I hope you had a nice summer and didn’t ask for separate checks at a busy restaurant.

Which brings me to tipping. Which, it turns out, is not a subject for a column but a book.  Or at least a three-part column.

There’s a whole iceberg under the subject of tipping. It’s cultural, it’s optional, it’s expected, it’s becoming obsolete and more widespread.

Widespread, as in the proliferation of tip jars. I’m waiting for one to show up at my doctor’s office. You sign in and there’ll be a jar with a little sign: Malpractice insurance is killing me, please help.

As you know, I’m an expert on back pain, foot cramps, and bidets, but tipping is some byzantine shite that no bidet can handle. It’s an art that needs to be a science.

Lots of kids headed off to college recently. That reminded me of a column from a couple of years ago:

My grandmother left Ireland for good at 16 or 17 years old (they were never sure back then) and headed to New York by boat. Soon after passing the Statue of Liberty, she hopped aboard a train and headed to San Francisco where she’d meet her brother and establish roots.  She did it all without texting.

It must’ve been so much easier on the parents then. The kids would head off and you wouldn’t

Pretty soon, Boyleing Points goes on summer vacation, which I hope extends until Thanksgiving. It’s just too damn hard typing in this heat. Anyway, I hope most of you are as forgetful as me and don’t recognize when I start to slip in columns from the past before I go completely radio silent.

With everybody out and about and heading to beaches and barbecues, it’s the time of year when having good neighbors is no small blessing. This is a retread of a 2016 column which, I have to say, made me

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

You drop the TV remote on the floor and the fun only starts. Not most of the time —every time — the batteries fall out. You’re not even finished cursing when at least one of those batteries starts rolling under the couch. You curse again as you see the little bastard disappear from view.

You get down on your knees and you can’t find the thing. Or you can see it, way back there, probably just out of reach. You feel the blood pouring into your head as you reach all the way, reach even further

Being a trendsetter means you’ve got to be ready to be laughed at and ridiculed. I’ve gone out on a limb or two and taken my fair share of abuse. They laughed at me when I touted the glory and hipness of day drinking. Most of those people are now asking me to start parties earlier. And I was an early cheerleader for the colonoscopy movement. They laughed then.  Now they’re asking me for the night-before prep tips. Speaking of which…

There’s some new do-it-at-home test called Cologuard. TV

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

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