In the old days, a hindu was a do-over. You’d be playing some game and if a ball hit a crack or a stick and went out of play, somebody would call “hindu” and it meant you had to do the play over again.

Why hindu? Well, what’s Hindu known for? Among other things, at the top of the list is reincarnation, probably the biggest do-over of all time. So, when the ball hit the crack, you couldn’t expect street kids to yell “reincarnation!”

Do-over has three syllables and hindu only two. Abbreviation

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

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

No one likes getting ink more than my siblings so I’m running a column from last year.

I was out on a boat with four Captain Queegs last week, though only one knew how to sail. He was the alpha Queeg, although the others were his equal or worse when it came to screaming paranoia, outsized delusion, and general insanity. Of course, I’m talking about my brothers.

One of those brothers will be pleased, no matter what, because he appears in this week’s column. He says it’s the only reason to read

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