The slightest hint of autumn is in the air on this Saturday morning. This year’s “song of the summer,” the siren, has not played as incessantly as it did at summer’s beginning. For that, I am grateful. It means that the jackass-ery has been dialed back as sobering thoughts of September begin to seep in. “Local Summer” is almost upon us and I, for one, can’t wait.

I have never understood the “cross-the-bridge” mentality of drinking to senselessness and bad behavior.