Now that summer is officially over, summer has returned to Central New York, and procrastinators such as myself have been rewarded with the opportunity to recoup a couple of pool days that we lost out on during the joke of a summer that’s just ended, with temperatures expected to get near 90 on Sunday. It’s not often I get to thumb my nose at you guys with your perfect manicured lawns who got your pools closed right after Labor Day (yeah, I’m talking to you, Gary), this could be the weekend, and I’ll try and enjoy it while I can.

Of course, I’m not alone in my sun-revelry, as the streets here in Syracuse are filled with office workers who are normally held captive in our Dilbert land of cubicles. Most of us are shipped in from the ‘burbs, and you can see how unaccustomed (and uncomfortable) a lot of these folks are in an urban setting (as urban as things get around here, anyway). And yes, by “urban,” I mean exactly what you think I mean.

Just this morning on the shuttle down here, one woman was saying how she wasn’t very happy about having to wait for the bus with “all the drug dealers and panhandlers,” which I found to be a pretty stupid statement.

First off, while it wouldn’t surprise me if there were one or two people walking around who might have sold a controlled substance in their time (I personally plead the fifth), I haven’t noticed any “drug dealer” types. And I have a pretty good idea what to look for, too. Too bad, ‘cuz I could use a little something to get through the rest of the day.

Second, I fail to see why people get so darn irate because somebody asked them for some change. I mean, if somebody’s being menacing or threatening or something, it’s one thing. But there’s no harm in asking, right?

But, whatever.

One thing I will say is that back in the olden days, it was a lot easier to tell who the crazy people were, ‘cuz they were the ones talking to themselves – often rather loudly. Since cell phones and headsets and whatnot though, damn near everybody you see on the street is talking, laughing, or hollering at some unseen but very real to them entity.

Now the only way I can tell the crazy people is they tend to come up to me while I’m waiting for the bus and strike up a conversation. Why? I don’t know. I guess I’m not exactly a shining example of sanity myself.

Oh well, a few more hours to soldier through, and then it’s the weekend, which used to mean something to me, but now that I haven’t had a beer in over a year, about all it means is a trip to Costco and catching up on laundry. Better than working, but not a lot to look forward to.

But at least they aren’t predicting any earthquakes or hurricanes up my way, so there’s that.