I JUST GOT off the phone with my roommate, and I have a news bulletin. Everyone, stop what you're doing! Because now, if you're interested in a cherry pie-shaped bikini wax, all you have to do is go to Los Angeles and ask. There's a rumor circulating that an unnamed star recently demanded the pube artiste make her "hair down there" resemble a strawberry, complete with seeds.

What this means is that it isn't just you, people; even stars are really bored and jaded right now – it's just that when stars get bored, they spend money, which is why it's possible to purchase a $1,000 glass dildo.

When plebs like you and me get bored, we have to be creative. Sometimes we get completely self-destructive, sometimes we just wild out, and sometimes we do both. This explains why there's been a recent surge in graffiti writing, why the current antiwar protests are so awesome, why it's possible to get any kind of drug under the sun, and why I felt compelled to go to Club Six the other week, dressed in a mascot-style bunny costume with a frightening Dr. Zaius monkey mask strapped to my face. Boredom and untapped anger have also caused me to develop a taste for Maker's Mark whiskey, the Misfits, and playing dramatic crescendos with a cardboard guitar someone unwisely left in my office. And you know what? I feel better than ever.

But back to the L.A. bikini waxing – and how contradictory fashion is these days. If you're one of those people for whom life begins with choosing the right color shoes and ends with knowing how to rock a 1950s stewardess cap with vintage Levis, then you're in crisis mode – life is getting difficult. No longer do we track retro fashion by the decade; people are now pegging their look to a particular year. I was in a bar recently and overheard someone tell her friend that the '80s were over but that 1979 was still cool, which explains why from the neck down she looked like one of the Runaways, but her head was doing a Mackenzie Phillips thing. (Reference: see the recent 20/20 special featuring the drug-addicted former teen star).

Meanwhile, I'm leaving for New York tomorrow, and I'm scared because the hipsters of that town are in the clutches of a full-on late-1970s revival. P.R. reps are listening to bad, obscure Italian disco, buying monster heavy metal paintings that resemble Iron Maiden album covers, and sporting beards that would make Burt Reynolds proud. Frankly, I just cut my hair, and my mom borrowed my Dungeons and Dragons board, so I'm going to be a social pariah when I go out at night. Since it's a proven fact that a trend sweeps like a fast-moving, virulent plague from East Coast to West, you should consider yourself warned.

As far as I'm concerned, the country can go the way of retro attitudes and fashions – I'm facing the future, which means looking down at my crotch. Have you hugged your bikini waxer today?

Tracy and the Plastics play an all-ages show, with King Cobra and Paradise Island, April 15, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., S.F. $10. (415) 621-4455