There was a comedian on a late night show who, during his routine (that's as opposed to an interview, of course) confessed to being an English Major. Hey, guess what? Okay, this other specimen of the genre said, during a phone call from a pyramid schemer, as a member of this academic background said the only thing he knew about capitalism was after a period you use a bigger letter.

I usually get summer rolling and then wound down with train trips to Santa Barbara and this year's inaugural presented the now usually expected things by the pier, primarily the ploys by the street people of the beach to acquire working coinage. The simpler ones involve vessels down on the sand to test donors' aim (ideally I guess ballistics challenged but otherwise more potent paper money should wrap the brass in pocket), there is the fellow who does a pretty good sand sculpture, and then new this time was the guy with front teeth in the spirit world who, in white jump suit, lip synched to a boom box playing Vegas-era Presley. Later in the afternoon was a hirsute fellow playing an accordion, and quite competently. My money was on the live musician.

Okay, I lied. My only money went to cash registers. It's already a washed-up summer, all right!