I am sitting in my study on the back of the second floor of our house and I am about to go mad. Because it is Memorial Day, Neighbor #1, (An alcoholic sanitation engineer with a dog who tries to kill at me whenever I open my UPSTAIRS window, and who possesses the following dead items in his driveway: car, truck, refrigerator, bicycle, mop, ladder, and a bunch of stuff under a tarp that I’m not too excited to know about) has set up an outdoor party complete with blaring country music. Now, I have had my share of loud outdoor parties, and far be it from me to disparage the music of my roots, but even the beloved iPod cannot compensate for this distracting noise.

I have written one paragraph on the history of manhood and family. (Anthony Rotund’s “American Manhood” and Stephen Frank’s “Life with Father.”) I need to have lunch, and then finish this section of the chapter. I have been working on it (ostensibly) for 2 months. And have gotten nowhere. It has to be done by the end of the day. Wish me luck…