Coney Island? Rock & roll? What else do you need to know? Oh, yeah, the time and place: SATURDAY, AUG. 28, 4PM at PEGGY O’NEILL’S, 1904 SURF AVENUE, @ W. 16th St. in front of BROOKLYN CYCLONES’ STADIUM. Listen for new songs! Admission: $0.

Well, folks, it’s almost here, our most widely anticipated season, Summer. We whip out the light clothing and bathing suits, get the barbecue ready for action, we MAKE PLANS. This is going to be the best, most active and adventurous summer ever! We’ll go here, do that, see this and get the T-Shirt to prove it! It’s Summertime and all things are possible!

Then the actual Summer hits and it’s blazing hot. Suddenly you’re not feeling so ambitious. Moving around is a chore, your skin is on fire and your get-up-and-go got up and went. And so you go about the true business of Summer; fucking off. All those projects you were going to tackle? Your tools ain’t going anywhere and those jobs will keep.

That hiking trip into the mountains? It’s a thousand degrees in the shade, what were you thinking? The reclining lawn chair in the backyard is looking better and better, while that road trip to the Gulf Coast fades from memory.

The local beach is about as far and wide as you want to range, and then only to lay on the sand like a beached walrus in between leaps into the ocean to cool off, absently hoping that the kids recall all your dire warnings about drowning and don’t do anything too stupid that would require physical exertion on your part to save their hyperactive little asses. That’s what Life Guards are for, right?

In the evening you set fire to various kinds of processed meat and call it dinner, then sit around swapping lies and sipping something strong and refreshing to gather your strength to face tomorrow’s inferno. You might look into obtaining some books to read, the light summer variety written in a strict formula that requires very little mental effort on your part, a Clancy or a Steele or one of those other do-all-the-work-for-you authors.

Then there’s the movies, not so much to catch up on the latest teenage vampire soap opera or rock-em-sock-em explosion crapola, but to just sit there nursing some horrid frozen slurpy concoction in the frosty air conditioning, lowering your body temperature back down to survivable. With a little practice one masters the art of killing a whole day sneaking from one theater to the next in today’s multiplex theaters without having to pay 15 bucks for each of these cinematic stinkers.

Night time is the only time for semi-normal activity in the Summertime. Once the sun goes down, energy returns. If one is lucky enough to be in New York City, Coney Island at night is one of the Wonders of The World during Summer, with thrilling rides, hot dogs, cold beer, cotton candy, the world’s most famous boardwalk, frequent fireworks displays and as fascinating an international cast of characters as can be found anywhere. Coney Island means having a ball while not doing much of anything.

Then there’s the time honored Summer tradition of wandering about aimlessly at night through the streets and parks, maybe checking out the free outdoor concerts or street performers, then stopping in at a night spot for some refreshments, camaraderie and frosty air conditioning. No need to rush about willy-nilly. A slow stroll is about as swift a pace as is necessary. It’s Summer. Forget your PLANS and grand schemes, that’s just not happening. The best answer for “What did I do on my Summer vacation” remains “Not much, not much at all. I basically fucked off the whole time.” Season’s Greetings.

If America has a smell, it is a barbecue.

No one has anything in common with most politicians and are uncomfortable in their presence, even the ones they like and vote for. Successful politicians are high-intensity salesmen who never take a minute off. After a very short while we’re all “Geez, can”t we talk about baseball or something? You already made the friggin’ sale, you’re in, you’re elected, you won, okay? We got it! Knock it off with the spiel already.”

Is there anything sadder than the ideological purge being carried out in today’s Republican Party? Good strategy, kick out the smart ones, let the scary messianic nut jobs lead. Can we be absolutely certain that James Carville didn’t orchestrate this whole thing?

One night stands are better than nothing.

When you’re in Coney Island, you don’t care about a damned thing in the world. Which is the whole idea of Coney Island.

One accurate gauge to measure effective nations and societies is the number of people trying to get in versus the number of people scheming to get out. Americans are damned lucky to be living in the prime destination of the latter group, and a place where anyone can leave if they feel like it. Almost no one does. Where would you rather live?

Cherry trees are so beautiful for 3 weeks a year they don’t even have to produce cherries to earn their keep.

Loneliness is everything they say it is, only ten times worse. Connect.

The reason for the existence of time is so we can tell jokes and watch sports without everyone knowing the ending. It also lets men know when to shave and to change the batteries in the smoke alarms.

The “life of the party” is usually hammered.

Very few people think there are nearly enough corporate officers from the financial industries under arrest for grand theft, criminal conspiracy and fraud. There are many thousands of people in prison for lesser offenses. Dollar for dollar, John Dillinger, Willie Sutton, Bonnie and Clyde, Jesse James and The Dalton Gang were pikers by comparison.

Remember, it’s not defeat that matters. It’s de hands!

Hello readers. I hope your  Valentine’s Day was a good one, or at least not too crushing a disappointment. So often we invest so much emotion and anticipation in one particular holiday that it can never live up to our fervent hopes and dreams. New Year’s Eve comes to mind, or Amateur Night as those of us with a few miles on our odometers refer to it. Valentine’s Day, with a more-than-able assist from greedy corporations, is tailor-made for a huge letdown. Love, like life itself, is a process, not an event.

Love is never perfect, any more than any of us are, and investing unrealistic expectations in something as magical and hard to define as love is a setup for major disillusionment. No need to go there. Appreciate your loved ones every day, and measure the strength of your relationships on their endurance, their continuing tenderness and understanding, and not on one particular day. If we fell out of love when a bad day occurred, every relationship would be over inside a month. At most. That said, let’s check the inbox and see how your lives are progressing. Or not, as the case may be:

Dear Dot Kahm: Gee, I wish I’d read your intro before I wrote this letter, but what’s done is done. Anyway, I’m a single man in his late twenties and I’ve been dating Hillary for three years. Ours has been a special relationship and this Valentine’s Day I decided to pop the question. I asked her to live with me. She turned me down, Dot, and I can’t get over it. Now she’s so mad at me she doesn’t want to see me anymore. I knew she wanted to get married, but I figured that we’d ease into it. I’ve been crying ever since. What am I going to do? – Miserable in Manhasset

Dear Miserable: Here’s what you’re going to do: Get over it, you sniveling wimp! After three damned years, now you decide to take the tepid step of playing house? That’s something lovers do in the first few months of a relationship if they’re of a mind to do so. Three years is more than enough time to know whether or not you want to marry that person, and to know the mind of that person, if they may have objections to living together versus marrying. Didn’t you know? You insulted the lady, Miserable, and she is to be commended for not bitch-slapping your whining face purple! When it was time to shit or get off the pot, you farted and sat there like a mook. Maybe with the next lady who’s good enough to invest a chunk of her life with you, you’ll grow a pair of testicles and let her know that either you’re not the marrying kind, and that’s okay too, or that you want her forever, and then let her make her decision fully informed. As always, honesty is the best policy, starting with yourself, which you obviously are not.

Dear Dot Kahm: What’s a mook? -Wondering in Wisconsin

Dear Wondering in Wisconsin: Mook is Brooklyn term, meaning a person who simply does not get it, whatever it is, unless it is about them. To a mook, the portion of any conversation not specifically about them sounds sort of like a feint humming sound, or background noise, and is paid no mind at all. That’s a mook, as in: Don’t be a mook! Never dignify a mook with a capital M, either.

Dear Dot Kahm: Like you, Dot, I am from Brooklyn. My boyfriend asked me where I’d like to go on a beautiful Sunday afternoon last summer and when I told him Coney Island, he laughed! He’s not from New York and has never been there, but he had the nerve to tell me Coney Island is a chaotic old wreck in the middle of a slum. I just wanted to share a special place in my hometown with the guy and he completely blew me off, so I dumped him. Was I too hasty? – Coney Island Baby

Dear Coney Island Baby: Hasty, shmasty! There’s magic in Coney Island girl, a place like no other on Earth. I’m glad you wrote me now, Hon, since the middle of a hard winter is the perfect time to think abut Coney Island. Let that fool visit one of those uber-boring homogenized and controlled theme parks in the middle of nowhere with his homogenized and controlled new girlfriend (which rules out Brooklyn ladies!). No Nathans, no freak shows, no gypsies from who-knows-where speaking who-knows-what language, no Cyclone and no Wonder Wheel, and no boardwalk with a beach filled with a million smiling faces! And here’s some more good news, kiddo: by opening day, a rebuilt Luna Park will be open this year with 23 new rides. You were right to dump that chump, not only for his disrespect of Coney Island, but for dismissing your thoughts and wishes out of hand, and for insisting on sticking to an opinion based on no knowledge, facts or experience, as fatal a flaw and any human being can possess! Take your new man to Coney Island and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden too! He will thank you for sharing special Brooklyn places and opening his eyes.

Dear Dot Kahm: What do you think about the exciting news that King Tut died of Malaria? – Brian Jiggs

Dear Brian: Not much. Shouldn’t you be writing to Sammy Science? The only stiffs that excite me aren’t mummies, if you catch my drift, pal.

Dear Dot Kahm: Are you single? I’d sure like to meet you. – Teddy Bear

Dear Teddy Bear: I am, and you sure can meet me, Teddy Bear. That is, if the photo you sent me is really you. If not, be prepared for a beat down from a black belt in RHIAW, which stands for Random Household Items As Weapons. Review my honesty guidelines before approaching.

Dear Dot Kahm: Do you believe in coincidence? – Wondering in Waukegan?

Dear Wondering: That’s funny, I was just thinking about coincidence! What a … oh never mind!

Dear Dot Kahm: My husband is a police detective, and he says there is no such thing as a coincidence! – Mona from Staten Island

Dear Mona: That’s funny, I was just thinking about how cops never seem to believe in coincidences! Spooky, no?

Dear Dot Kahm: How’s this for a coincidence – my name is Dot and I also come from Brooklyn! – Dot Saul

Dear Dot Saul: Sorry, but I think we’ve exhausted the subject of coincidence.

Well, readers, we seem to be getting off topic here, so good old Dot Kahm is signing off for now. I’ve got to get ready for a hot date with Teddy Bear. Until next time, be good, be kind and be honest, and demand the same of others.