It’s officially summer —thirteen days until I declare it over.

With warm and sunny days ahead, there is the need for the annual Public Service Announcement. This is a social advisory. Put up your personal red flag. Like a good stretch of beach, you are closed. Your summer days are like piping plovers: endangered.    

This is the annual Please Don’t Invite Us To Anything Over The Summer announcement that you hope friends and family who live off the peninsula will read.

It’s necessary to basically reprint this advisory each year because you don’t want mainlanders thinking maybe we’re cracking, giving in to the idea that we’d be okay with leaving Rockaway for a day trip. And for those who live here, it’s a reminder to be careful with

I was at a bar in Myrtle Beach. A group of golfers, maybe eight or 10 guys, were at a table next to me. They’d just obviously finished a round of golf and now were having a few rounds. Standard issue, middle-aged guys having some laughs, burgers and beers. 

I don’t golf but I do play the 19th hole occasionally, especially if the sun’s still out. I was a little envious of the boys having such a good time though things were winding down. They reminded me of my pals and then…

And then they asked

I’ve confused people. They can’t tell if I’m socially awkward or socially inept.

Which reminds me of that old sports quote from a coach to a player, “Son, are you ignorant or apathetic?”  The reply?  “I don’t know and I don’t care.”

Anyway, I’m kinda both – especially when it comes to hugging.  The bro hug is that thing that starts as a classic handshake and morphs into a kind of shoulder bump, half hug.  I don’t really get who you’re supposed to go bro with.  A really good friend might be

First Communions, weddings and other dress-up things happen around now. And just like clockwork, just like the opening of the beaches, you get a seasonal reminder just how inept Rockaway men are when it comes to fashion. It’s no secret —though I, probably, should have tried to keep it one. 

The Rockaway Times is free thanks to our advertisers. All things considered, I prefer to keep them happy. And God  knows, I try to patronize them. But sometimes I, uh, slip up.

We landed a nice account

Well, that backfired. Writers are a needy bunch and are desperate for feedback (as long as it’s standing ovation).

After last week’s column, I got the exact kinda feedback I didn’t want. First, let me say, I usually forget what’s in my column until somebody reminds me on Thursday or Friday, well after the paper has hit the street.

So last Friday, I woke with full amnesia about what was in my column. The official beach opening was scheduled, so I went to the boardwalk to check out the

By Kevin Boyle

Clare Droesch was selected as a high school All-American basketball player. She was one of the very top players in the entire country. Her hoops prowess got her on magazine covers.  She was offered scholarships to powerhouse schools and eventually chose Boston College. In her final home game, she helped beat No. 1-ranked UConn in a nationally televised game. She had a great enough career to be inducted into the school’s Hall of Fame. Clare was a legit basketball legend.


It looked like an old-style bank run this week when people stormed donut shops and bakeries. “What are you going to do? You just can’t starve,” a man, with a ring of sugar around his lips, said to me. He held his bag of donuts and muffins open, offering me whatever caloric time bomb I wanted. “One of them is banana. Bananas are good for you. Here, take one, have something good.”

“It’s like a diet dispensation,” a woman chimed in. “If the CDC (Centers for Disease Control) tells you not to eat

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