Ave. btw 17th and 18th), from Marquee vet Noah Tepperberg, this week makes one thing clear (and yes it's too late to say bottle service killed New York): The word gastro has got to go.

An abandoned subway station in Brooklyn might not be the first place you look for a lesson in primitive filmmaking, but that's where you'll find one. Riding on the B or Q trains from Dekalb Ave to Manhattan commuters looking out the window where usually only rats and mole people are spotted are treated to a fanciful installation by artist Bill Brand called the Masstransiscope.

The Tribeca vino hall and music venue City Winery (which, it must be said, moves pretty damn fast) owned by Michael Dorf of the defunct Knitting Factory, hops on the tribute train tonight with a wine and music pairing featuring five wines -- one for each MJ era -- and 25 songs.

When the New York Dolls took the stage in Williamsburg last night they were nothing if not dramatic. The anticipation of seeing the Dolls perform can't be what it was a few years ago, when they "reunited" (Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan were long dead and Arthur "Killer" Kane played one show with the reincarnated Dolls in London before dying as well -- leaving only David Johansen and guitarist Sylvain Sylvain from the classic line-up), but a darkened theater and blaring music that sounded as though it was meant to herald the second coming of Christ, not David Johansen, did the trick.

Dear Bacon, Perhaps we were a bit too hasty before when we said we were through with you. When we saw you last night at Employees Only in the West Village wrapped around that tiny New Zealand lamb chop, well, we have to admit, our blood got up a bit.

The previews have begun at Vanity Fair editor-in-chief Graydon Carter's second stab at remodeling (you'll remember how he gutted and rebuilt the Waverly Inn in his own image). The Monkey Bar, the shuttered W. 54th Street simian-themed old-New York classic that Carter is re-opening, hosted invited VIP guests to sample the menu this week, according to reports.

Ikea is serving up Santa's finest in Europe. And animal rights activists are none too pleased. Apparently, in Sweden reindeer meat is quite the holiday treat, so it makes sense that the purveyor of solutions for modern living and unofficial ambassador of Swedish culture would spread the love.