Inside, there were ramps for strollers and, to the left of the pews, an entire stroller parking area. A Kolcraft and Chicco stuck out amongst the many Maclarens, like two Pintos in a cavalcade of BMW’s.

“This is crazy!” cried a mom.

“This is chaos!” cried another mom.

It was a happy chaos, and yet one worried. An encumbered stroller fell backward, its human cargo’s legs suspended in the air. Parents rushed to the rescue. A toddler standing nearby began to wail, horrified at the toppling of another’s trusted street tank.

New York State Assembly candidate Bill Batson was outside introducing himself to the eager adults, who were dressed in jeans and windbreakers and sneakers: middle-to-upper-class ready-for-anything wear. “These would be my peeps,” Mr. Batson said. And later added: “Brooklyn doesn’t need to be given a makeover. We stand within a half-mile of some of the greatest cultural institutions in the world. It’s not the place for 17 skyscrapers and a steel city.

“Brownstone Brooklyn is not a white, yuppie community,” Mr. Batson also said, and then scanned the very white crowd, which numbered over 1,400 and, according to D.D.D.B., included actress Michelle Williams.

“The folks who came to the concert have the money to do so,” Mr. Batson said. (Tickets cost $12.) A tall man slunk by carrying two kids at once—presumably to get them in for free.

(Controversy would erupt a few days later when African-American leaders who support the Atlantic Yards project called for an apology from D.D.D.B. spokesperson Daniel Goldstein after comments he made to a reporter; he later issued the apology.)

Incidentally, this was right across the street from another Ratner project, the Atlantic Terminal mall, home to Target and Designer Shoe Warehouse and wind tunnels. Construction on the nearby subway station, a hub in Brooklyn, clogged the streets; between that and the 512-foot-tall Williamsburgh building and the big, brown blocky mall, the teeny fans must’ve felt very teeny indeed. Where, oh, where was their beloved Brooklyn sky?

But spirits were high at United Methodist. Before long, a volunteer lawyer named Candace Carponter—not the founder of iVillage—took the pulpit to introduce the musical guest. “Kids, do you know how tall 60 stories high is?” Ms. Carponter said, describing the Atlantic Yards project, phasing in and out of adult-voice and kid-voice. “How many of you live in a building 10 stories high?”

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” cried a neurotic youngster in the crowd, having an anticipatory meltdown. Another overzealous toddler-fan in a striped shirt and jeans kept screaming “Yay!” at the wrong times. (Toddler-fans are a strange sight: It’s never clear whether they’re screaming and bouncing around because they actually love the musician, or because they’ve realized that when in the presence of the musician, Mommy and Daddy don’t scream at them for screaming and bouncing.)

Ms. Carponter introduced “our youngest spokesperson—my daughter,” who promptly apologized for her mother’s “boring” speech. “I don’t want Brooklyn turned into another Manhattan,” said Alia, age 12. After a few more words, she in turn introduced the actor Steve Buscemi.

“His music has ruined my life,” Mr. Buscemi, a good sport, said of Mr. Zanes. “Now, since I’ve been listening to Dan, I can’t stop cock-a-doodle-doodling in the kitchen!” And with that he started flapping his arms and legs. But it was dark and loud and everyone clearly wanted the music to start. “Dan Zanes! Dan Zanes!” chanted a grown man holding his daughter in the midst of the speeches, as if he were a disgruntled fan at a normal concert.

Then there was a great hush. Mr. Zanes, in a red suit, and a bunch of other people came trotting down the aisle, softly playing. The entire church sang along. It was like 1962 all over again. Or perhaps just 2000.

“You sound great,” the performer told the crowd, with a hint of irony. “This is going to be a wild party.”

From Del Fuegosto Diapers

Mr. Zanes, 44, a former member of the 80’s rock band the Del Fuegos, re-emerged some years ago as a “family musician.” He is now one of the marquee advisory-board members of Develop Don’t Destroy Brooklyn, along with actor Ms. Williams, her fiancé Heath Ledger and the authors Jonathan (Lethem and Safran Foer).

“Man, I didn’t know anything!” Mr. Zanes said a week before the concert, sitting at the Flying Saucer Café on Atlantic Avenue, near his Boerum Hill office, and discussing his newfound activism. A former West Village resident, he renovated and moved to a Cobble Hill brownstone seven years ago with his wife Paula, who directs TV commercials, and their daughter, Anna, now 11 and attending St. Ann’s School. He has a kind face, with crinkly eyes and a slightly devilish smile, and his trademark hair was shooting all over the place thanks to “some beeswax.”

“I was just carrying on with my life,” Mr. Zanes continued. “All I knew was that there was a stadium and Frank Gehry was gonna be designing it. It all felt inevitable. I had no idea 17 skyscrapers were going up around it. The stadium was the parsley, but the skyscrapers were the pig …. I know people who have sons who want to go see basketball games, but anyone who realizes what 17 skyscrapers and a stadium will do to an already complicated neighborhood …. Anyone who thinks that through is not at all in favor of it.”

Mr. Zanes spoke a little about his career. After his daughter was born, he “was really excited to listen to music with her, and all I wanted was a shared musical experience,” he said. He made about 300 tapes of Anna-inspired tunes and handed them out to friends. The response was enthusiastic and has grown almost fanatical, but Mr. Zanes is modest, as befits the kiddie folk-rock tradition (Peter Yarrow used to strum songs for his son’s elementary-school class at P.S. 6 on 81st Street). “Everything I do is based in real tradition,” he said. “I might be doing it in a new way, but I’m not doing anything new. And I’m certainly not trying to make children’s music cool or groovy …. I wanted music to sound as though it was made by people in a house.” His latest album of “house” music, Catch That Train!, was just released by Festival Five, his own Brooklyn-based label. “Any kind of music I’ve ever been interested in, people are making in Brooklyn,” he said.

The Develop Don’t Destroy concert “was my idea, but it’s an easy idea,” Mr. Zanes said. “I can do interviews, but the concert is really the thing I can offer. That’s easy. It’s harder for the authors to try and figure out what they can do.” (Besides Messrs. Lethem and Foer, the shiny new board, announced a month ago by the two-year-old organization, includes Jennifer Egan, Nelson George and Mr. Foer’s wife, Nicole Krauss, among others.) “I think the writers are starting to do dinners—where people will pay X amount to have an evening with somebody,” Mr. Zanes said. “So if you love Jonathan Lethem, you can have dinner with him.”

Mr. Zanes himself hosts dinner parties, which usually include lots of music-playing and stoop-sitting, and he often speaks about the Ratner project to friends (his wife counseled him to be funny about it). He’s constantly stopped in the neighborhood by weepy little fans, so Mr. Zanes also carries around leaflets to pass out to their moms. But “for a lot of people, this will be their first experience with Develop Don’t Destroy Brooklyn,” he said. “So if there’s stroller parking and a diaper-changing station and everything’s been thought of and everyone’s really well cared for, that’s going to create a really good impression.”

Valet stroller parking? A Station of Diapers?

“Welcome to my world,” Mr. Zanes said.

Tending Violet

Back at the event, which organizers said netted $17,000, everyone was dancing, in curious and creative ways. A tall man in green wellies and shorts swayed as if at a Phish concert, a child of indeterminate sex on his head. (Later, the toddler grasped perilously onto a chair; the dancing dad had abandoned him/her to concentrate on his moves.) A few feet from him, another couple hopped together, child perched on the man’s shoulders, the mother holding onto the kid’s hands. One dad had one tot on his shoulders, the other running back and forth through his legs. Over and over again. A baby whizzed by in his mother’s arms, waving a red electric guitar. Two moshing 4-year-olds nearly took out a wavy-legged 1-year-old. A number of times, parents who’d split up would reunite, trade kids and return to their spots; the two-kid handoff was clearly a practiced maneuver. “O.K., swap!”

Jeannine, a mother from Windsor Terrace, said she came “in support of the cause. And also, we’re really big Dan Zanes fans.” She looked down. “This is actually her favorite song,” she said, nodding at Violet, her 1-year-old in pink tie-dye and Converse sneakers, who was sitting on a pew cushion on the floor, her pacifier bobbing à la Maggie Simpson as she watched Mr. Zanes intently. Suddenly, Violet waved her arms toward the stage—like a mummy in a trance—and wobbled away. Jeannine followed.

The dangerous, moshing twosome found a large man to ring-around-the-rosy with. Not clear if any of these people were related. They all fell down—crashed to the floor, really—and someone got hurt. Crying, etc.

Scott Alexander, an editor for Playboy who has lived in Brooklyn since 1994 and moved to Fort Greene two and a half years ago, was wearing a black The Warriors T-shirt and had slightly graying, longish hair. He has three children and was holding a nonplussed 3-month-old baby girl named Frida.

“Good name,” said a stranger. “The whole Brooklyn baby-name thing is weird. But I haven’t heard Frida before. Spelled like Kahlo?”

“Yeah. And my eldest is Phineas,” Mr. Alexander said proudly.

“It’s a no-brainer,” he said, of the show. “I have two older boys who are massive fans. That’s not to say I’m not simpatico with what they’re doing.” He said that the project “hasn’t been a topic amongst my acquaintances” and that he “felt like I wasn’t getting the whole story.” He noted that the high-rise towers are a “big problem.”

But what of this Dan Zanes cult? What does it all mean?

“My boys and I have code names for sugary music: Barney,” said Mr. Alexander, explaining his kids’ preference for Zanes-like music—Woody Guthrie, They Might Be Giants, “stuff that doesn’t discount negative emotions.” “They’ll say, ‘That’s really Barney,’” Mr. Alexander said. He noted that he sometimes plays Led Zeppelin for his small offspring.

“We moved here from the East Village to get away from the density,” said David Brown, 37, an attorney who lives in Fort Greene and sported that hot paternal ­accoutrement, the red-and-black BabyBjörn, in which bobbed a child named Isaiah. “We’re concerned about the high-rises ruining the character of the neighborhood.” And Dan Zanes?

“It’s a no-brainer,” he said, the apparent daddy declaration of the day. “Ella loves Dan Zanes. She’s thrilled.” He pointed to a little blond girl standing on a pew, high above the detritus below: Target bags, sippy drinks, plastic tambourines, Goldfish bags, napkins, napkins everywhere. Over an hour had passed, and people were leaving—shimmying out the door.

Outside, Mr. Buscemi was kindly, wearily greeting guests and posing for photos. “We do need jobs and housing,” he said to a reporter about Atlantic Yards. “But there are other ways.”

Groups of parents were pushing their stroller armies up the hill, toward Fort Greene Park, toward their brownstones, toward naptime.

Ahhhhhh-CHOO!! The pollen count is up, Jennifer Garner's standards are way ( way) down and we simply can't shake our obsession with the Katie Holmes–Tom Cruise union or the logic behind the New York Times Thursday Styles section-did we really need an article about men's face cream to remind us just how gay the straight men in this town really are? Go change a tire, fellas! Speaking of men, you can truly judge a woman by which guy she had a crush on after seeing 1982's Diner: There was the gorgeous and clean-cut Tim Daly or smoldering popcorn-priapic Mickey Rourke. (Those who liked Steve Guttenberg need not play.) Mr. Daly is back to his theater roots, starring in Henry Flamethrowa, opening Off Broadway tonight. "It's a fascinating story and really quite timely," said Mr. Daly. The play revolves around a 16-year-old boy who writes letters to the Devil (a.k.a. Beelzebub) unbeknownst to his religious father, who is dealing with his daughter being in a coma for nine years. "It's about faith and miracles and religious beliefs," said Mr. Daly. "I don't want to give away too much …. It's funny because, when I first read the play, I was thinking it would be a great film to do-and what better way to get to know it than to be in it?" Producing the play is Sopranos regular Michael Imperioli ( Christofah). "I got a call from The Sopranos about doing some more episodes. So I work in the theater with Michael as a producer and then on the set as an actor." That's an awful lot of Imperioli! As for returning to the medium in which he first started, "it's really fun to go back," he said. "They say feature film is a director's medium, television is a producer's, and theater is an actor's. Once you're done with rehearsal, it's up to the actor to shepherd it along. No one can edit you or cut you out; you just tell the story and keep your performance honest and truthful …. It's exhausting and exhilarating. Sometimes I'm terrified to go to the theater"- us, too!-"because when it's bad, it's the worst. When it's good, though, it's like nothing can go wrong." Another type of energy is happening at the Metropolitan Pavilion, where the Taste of the Nation New York City is going down (and we do mean down the hatch). Ticket holders can graze amongst the offerings from participating restaurants like Gramercy Tavern, Aquavit, Blue Smoke, Landmarc, Marseille and Rickshaw Dumpling Bar. There'll be fancy items up for auction, such as a California winery tour and a wine cellar. One hundred percent of the funds go to various hunger-related charities. Further west, pretty boy Giff Miller takes his Mayoral ambitions to the soused Anglophiles of Soho House (which still exists, apparently) for a cocktail party to stir up some fizz for the City Council Speaker's run for City Hall. Boy, Anthony Weiner is going to be pissed when he hears about this.

[Henry Flamethrowa, Studio Dante, 257 West 29th Street, www.studiodante.com; Taste of New York, Metropolitan Pavilion, 125 West 18th Street, 6 to 10:30 p.m., www.tasteofthenation.org; Generation G at the Soho House, 29 Ninth Avenue, 7:30 to 9:30 p.m., www.millerfornewyork.com.]

Thursday 12th

Ladies, there's still time: You don't have to purchase a giant peasant skirt , and you do have the willpower to pass by those horrid fake Louis Vuitton bags with cherries on them on Canal Street …. Moving right along, Francine du Plessix Gray, novelist, contributor to The New Yorker and fun name to say, reads from Them: A Memoir of Parents, which examines the lives of her mother and stepfather, both Russian émigrés: Tatiana du Plessix, who became a fashion icon and designer, and Alexander Liberman, who ruled the roost of Condé Nast. Bonus (non-dirty) book excerpt! " One odd aspect of my parents' careers was that Mother never had a n inkling of what Alex's life at Cond é Nast was like and did not want to know. Not once during Alex's half century at the company did she ever visit his office. 'Why go, I know just what ees like,' she'd growl when asked about her lack of interest in his work life. ' Ees like one beeg ice cube.'" So for those of you who have the privilege of working inside the Death Star, you'll be relieved to know you are merely a part of an icy tradition. This evening, Ms. Gray reads and signs at the National Arts Club. In more culture news, artist James Gaynor, whose work uses found material from New York City streets, unveils a show on Park Avenue. Reaping the benefits is the Community Lunch Program, which feeds homeless and low-income New Yorkers. And if you like to get up early, Barbara Walters M.C.'s a breakfast celebrating women who do good things for other women (no, not Angelina Jolie, you naughty people!). "We are a cross-cultural alliance of women helping low-income women and girls to achieve sustained economic opportunity," said executive director Hollis Cohen. "I think everyone involved feels quite passionate about it." One of the women being honored is Geraldine Laybourne, chair and C.E.O. of Oxygen Media, which gives us the perfect opportunity to send out a request to please, for the love of God, stop rerunning When a Man Loves a Woman. Also on hand will be Nobel Peace Prize winner Dr. Wangari Maathai from Kenya, and the whole shebang will kick off with some chanting by the Caribbean group Yaya. "They are wonderfully inspiring and motivational-I think it will be quite rousing at 7:30 a.m.," said Ms. Cohen. Seven-thirty a.m.? What means this "7:30 a.m.?"

[Francine du Plessix Gray reading, National Arts Club, 15 Gramercy Park South, 6:45 p.m., www.nationalartsclub.org; James Gaynor found-art show, Park Avenue Christian Church, 1010 Park Avenue, 5:30 p.m., 212-288-3246; "Celebrating Women 2005," New York Marriott Marquis, 1535 Broadway, 7:30 to 9 a.m., www.nywf.org.]

Friday 13th

Ladies, lose the espadrilles  Phew O.K. Now for some trivia: " Paraskevidekatriaphobics" is defined as those who are "afflicted with a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the 13th." And why not, when a new Jennifer Lopez movie is opening today with Jane Fonda as a co-star? Rumor has it that Ms. Fonda steals the show from the diva. But heck, what else are you going to do till the new Star Wars opens next week? For those of you who insist on doing something cultural, the great Pinchas Zuckerman (now there's a name our grandfather would have adored) conducts the New York Philharmonic for the next two nights, featuring Bach's Brandenburg Concertos Nos. 3 and 5. Thank heavens they're skipping that nasty No. 4.

[Monster-in-Law, for the theaters and showtimes, www.moviefone.com; Pinchas Zuckerman at the Philharmonic, Avery Fisher Hall, 10 Lincoln Center Plaza, 8 p.m., www.newyorkphilharmonic.org.]

Saturday 14th

And ladies, enough ith those glittery metallic things-you know what we mean: those knit tank tops held up by glittery straps, those metallic gold ballerina flats, those silver clutch purses. You're all twinkling like little disco balls and it's very annoying! You are not Mischa Barton, you are not on The O.C., and even she looks like a 1983 mall rat-so imagine what you look like. Argghhh, O.K., where were we? Courageously defying the recent media backlash against the borough, Brooklyn strikes back with a performance from children's singer and Brooklyn boy Dan Zanes. Mr. Zanes, who once fronted the Del Fuegos, turned his talent to "all-ages folk-rock music" that has kids bopping up and down. This evening, entitled Brooklyn Ballyhoo, will be a "family music party," and Mr. Zanes is supposed to be joined onstage by "fellow Brooklyn artists." Please, please, please let it be Jay-Z. Back on the island, Target-the only store besides Costco that we'll make a trip for-is on the last of their three-day promotion for "Paws for Pics" at Tompkins Square (squatter-free since 1994!) and Union Square parks. " We're offering New York City dogs complimentary photos," said Lena Michaud, official Target spokesperson, who explained that all the insane dog people in the city could come by for a free digital photo. "We'll also be giving away doggie bowls and leashes and all sorts of pet products." We stopped Ms. Michaud dead in her tracks when we demanded to know if cats were allowed. "Well, no-not that I know of," she said. "Although I suppose if someone came with a cat on a leash, we wouldn't decline." Meow.

[Dan Zanes and friends, B.A.M. Harvey Theatre, 651 Fulton Street, 11 a.m. and 2 p.m., www.bam.org; Paws for Pics, Tompkins Square Park, Avenue B, 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. and 2 to 4 p.m., Union Square Park, noon to 2 p.m. and 3 to 5 p.m., www.target.compets.]

Sunday 15th

Parsley, sage, rosemary and ….  No rest for a benefit: Today, the Four Seasons hosts the Irvington Institute for Immunological Research, a nonprofit supporter of researcher in immunology, for a benefit called "Through the Kitchen." The good news? These people love them some puns; the theme for this year's dinner is "It's Thyme" (which kills us-and here's an idea for next year: hire Tyne Daly to leap out of a cake, only to hear people shout, "NO! Not Tyne-thyme!"). The restaurant will literally throw open its doors to 500 guests (among them tony uptowners like Mayor Mike, Claudia Cohen, Lily Safra, and Aerin and Eric Zinterhofer), who will receive aprons as they pick through a buffet-style spread of appetizers, main courses, salads and desserts prepared by chef Christian Albin. Watch out for the Mayor-we hear he can pack it away. Meanwhile, people take to the streets for the 20th Annual AIDS Walk New York, which has raised $85 million through the years for the Gay Men's Health Crisis. Get out your favorite kicks and join in.

[Through the Kitchen, the Four Seasons, 99 East 52nd Street, 7 p.m., 212-576-1005; AIDS Walk New York, www.aidswalk.net.]

Monday 16th

TV is bad for you! More ornery and sex-starved than a boatload of sailors, television execs sprout up on our streets for the television up-fronts, where the networks roll out all their stellar talent and show off their top shows, like Joey. Cashing in on the celebrity factor, Lucky and Cargo magazines join forces and take a suite at the Ritz so that all those stressed-out television types have a place to go for cocktails ( burp!), lunch and complimentary shopping from participating vendors like James Jeans and Le Tigre. ( That's because when TV execs are left to wander the city on their own, five in 10 don't make it back …. ) Last year, the suite was visited by members from The O.C. And you thought your life sucked …. Meanwhile, if you're looking for actor-director-no-one-knows-what-the-hell-he-does Fisher Stevens, he'll most likely show up where his photographs, and those of others, will be auctioned at the Artists for the African Rainforest benefit. Has anyone told Sting yet?

[Lucky/Cargo hospitality suite, the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, 50 Central Park South, through Wednesday, strictly (their words) by invitation only (read: You ain't crashing this party, but try!); 14th Annual Artists for the African Rainforest, Manhattan Penthouse, 80 Fifth Avenue, 6:30 p.m., 212-431-5508.]

Tuesday 17th

Good news, park squatters!

The people in control of all those events at Bryant Park-where you schlep a blanket, cheese and wine, and hope you can find some small corner of earth to sit on along with every other loudmouth in this city-will be announcing what's ahead for our summer. Meanwhile, Claire Danes and Zac Posen (who is dangerously close to becoming the new Moby) host a Spring Fling at the wankier-than-thou Hiro Ballroom. The thing benefits Teachercount, which is a good thing, because most of the people in attendance still haven't learned their sums.

[Bryant Park Luncheon, Bryant Park Reading Room, 42nd Street, 11:30 a.m., by invitation only; Spring Fling, Hiro Ballroom, Maritime Hotel, 371 West 16th Street, 9 p.m., 646-495-4963.]

Wednesday 18th

We know we promised not to talk about this anymore but we didn't realize it was the finale- hello, May sweeps! The girls of America's Next Top Model are still in Africa: Let's go, Broken Arrow! We're rooting for you all the way! Meanwhile, attention, Star Wars geeks: get in line now. The big movie opens up tomorrow, and we hear the Zeigfeld gets real crowded real quick.

[ America's Next Top Model, UPN, 8 p.m.]

On a recent Sunday afternoon, Dan Zanes, a former rock 'n' roll hellion, tuned his guitar in preparation for a midday gig at the Park, a new bar and restaurant in Chelsea. Back in the 80's, Mr. Zanes had been the lead singer and guitar player for a loud and mildly successful Boston band called the Del Fuegos, a band which at its height scored a hit single ("Don't Run Wild"), filmed a commercial for Miller Beer and toured with Tom Petty. In those days, Mr. Zanes, who at 39 maintains a rocker's voluminous, precisely mussed hair and gangly frame, drank a ton of beer, thrashed around the stage in leather pants, and sang songs like "He Had a Lot to Drink Today," "I'll Sleep With You (Cha Cha d'Amour)" and "Lost Weekend."

Today, however, Mr. Zanes makes a living singing songs like "Polly Wolly Doodle," "King Kong Kitchie" and "Mole in the Ground." This new career started a couple years ago, when Mr. Zanes–who disbanded the Del Fuegos in 1989–began recording children's songs for his daughter, Anna, now 6. He passed a couple of the children's songs tapes along to his Greenwich Village neighbors, and they went nuts for it.

Last winter, Mr. Zanes assembled a band and released a CD called Rocket Ship Beach , which featured guest performances from Sheryl Crow and Suzanne Vega, among others. Simon Kirke, the drummer from Bad Company, contributed a song called "All My Friends Live in the Woods," a friendly tribute to a badger and a mole. ( Rocket Ship Beach also included a performance by the Sandy Girls, a group of West Indian baby-sitters Mr. Zanes met in his neighborhood.)

Without a trace of embarrassment Mr Zanes embraced his transition from rock star to children's musician. Kids were good audience members, he said, and better still, they could care less about subjects like romantic love, which Mr. Zanes said formed the basis for "95 percent" of adult rock songs. "I was tired of writing about that, anyway," he said. "I've been married for 14 years!"

Recently Mr. Zanes and his band began an open-ended brunch engagement Sundays at the Park. While playing children's songs was easy, finding places to play in New York had been harder than he expected. "I'm trying to book shows in playgrounds right now," Mr. Zanes said. "I've been going to schools and I tell people, 'I've got a great band. Let me know if you're having any kind of fair at the school.' Seven times out of 10 people won't take me up on it. You know, I wasn't asking for money . I was just trying to book shows."

The Chelsea shows have found a quick and loyal following, however, primarily among hip downtown parents too cool for Raffi CD's. For today's show, a handful of tables had been reserved, with cups of crayons and birthday hats placed on top. Just before showtime, the room was busy with toddlers and handsome-looking parents who had yet to succumb to the grooveless, austere look of parenthood. A young father in a bomber jacket chased his daughter around as she tugged at her corduroys. "You need to go potty?" the father asked. "Well, keep your pants on in the restaurant! It's one of the big rules."

At 2 p.m., Mr. Zanes led his band in a marching procession into the room, singing a song called "So Glad I'm Here." The crowd erupted in a chorus of preschool and adult applause. Charles Goldberg, age 6, began referring to Mr. Zanes as "Mr. Porcupine," owing to the rocker's haircut.

Also in the audience was Madelaine West Duchovny, the 1-year-old daughter of actress Téa Leoni and X-Files actor David Duchovny. Madelaine, who had been to the previous week's show as well, had come with her famous mom, and mom had brought her own friends, too, including Gwyneth Paltrow, Stella McCartney and Liv Tyler. As Mr. Zanes' band played, Ms. Tyler bounced someone's child on her lap and Ms. Paltrow clapped along. Hotelier Ian Schrager surfaced, too, bringing along his daughter and settling at a table across the room.

Somewhere along the way, Madelaine West Duchovny got naked but for a diaper. "This has gone too far!" Mr. Zanes called out from the stage upon noticing his emboldened young fan. "This is more like a rock 'n' roll show! Nothing but a diaper on!"

After the show ended, and Mss. Paltrow, McCartney and Tyler had left the restaurant, Ms. Leoni stayed behind to chat with her sister-in-law, Laurie Duchovny, a teacher at Saint Ann's in Brooklyn. Nearby, Mr. Zanes and the band packed their equipment. Ms. Leoni began to get a little breathless about Mr. Zanes. "This is the only children's CD that we really, really groove to and both love," she said. "David loves it, too. So we can play this in the car and everybody can rock out, so it's not just like we're having to play, you know, David's Metallica or, you know, my Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and Grateful Dead that bores everyone to sleep. We'll maybe listen to a little Elmo, but Elmo doesn't even rock as good as this guy."

Then, a bombshell. Ms. Leoni learned that Mr. Zanes had been the leader of the Del Fuegos. " Get the fuck out!" she mouthed to her sister-in-law, so that Madelaine West Duchovny could not hear her.

" Dan!" Ms. Leoni cried out. " Dan! The Del Fuegos? I had no idea!" In an instant, the actress seemed to have been transformed into her former, younger and shriekier self.

"Yeah, my other life," Mr. Zanes said, sheepishly.

"I've got all your albums!" Ms. Leoni said. "I swear to God. I'm a huge Del Fuegos fan. That was my favorite band at Putney. Huge ! In fact, I kept thinking, 'When am I ever going to, like, see the Del Fuegos?'"

"Where are they now?" Mr. Zanes tossed out.

"Where are they now?" Ms. Leoni asked.

"They're right here," Dan Zanes said, and gathered the rest of his stuff: his mandolin, his black top hat, his plastic lobster.

–Andrew Goldman

Fuzzy Math

Last November, fashion models dressed like tigers and leopards unveiled a plaque at Spa, the bustling nightclub near Union Square. The plaque read: "THE ONLY WILDLIFE AT SPA IS HUMAN–NO FUR COATS ALLOWED."

Spa's fur ban, which received a hearty bark of approval from the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, brought the nightclub scads of critter-friendly publi-city. Club boss Steve Lewis directed his doormen to prohibit fur-wearing night crawlers, and Spa's publicists were quick to call gossip columns like Page Six when boldfaced names were turned away. Word got out that Jennifer Lopez and Sean (Puffy) Combs had been told to leave their furs in their limos before coming inside.

But Spa's fur ban proved to be a boon for a few smart entrepreneurs at the parking garage next door to the East 13th Street nightclub. This winter, the attendants at the garage charged fur-wearing Spa-goers–panicked that they wouldn't be allowed inside in their animal skins–$10 each to check their coats among the Toyotas and Benzes for the night. For that small fee, the attendants were happy to take your fur and stash it in a clear plastic bag on a cement floor, under a desk.

Juan Reyes, one of the parking attendants at the Randi Parking Corporation's garage, said that during the cold season, he and his co-workers checked three or four coats on weeknights, and up to seven on weekends. That translated into an under-the-table gross of some $5,000.

Mr. Reyes, who didn't speak English terribly well, said the garage started the impromptu coat check because Spa owner Steve Lewis "told me to." Mr. Lewis confirmed the arrangement to The Observer. "We turn people away, they grab them and chuck their furs." (Calls to the parking garage's boss, Marco Orcte, went unreturned.)

For some fur-wearers, this out-of-house coat check was a night-saver. Yoon Lee, a 26-year-old architect, said she often checked her white fox coat with the East 13th Street parking attendants. Though she was wary at first about leaving an expensive coat in a parking garage, Ms. Lee had no troubles, she said.

Even V.I.P.'s wound up utilizing the parking-garage coat check. It happened to Jen Blumin, a 24-year-old blonde, when she arrived at Spa on a cold March night with club promoter Noah Tepperberg. As she walked inside, doormen noticed Ms. Blumin's checkered rabbit-fur coat, and they gently took it from her and spirited it outside to the garage. When Ms. Blumin decided to leave, a doorman was dispatched to the garage; he then returned the coat to Ms. Blumin's shoulders.

The treatment impressed Ms. Blumin. "You should always wear a fur coat to Spa," she declared.

–Deborah Schoeneman