Another week another monsoon.  Not unlike my ongoing dialogue about the washrooms, there’s just no point in editorializing about the weather. I suppose on some level I could try and find it charming that I get several soakers every night going out to give people a boost, and people don’t seem to mind having to put PFD’s on their kids when they come to the canteen. All I’m saying is any more of this nonsense and the Mustang Drive in is going to be called The Cranberry Patch. But hey, I’m not bitter.

I have to start by apologizing to my devoted readership. I know both of you have been grumbling because the column has been hit and miss of late and there's a really good reason for that.

Well here we are kids. No penultimate newsletter this one. It's over Johnny. Some years, most really, we go later into the season but stick a fork in 2008 we're done after this week end.

I would be even more disingenuous than normal if I pretended to be disappointed that I’m staring down the barrel of the last carload night of 2008. It’s been a fun year and but as it turns out a lot of working every night for 2.5 months is about the money.

OK Nancy works, I just have to make them honk and stay awake but I’ve always had a hard time maintaining any level of functional consciousness. Don’t think it’s been easy being me

Ok like all good things, this summer is about to assume room temperature and I still haven't fixed the A on my keyboard. Let us all hail dysfunction. Part of it is it’s busy in the summer but the rest is I can't bear to face that snotty little computer geek asking me what I spilled this time. You mess up 3 keyboards and they think they have you all figured out.