Do high school kids have rivalries anymore?  I don’t know any high school kids so I can’t ask. They must still have them out in the Midwest, where things are more likely to be frozen in time. Friday Night Lights, Hoosiers, that kind of stuff.  And it seems college rivalries still exist but high school craziness seems like a relic of yesteryear. Maybe because so many schools have closed. There were so many kids in the old days, neighborhoods would be sprinkled with kids from different schools, which lent itself to keeping rivalries alive throughout the year. You didn’t have to be at a game to know you hated kids who went to that school.

Friday night basketball games were big in Brooklyn and there’d often be the threat of a big brawl

You know what I got?  I got ungatz. I’m a mush.

I bought a bunch of raffle tickets at the Greybeards Dinner Dance in January and all my purchases became pure donations. I rolled that lack of good fortune into three different Super Bowl boxes and didn’t come close.  And then…

Well, first let me explain mush. I’m pretty sure mush is familiar to anyone who’s taken a bus to Atlantic City with a roll of quarters or who’ve lost their rent gambling. But for those who’ve been wise and/or stingy

So yearly real estate taxes on a house in Marine Park in Brooklyn, 1969, were $321 for the year. The same house gets a bill this year for $4,462. The reason I know about the $321 bill is because my mother saved the bill and filed it with other records including driving directions to someone’s house in 1993.

She saved a poem that a besotted boy sent to my sister when she was in high school.  Besotted, there’s a word everyone uses all the time… I guess it’s particularly apt here because it’s a

I write this column because I’m cheap and my preferred neighborhood shrinks don’t take my insurance.  I figure most of you read Boyleing Points while imagining me lying down on a sofa while I drone about some neurosis or another. Wait, do people still lie down in psychiatric offices?  I’m kinda ignorant in that regard since the only model I have for the patient-psychiatrist dynamic is what I got from Admiral Bellows, the psychiatrist on I Dream Of Jeannie. 

But now that I think about it, Tony

For all the behavioral scientists and neuroscientists among my readers (yea, they number in the thousands, believe me) you’re free to start tracking my brain’s deterioration.  I have no clue what I wrote last week or the week before or the year before. 

For the rest of you, don’t worry if my stuff sounds vaguely familiar – nobody’s ever accused me of original thought.  Anyway, I had an unoriginal idea for a column this week and then couldn’t decide if I’d done it before.  Which got me to

Random Thoughts

It’s not mine. I’m holding it for a friend.

It’s hard to believe that this one is still being used by kids today. Parents find the usual contraband - drugs, alcohol, birth control, pornography, cigarettes (trying to think what else contraband would cover…), and the best the kid can come up with is the excuse that’s been used since Cain and Abel?

Has a kid ever asked another kid to hold something? Ever?

Hey buddy, hold this bag of weed for me. I don’t want my parents to find

Here we go, Kingsmen!  Here we go!

That was a crowd’s chant from long ago that now echoes on Memory Lane.  

The trouble with Memory Lane is sometimes you’re the only one on it. It’s a lonely road, where there’s no one with you to recall the sights and sounds; no one to laugh and cry with; no one else to validate that memory or fill in the blanks.  

Memory Lane can be like an amusement park ride with highs and lows, and twists and turns. There’s crazy laughter and emotions filled with terror

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