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Wow, what a party! I've mentioned before, a friend named Stepheno. Even though that is a pseudonym, he asked that I correct the spelling. His nom de plume, for the purposes of my writings, will henceforth be spelled Stephano. After a bash like that, I'll spell his alias any way he wants.

That party is one of the reasons I'm late in posting this week's installment. I should really nicknamed him Jeremiah, for he's always got a mighty fine wine. And when I did finally make it to my chair in front of the computer, I couldn't decide on a topic again, so, in search of fodder, I went to look up last year's column only to find it missing. The omission was explained, though, the following week; this year, Labor Day is next weekend and it doesn't really matter because I'm working neither this weekend nor next. I had finally made up my mind to draw some comparisons between last year and this when Butch pulled up in front (I can usually hear him coming half a block away). Before he even knocked on the door I had decided to delay this composition. Last year, I wrote no column for this week; this year, I am merely late.

When I told Butch about Labor Day being a week later this year, he was ready with some facts: he said that we are enjoying the longest virtual summer possible (for tourism purposes, summer begins with the Memorial Day weekend and ends with Labor Day). Butch read it in the paper, he said. Memorial Day falls as early as possible and Labor Day falls as late as possible giving us a 107-day virtual summer season.

Last year I was lamenting the loss of another summer and wishing for exactly what I got this year. Last year I looked forward to getting out of that job and going back to school; I'm there. Last year I was stressed, this year I'm not. Last year I watched most of the Packer games in the break room at work, and this year I plan to be on Butch's couch or sitting in Stephano's recliner.

Last year playing in a band again seemed a remote possibility -- and playing with KONTRA again seemed absolutely impossible. This week we began a regular Thursday night gig. KONTRA is the core band for a weekly jam at the Beehive bar (four miles north of Fleet Farm, on Highway K). With the exception of a few songs, we have picked up musically almost where we left off.

Last year, it seemed that all I did was work and sit in front of this computer. Now I am back in school, back in the band, and spending more time with Julie and friends. A year ago I secured my escape . . . and now I've got my life back.