My worst misconception of the week was that 1966, the "resurrection concert" that plays Saturdays at the Flamingo, would be some kind of elaborate theater piece. Instead, it's a concert by a slavishly faithful Doors cover band, flanked by some hard-working gogo girls. The show had some people in the opening night crowd at "Hello, I Love You," but it failed to light my fire, except to propel me to invoke obvious references like that.

Perhaps more up my retro alley will be Gabba Gabba Hey!, a musical using old Ramones songs to form what's described as both "a Lower East Side love story" and "Grease on speed!" The latest tuner to spin a plotline out of a jukebox, it'll be playing this May in Berlin, where the legendary Jayne County is guest starring as a cheap whore/girlfriend, a complete stretch.

Oh, but back to the worsts. Sticking with the musical nostalgia theme, the biggest recent tragedy is that, though '80s teen idol Deborah Gibson has a spread in Playboy, she lost out on the main cover to a certain overexposed socialite I won't mention anymore! (Poor Debs only got the cover pullout.) Why, dear God? "I don't know if it's because I didn't show enough," Gibson told me, "or if it's because they want a double publicity bang." Well, in case it's the former reason, I'd say just show more next time. Take off the orange hot pants!

Finally, I'd be the worst if I left out that at Mickey Boardman's B Bar dinner for Turkish hotshot designer Atil Kutoglu, I learned that Heatherette's Richie Rich almost got deluged with crank calls like everyone else on earth when the cell phone of that socialite I won't mention was hacked into. Fortunately, she had the wrong number for Richie, the ditz!

musto@villagevoice.com