November 29, 1991

The Economy The Government's top auditor says the money provided by Congress to handle the banking crisis may not be enough. Charles Bowsher, the Comptroller General, said the $70 billion in new taxpayer loans approved on Wednesday could be completely used up by the failure of just one of the nation's largest banks. Existing accounting standards have enabled banks to conceal huge amounts of potential liabilities, he said. [ Page D1. ] When it comes to winning friends in Washington, these are not great days for bankers. [ D3. ]

ALEXIS SMITH is a scavenger of the American imagination. For more than 20 years, she has made a name for herself by scouring the swap meets and thrift shops of her native California, retrieving assorted flotsam and mixing it with bits of text borrowed from writers like Raymond Chandler and Jack Kerouac. She has an incredible knack for combining the right object with the perfect quote. What results are collages that tap into a wellspring of nostalgia for an America distant not in time but in spirit, an America of movie stars and open highways and roadside diners that is a blend of reality and Hollywood invention. Ms. Smith's gift is to recognize the appeal of the mythical America while also acknowledging its artifices and pitfalls. That she does so with wit and affection and a lightness of touch, and without the least bit of political hectoring or condescension, goes a long way toward explaining the quirky but unmistakable fascination of her retrospective at the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Kermit the Frog was thankful that he escaped with only a gaping head wound and limb trouble. Betty Boop was thankful that she did not lose more than the moon. Spiderman was thankful that his web came untangled from a pesky lamppost. And -- ay, caramaba! -- Bart Simpson was thankful that he did not, like, totally shrivel up and die on the way downtown, man. It was not the easiest of days for the big balloons in the Thanksgiving parade. Sure, the annual eye-popping pilgrimage floated from the Upper West Side to midtown Manhattan at its customary, leisurely pace. But the people pulling on the guide wires had to run a two-mile gantlet of logic-defying downdrafts and nerve-wracking turns.

Patty Dellatorre discovered why her friends talked up Hoboken's nightlife on her first visit here two weeks ago. On a late Friday night, the sidewalks were full, the pubs were packed and the mood was as giddy as a fraternity party. "It's a fun place to hang out," said the 21-year-old, who danced on a bar and won a trophy for her efforts. Ms. Dellatore, who lives in Ridgefield Park in Bergen County, has since decided to make Hoboken a regular weekend event -- and she has plenty of company. On weekend nights thousands of young people descend by the carload on this mile-square city of 33,000 people, coming from nearby towns and counties, as well as Brooklyn and Queens, and swelling the population by 2,500 to 10,000.

AT first it was just a novelty, something even Jayne Mansfield could do. Then it blossomed into the full-scale excitement of Beatlemania and the intensive mellowness of the hippie years. Later on it evolved into disco, rap and the decadence of heavy metal, and it became a slick commercial fixture on the video screen. Now it's where none of its early fans or innovators ever expected to find it: in a museum. At the American Museum of the Moving Image in Astoria, Queens, an official Monkees tambourine and a pair of Sonny and Cher dolls are currently on exhibit, so a new program of rock-and-roll movies will fit right in. "Play This Movie Loud: A History of Rock on Film" is an enterprising six-week series beginning today and covering all known bases of the rock world, from Motown to punk to reggae, and also venturing to a few places where real rock has never been.