Hi betches! If you’re all utterly sick of Lady Gaga, I promise you, I won’t mention her in the next four columns (unless something epic happens to her, or, if she goes all MJ) but I simply must share with you this juicy little Gaga vignette: When Amy Ma and I took out Tailor’s Eben Freeman, the daddy of molecular mixology (he seems to desire my counsel when he’s in town, regarding the color of his bartender waistcoats from his TST tailor) and hysterically bad-ass tattooed chef Sam Mason (our ebullient and also tattooed food writer would go “eeeeeee” over him) to Hutong on the Wednesday before the Gaga Weekend, I just so happened to have mentioned that I was going to meet the Lady (gee, I wonder what else I would have talked about ;-) I mean, I had just picked up the new booties I had made for the event.) And Sam went, “Oh, Stephanie? We didn’t call her Lady Gaga back then. She used to go out with a good friend of mine, Luke. I haven’t heard this song ‘Poker Face’ before, but apparently she wrote it about him.” Intrigued, I asked further. “Yeah. We used to hang out at this shitty Lower East Side bar called St. Jerome’s. You should tell her Luke from St. Jerome says hi during the interview. See how she reacts.” Slightly evil bwahahas. After the interview, when I sat next to Stephanie Germanotta on the same armchair to take a total fan picture, I mentioned offhandedly, “Luke from St. Jerome’s says hi, by the way.” Pause. Quite pregnant. “He did~? How do you...” Gaga asked, bewildered, but kept her best poker face. “Small world, huh? I just had dinner with Sam Mason, who claims to be Luke’s BFF.” “Did he really say hi?” Gaga solicited peculiarly as her people rushed her out of the room to prep for the show. I’d like to believe that she then gave us an unusually impassioned acoustic blues version of “Poker Face,” followed by the thumping mum mum mum mah dance version, but I suppose that’s just wishful fantasizing. Before Gaga and Kylie, there was Sandy Lam. And after Gaga at the Venetian, it was Sandy’s 2009 show. On the ferry over, I bumped into some international school riffraff friends who weren’t going for Sandy. “I’m going to see Sandy Lam!” I announced. “Sandy Lam? Isn’t she dead?” questioned one clueless John. “NO SHE IS NOT DEAD.” “Oh I thought you meant Alan Tam.” He’s not dead either. Roman Tam is... Sigh~ Miss Lam and her thoroughly angelic voice. Last time I wrote about her, it was the Star Arena concert with jazzy, artsy arrangement of her B-sides. This time, it was back to pop, and she opened with strobe lights and a sick LED background, with three of her newer Putonghua dance anthems. And then her hits. And some old movie theme songs. In hysterics again. Angelita Li came out with her tribal Afro-Brazilian yodeling. Hot. If I was drunk on the visuals at Gaga, I was totally intoxicated by Sandy’s vocals, perfect pitch, ethereal timbre. I hope the Venetian was OK with the audience refusing to leave. Bitch please, you’re talking about Sandy fans here. We don’t leave until she does at least two encores. And of course, she gave us all that. And then some.