Alas, the end of summer. The hot weather has come and gone for 2003. And so has blogging, it seems -- where did everybody go?

Well, I suppose I've fallen off too. No time to call people, visit, write e-mails, anything. Blogging goes the same way.

Well, maybe we can rejuvenate this forum with a little but of "What I did on my summer vacation." For me, that's a short essay, not having done much of anything. Well, we did head out to Colorado for the final week of July, and it was great fun. And a couple weeks later, I did lay crumpled beneath my office desk to weather the dark night of the great blackout -- just me and some office mates, listening to AM radio, staring out the windows into the immobilized city. Metro North Railroad ought to learn how to deploy its diesel engines during an emergency -- the next terrorist strike just might put out the power (and that'll most vertainlhy be a night I will not want to spend in my office).

Today was nice -- spent time with Guido and Key, as they were having Regina and Greg (and their two lovely children) over for the afternoon. Homemade beer and beef. Nice. And children in various stages of potty-training (all except Mojo, who really has no interest -- none, zero -- in doing his business anywhere but in his diaper).

Anyway, it's time to reach out to Steve and get him to post some political diatribes on this blog. Hey Steve, I hear London had its own little blackout last week. I heard on the radio that Hillary Clinton thinks that was George Bush's fault, too.

Thoughts?

This afternoon I found a lime in the refrigerator. This inspired me to mix a batch of my favorite summertime cocktail. I do no know if it has a name; I call it Windex. It's basically a Kamikaze, but instead of TripleSec, I use Blue Caracao (thus the Windex coloration). Vodka, Rose Lime Juice, and the blue stuff. A pile of ice. Lime wedges.

Ahhhh.

Just try not to drink it down too quickly -- it'll get you there fast enough (sooner than you think, actually).

So I sat outside with a giant glass of that stuff, grilled some burgers for us and the boys, and ate and drank in the late afternoon sun. Nice. Then Alane went to get some diapers. I stayed and did a little more scrubbing of the rug from the boys' room (the one we dragged outside following a noxious potty-training mishap earlier today). The boys were particularly filthy, having been playing in garden silt, so I tossed them in the shower. Now they're squeaky clean.

Perhaps another tall cold blue thing before Alane returns?

Destiny calls.

Father's Day was spent in lovely Strongsville, Ohio -- swimming at the local recreation facility with the boys (who don't actually swim, but had a grand time in the kiddie pool).

We were, in fact, scheduled to visit the 38th Street Odd Job on the weekend before our Ohio trip, but had to cancel when John Paul puked as we were getting ready to leave. Fearing another Roto-Virus Road Trip, we decided to stay in that day. So if there are bags of cheap consumer goods waiting for us in Brooklyn (and, let's face it, of course there are), they'll have to wait a bit longer until we pick them up.

And I do hope there's a miner's helmet in the mix; I would wear it on the commuter train in the morning. Just to see people's reactions.

Hey John I was wondering how Fathers Day went. Did you return home with any strange new toys from the asian men that patiently wait for Uncle Vito to come down thier street. He is like an urban legend in thier culture. They wait many years and spin many tales about the strange man from the GPO. I wonder if anyone has tried to sell him anything weird. Like ball scratchers or maybe a hard hat with a light for those evening walks in the 38th street park.

I wonder how many Weinermobiles there are. Within the last month I was eastbound on I-80 nearing Omaha when I passed a westbound Weinermobile. It must be tricky to park.

Regarding well water, I'm just south of Omaha and we're connected to their municipal systems (potable water and waste water). There is one well on the property I rent, which isn't too surprising since I live less than a mile from the Misouri River. Lots of residents in my county have wells. Stay away from the ones that didn't leave adequate distance between the well and the septic system.

Bachelor life? I can see it now - John buying a keg of beer and inviting Otto over to play cards and have a few drinks.

At the office yesterday we all chipped in for a lottery ticket. We said if we won, we'd go outside to the Mr Softee truck on the corner, and make him an offer for it -- then hit the road.

We all thought it was a good plan.

But we didn't win.

Weiner mobile. That would seem like the logical progression from Hyundai to Weiner. And I saw that apparition as well a giant hot dog rolling down PGA is very disturbing. I want to drive a really manly vehicle, THE ZAMBONI. Now there a wish i've had for a long time. Well that and .....OH YEAH HUGE PECTORAL MUSCLES. Well today we got the water system fixed. So now showers will seem less like eggs rotting in the sun. Theres a unique foulness to perfectly clear clean water that leaves the shower head smelling like its leaving the colon. And that lovely scent that greets you in the bathroom. You always feel like the seat will definately be warm when you sit on it. You get well water in Nebraska? Why when I say I have well water to anyone that doesn't live in Florida do they always envision me lowering a bucket down a hole? These are things i ponder.

I'm back at the office after a weekend in Cleveland and a not unpleasant flight into Westchester Airport last night. It's worth the extra bucks to skip the LaGuardai hassles. Guido drove me back and we somehow guzzled half a bottle of Madeira before he finally brought his celery plants upstairs to his mother. But even that was good news because she had set up a plate for food for me!

Bachelor week is off to a grand start.

Tonight I shall organize the heaps of belongings that have accumulate in the pantry by the back door (and in the process finish off the other half of that bottle).

Hey Steve, don't make me have to tell that story of Tommy giving you that shave.

"You a-give the aspirin a headache."

Small world - not that I'd want to paint it. Our neighbors on our southern border have two horses.

Great news on the radio today - eastern Nebraska is out of its agricultural drought. It's officially safe for me to get a spare bottle of propane for my torch and begin collecting fireworks.

It's one thing to discuss heads, but please leave hair lines out of it. The forehead fairy can stop visiting - I have enough already! It's not like I can comb my monobrow back and fool anyone.

And speaking of attitude, I continue to find myself growing ever more ornery as I grow older. Maybe it's the city that does it to me -- no one seems to move fast enough; they all seem to want to stand in my way. Especially the empty-headed tourists who congregate by Rockefeller Center and up into the theater district (where my office, unfortunately, is located).

And so I stand up from my seat to get off the commuter train, and stand behind others who insist on being first out the door but who can't seem to walk very quickly once the doors open. It makes me nuts. You'd think I'd get over it by now, but no. The scenario repeats itself several times as I gallop crosstown from Grand Central to the westside. (And don't even get me started on the Hillary Clinton liar-fest outside Barnes and Noble earlier this week.)

Stew Leonard's is the hardest on my nerves. It's a fine store, and I love their selection, but the people who shop there are dumber than dirt. They loll down the narrow aisles and mindlessly stop in the middle of everything to look at the avocados. I'm starting to get into the habit of ramming their idled carts with my own -- to clear the space.

Someday there'll be a fistfight. But I'll have justification.