While the rest of you were busy staring at computers or making dinners or driving your cars, my brother-in-law was busy buying motorcycles and being famous.

You can get an autographed photo (nude, on his bike) by sending $100 here.

For filling the water all the way up to the top on the Keurig B60 and for not getting mad when you caught Scruffy in bed this morning. He was whining, he was really really sad!

[By the way, how long are his timeouts, a minute for every month?]

Come home if you want, today’s scheduled activities are tennis and swimming. Shuffleboard on the lido deck.

.. My pool and a pitcher of Mai Tais have rendered me unfit to write. I’ll get back to you shortly.

Meanwhile: The Manny trailer gets NY Times coverage and the book cracks top 30 at B&N. Email me here if you want a guest spot in the trailer for The Good Wife. The parts of neighbor, french exchange student, exterminator, and Angelica the brazilian bikini waxer are all up for grabs.

So wait ’til you’ve had your coffee, kids. Then here’s the book trailer for Holly Peterson’s new novel The Manny. Notable, partly, for C.’s brief cameo. Prize to first one who spots.

Read Sunday’s Styles section, too, for piece on the making of the trailer of The Manny (on web site tonight).

Oh, and if you want to discuss it, the trailer … write me, I’m here.

A., go see Scruffy today! Chin Poo, bottom row. More gray than blonde. Unlike me.

Everyone else, shake up some martinis and listen to this. Yeah, baby.

[Big bonus prize to whoever finds link to my favorite Roger Angell essay, "Dry Martini"; The New Yorker; don't know date. Chop-chop, get to work.]

Friday night’s my new imaginary dinner party night. Here is who’s coming:

Reese Erlich (because he’s cool)
Sigmund Freud (because the shrinks in my novel are Freudian)
Miranda July (to ignore, so she knows I’m not impressed)
Derek Jones (from 5th grade, to see if he still picks his nose)
Ma Rainey (why not?)
Vita Sackville-West (to help with my garden)
Fr. Beegan (because I found the old songbook he used to make me play out of and after dinner we can all sing Scarlet Ribbons)

I’ll serve an overdone prime rib and dry martinis; green beens with garlic, some fluffy meringuey thing for dessert. A cheese course, too. Bottles and bottles of red wine, of course, and cigars passed ’round at the end.

Come by if you want (imaginarily). Bring flowers.

One of Matt Taibbi‘s friends would rather show you pictures of his genital warts than be called a liberal. And he’s a liberal. Maybe we need a new name.
[The American Left's Silly Victim Complex]

H. and T. are off to Tuscany tomorrow. Buon Viaggio! And thanks, H. for Pink Martini! It’s in the car, I’ll listen on the way home.

Speaking of home, today’s the last day I drive (commute) for awhile. Maybe now I can write.

A., want to have lunch today? Let me know pronto.

Anyone else if A. can’t make it?

Hats off to you, every one. (Separate words intentional. As in “every one of you”.)

Senior got a couple of hits last night and now he’s too busy to talk to me. Listen, A., you don’t “Igottago” me, I “Igottago” you. Capisce?

I’m working on my Outdoor Friday Movie list. You can come over if you send me your favorite movie to watch outside in the summer. Think Bryant Park, Monday nights.

[Note: Production is delayed on "We're Out of Butter," the eggs are holding out on contract negotiations. Until further notice I'll post reruns of "It's Your Turn to Put Them To Bed," my breakout hit series from last fall.]

I know you secretly don’t think I do anything, A., so here’s one: I’m dropping the van off at Andy’s tomorrow, he’ll have it ready to go end of day. Van issue handled.

Now I’m going to take my vitamin and lie down, I’m exhausted.

P.S. knock ‘em dead tonight.

[You, too, can see A. suited up and hitting long balls at Joe Dancer field in Mac, 6:00PM sharp.]

My mother-in-law, who I trust in all things, called raving about A Thousand Splendid Suns, so read that, too.

Unrelated.  A., why on the list did you write a specific brand of butter?  Darigold, what’s so great about Darigold?  What’s wrong with the butter I buy?

[Tune in tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion of:  "We're Out of Butter"]