Hi everybo-

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Sorry, I seem to have developed a slight streak of narcolepsy over the holiday weekend. I guess that happens when entertaining a four-year-old and one-year-old twins over two days. I tell you what Hank, it was Romper Room from the get-go, even starting with the ritalin-deprived toddler whom I saved from a nasty spill on the L-train to the airport. (Ask me if the parents thanked me. Go ahead, ask me.)

-Or the woman next to me on the plane flying out, who sternly instructed her young daughter not to act "annoying" since she was "not the only passenger on this plane." The mother then proceeded to take out her polish and do her nails, fumigating the back of the plane the *whole trip out to Newark.* In between getting high off the fumes, I tried to drop a hint by adjusting the air valve, but she never bit.

I swear, I need to start keeping a log of just these people.

Anyways, as I walk into my apartment, it feels odd not to be looking out for some little bundle of joy playing with his toy weebles set on the carp-


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'Spent the holidays with Cronkette's family, ferrying back and forth between NYC, where her brother lives, and Easton, Penn., this college town in the Lehigh Valley, where her sister lives. Met the in-laws, so-to-speak. Cronkette has two brothers:

"Hi, I'm the strange guy who was living with your sister after knowing her all of a month. Then I moved to Chicago. Please, if you're gonna take me out back and beat the crap out of me, um, be gentle."


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Actually they were very friendly and generous - on Friday night Cronkette & I had the, ahem, *esteemed privilege* of staying at the HARVARD Club in New York.

HAW-vuhd, buffy. Fabulous, I say. Be a darling and pass that copy of the Journal.

One of the brothers, an architect who lives a few blocks off Times Square is, you know, like, smart and stuff, so he went to Harvard and got us a good last-minute holiday deal there for the night.

Walking the hallowed halls, all decorated with antique furniture and old turn-of-the-century photos of Ivy League football and picnics, I couldn't help but think of Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman ("I oughtta take a FLAME THROWER to this place! Hoo-ah!") Or Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. Or any of those New England prep-school flicks - take your pick.

Oh, and based on the omnipresent crimson interior, take a wild guess on Harvard's school color. When we got to our room I commented to Cronkette that you could kill somebody on this carpet and nobody would notice. Probably not the best thing to say-

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Yesterday was the twins' baptism - Cronkette's niece and nephew. I miss those tykes already - lil' Michael Gerard and Cronkette II. Afterwards I had a message on my voice mail from the 'rents that our nextdoor neighboor finally succumbed to cancer, which was sad, but one of those weird birth/death lion king circle-of-life moments at the same time.

And after that Cronkette and I passed out all afternoon, until lil' Cronkette II informed us very LOUDLY on the baby monitor that she was done napping and required assistance. I swear, I don't know how her sister does it - single mom with three - count 'em three - babies.

I leave this weekend with that same ambivalence about the propect of a future as a parent - you both look forward to it and dread the stunning loss of freedom all at once.

(Of course, telling Cronkette "Don't get any funny ideas" every time she held one of the twins probably didn't help matters.)

So anyways, back in Chicago, Chicago not my hometown. It's friggin' freezing in here, Mr. Bigglesworth. Sadly, my blessed hour of procrastination is at an end. 'Time to dive in.