Things don’t have to have context for me to enjoy. If out of the blue, someone said, you want to whine? I’ll give you something to whine about. I’d chuckle. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Gets me every time.

 This is sort of a continuation of the column I wrote a few weeks ago about how I feel like I’m in one of those movies where everything’s the same but different, too. That’s why I don’t check in with my siblings or pretty much anybody else. What’s new? Nothing. How’s everybody? You know, fine. Everybody’s good. After we agree that things suck, there’s not much else to cover.

You can’t plan or even talk about planning because everything’s on hold. This Covid stuff is paralyzing.

You know how when you’re riding in

Rockaway is a show about nothing.  I’ve been guilty of saying summer’s over on the 4th of July (to the extreme annoyance of many) but this year I should have declared it over on Memorial Day. Or the day after the Rockaway St. Patrick’s parade.

I feel like I’m in one of those movies where everything’s the same but different, too.

Didn’t we have volleyball leagues and Summer Classic basketball once upon a time?  The Rockaway Theatre Company would have hot-ticket shows in the summer and The

What’s there to say when there’s nothing? So I’ll just say it. I’m so old I can remember the pandemic.

Last Saturday, I was out on my bike on the boardwalk, trying to avoid people in lycra on bikes. Even when the world is burning and emotions gush, spurt, and heave, I keep a reserve of venom for the Lance Armstrong wannabes.

You can put up all the signs you want about bike lanes but the surest way to fix things is to outlaw bike clothes on the boardwalk.

But I digress as I regress.

I was on

I don’t need much. There are few more satisfying things in my life than knowing no one else in the household likes some foods that I like. No one touches my Special K Protein cereal so I can count on it being there when I’m in the mood. Chocolate chip ice cream is another story. It’s like cat burglar food. You’d swear somebody broke into the house in the middle of the night to wolf down the half gallon that was there when you went to bed.

I hide stuff. If it doesn’t have to be refrigerated

Looters and rioters should be arrested and prosecuted. They’re criminals and we need police to stop them. Period. Too bad that’s gotta be said.

These days, you say anything and you can sense you’re being sized-up. Sometimes peoples’ ey­es narrow and it’s clear they’re trying to figure out what “side” you’re on. If you are in support of protests, you shouldn’t have to offer a preamble. You shouldn’t have to say that looting is criminal. You shouldn’t have to say upfront that you do not support

Rick Horan has been a good sport, wait, maybe sport isn’t the right word. Rick has been ok with me filming his basketball exploits and posting his work on Facebook and YouTube. People always ask if he’s that bad. He is. (See the horror online by searching Two Bikes and a Ball).

Fortunately, there is no photographic evidence (thank god) but I believe a first-ever in the annals of basketball was achieved this past Saturday. Three men, each over 60 years old, suffering from a serious case of

“I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t go to Rogers at 11 o’clock, have a few drinks and a good time and then go home at 1 o’clock. And then be home for a little while and decide I have still have energy, so I go back and close the place. And then get something to eat at Pickles and Pies and then go home for good. That’s the world I want back. I’m 67 years old or 68, whatever I am. I can’t be locked in anymore. This is nuts. No beach? This is nuts.” 

The speaker will remain anonymous

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