So your kids don't get sprayed with pesticides while waiting for the school bus. I say this jokingly, as someone who doesn't understand the homeschooling phenomenon. But on a related note, this LAT story has got me thinking to a week from today, when I will be back in Brooklyn and probably at war with the ice cream man, the roving HMO insurance vehicle trying to swindle the elderly, and all other trucks that keep their vehicles idling at the curb in my otherwise great neighborhood. I've been so relaxed here in Boulder, Colorado, my fretting limited to bears, mountain lions, and the long, narrow Porch of Death my two young boys like to race down on their respective three wheelers (our rented house is perched on a slope in the Boulder foothills). I also have to start gearing up for the psychological warfare I wage against the drivers who race down my block to catch the light before it turns red. Yes, such scenes are similar to those John Irving sketched out in The World According to Garp, where the protagonist is running maniacally down the street, cursing at the speeding cars. And all you gobal warming town criers thought I had nothing better to do than whack Romm every other day. Hell, somebody's gotta keep the kids safe till doomsday.