Let's run down my Saturday night. And mind you, I'm just one dude.

4 p.m.: My wife, our friend Barbara and I had dinner at Sequoia Brewing on Olive Avenue. We had wanted to finally get around to trying Santa Fe Basque on Maroa, but I didn't know that most restaurants don't start serving dinner till 5. We wanted to eat earlier because ...

6 p.m.: ... we had to meet up with my co-worker Don, his wife and their 9-year-old, to get good seats for the roller derby match at the Convention Center downtown. (Side note: The local team was competing at Valdez Hall, which is located right next to Saroyan Theatre, where the Miss California pageant was taking place. Two groups of young women competing for different prizes next door to each other. At what point in their lives did their paths diverge from each other?) I gotta say, I don't know how Betty Rocker keeps her balance when skating (literally) through the tiniest of spaces to lap the other team's jammer as many times as she did. As a member of the media and a spectator who's been to about a half-dozen bouts, I gotta say that the whole team is really starting to gel -- as evident by the latest 50-plus-point whopping of the opposing squad.

9 p.m.: We then traveled a few blocks to the only semblance of life on the Fulton Mall: Milano's pizza bar, which again played host to an act in the Rogue-year-round series. Two members of the Suicide Lounge opened for Blake Jones and the Trike Shop. I have no idea where Nate Butler was or how in the world the theremin works (Blake, pictured above, tried explaining it to me after the show before my eyes started glazing over -- as Mike Oz knows, I'm an idiot when it comes to music).

11:30 p.m.: And just as we were about to wind down at home catch George Carlin's appearance on the very first "Saturday Night Live," our friends Aimee and Colleen told us to meet them at the Babylon pool hall/booty club (everything in the Tower turned into a booty club Saturday, btw -- there was also bass-heavy music blaring from Palomino's, Vini's, M and Thaiphoon). The Dirty Sanchez were playing when we arrived (quite the departure from when they used to open for Chris Plays Guitar), but the real show took place when four dudes took the stage to do some kind of hip-hop and/or rap performance. I don't know who they were because their people didn't send Mike Oz a flyer, but apparently they were doing something right. Now I don't quite understand what they were saying, but somehow their music seemed to the be impetus for quite a few attractively dressed ladies grinding it up around the bar area.

So, there you have it: one night filled with fish and chips, girls on skates throwing elbows, 40-something musicians playing weird instruments and a free show at the local pool hall. Now I may not know much about everything I did Saturday, but I do know there were plenty of options outside of my house to do in Fresno.