I am back in a large, crowded depressing city located somewhere on the East coast of the USA, characterized by snotty rude citizens, a hack ball team, humidity, and far too many college students to ever have any controlling degree of sanity at the helm. I don't want to make it too easy for you to guess where I am, but this town's initials are "Boston".

I did a lot of driving to get here. I am a very good driver. I don't mean a good 'go down to the store and by some bread' driver; I mean a good 'buckle up and get out in another time zone' driver. It may be the thing I do best in my life. I am "drive-artist". Just ask anyone whose ever been on a trip with me. You know what they'll say? They'll probly say somthing like, "well, Mark is a real @#$% to be around, but he sure can drive good."

I basically had no summer fun other than a good trip to Colorado and New Mexico. Lots of good driving on that one. Yesiree Roberto, I drove and drove and drove. You think I'm kidding around about this, huh? You think you can drive as good or gooder than me, huh? Well, let me disabuse you of that notion my fine feathered friend! If you think that's the case, then you are, as our friends in the mental counseling community might say, "quite nuts!" That's right, a real old time nut job! Because I am a driver, and perhaps even the best one you will ever have a chance to meet. Want some lessons in advanced driving as an art form? Give me a call, we'll arrange something.

be good.