Without a hitch.

This is my mom.

She used to make my Halloween costumes from scratch. Often, the Buffalo, N.Y. winters came well before Oct. 31, and we were stuck with baggy costumes that you could slide a winter coat under.

Thus, we were often clowns, monsters, and generally fat people.

But I digress.

Last April, my dad decided to throw a surprise party for her 60th birthday. The picture at right is the birthday girl in her special hat made by one of her friends.

I had to push her through the door when we arrived at the banquet hall. She could only exclaim, "OH MY GOD." She hates surprises.

I swung around and was able to take the photo below (That's the owner of the restaurant on the left. He was in on it.). Then it was a night of drinking and eating and reconnecting with family we hadn't seen in years.

When we got home, Mom, Dad, Laura and I let the party go well into the night.

In September, my sister is heading for New Zealand for about a year. It felt good to blow off steam last weekend, and have one big bash before she leaves.

Mom says she's still reeling from the excitement Saturday. She and Dad broke into another of her gifts tonight. She received many bottles of wine and beer.

Her friends know her well.

Tim.

There's something very non-threatening about the name "Tim."

I was just watching American Gladiators and they announced:

"NEXT UP: BEAST VERSUS tim."

Politics of grilling

I find myself sliding in and out of a new summertime ritual: The neighborhood cookout.

My neighbors and I threw a big one last summer. Another flamed up in June - to celebrate the Solstice, for you pagans out there.

They start slow. I wheel the grill out from behind the steps, squeaking and grinding until we reach the corner of the parking lot. This is the Patio, where my neighbors and I solve the world's problems. (Today's topics: Iran and Israel's relationships, how to avoid war, and Rick James' drug habit).

I prefer the meats you have to slow-cook; chicken, pork, etc. If I really want to drag it out (like today) I go all in. Beer can chicken. That's a whole chicken perched upright atop a half-can of beer. The beer evaporates and cooks it from the inside out, leaving the outside crispy and the inside tender.

I can't think of a place I've lived where the neighbors were so ready to welcome you in, take an interest in what you have to say or do, or help you out with anything you need.

Sort of a primordial thing, really, with all of us huddled around the fire.

But we do have one important thing the cavemen didn't: Microbrews.

Which one is from Hell?

I mean, that beard/goatee is pretty evil...